#rhythm: equilibrium

[tsunagite]

Doodles, with a few cameos

[that-dreaming-dragon]

祈求，

內心的平衡，生命的穩定，世界的和平

To pray for,

Inner balance, stability in life, and the world’s peace.

[l4long-winded]

carmy’s gf being a very good dirty talker and carm getting flustered and turned on ❤️‍🔥

okay, first off, i am terribly sorry this took so long for me to answer. i was staring at it for ages just trying to think of a scenario where i could implement it. i'm a perfectionist. i procrastinate and i whine about procrastinating and then i panic if i don't have the right setting. and then i remembered... this is for fan consumption, who gives a fuck?

this concept is special to me because, to me, carmen doesn't have a whole lot of experience. it's why i LOVE the sub!carmen agenda. he gets tongue-tied pretty easily when it comes to voicing his emotions and then considering his stutter growing up, it makes sense to me that he would become bashful in the bedroom setting. especially with someone who knows what they're doing.

walk with me, anon. we have much to discuss... (sorry in advance for the title; i got carried away)

o.s. holland cream filled

summary: carmen is trying to keep it together. your talented tongue does not have the same goal (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

warnings: the title, described anxiety, dirty talk (duh), inexperienced!carmy, pussydrunk!carmy, established relationship, no use of pronouns for reader, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, mentioned handjobs, gold chain mention, praise kink, carmy whimpers, subby!carmy, sort of switch!carmy at the end, implied edging, longwinded descriptions, carmy begs a little, kissing, cursing, carmen's pov, use of "babe" and "baby" (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 2,018

( this work has been cross-posted to ao3 )

Every sinewy muscle twitches across his back whenever you get to this part, rippling underneath his skin as he pushes forward. He could easily lift his head up and away from where he’s currently got it nestled against your neck, but perhaps this is the masochistic side of him, the same one keeping him in the anxiety hellhole that is the kitchen. His sweaty curls graze your neck, near your jawline, his teeth and lips dragging over your throat. Every sound you make rumbles on him, vocal chords he tries to map out within. He likes to think he’s tasting your moans when he drags the flat of his tongue over your sensitive flesh. Your mouth is so fucking close to his ear right now, and it’s his own damn fault, the consequences of having you like this not unfamiliar. But this is the torture he anticipated and still dove headfirst into.

“You’re stretching me perfectly, Carmy.”

You always say shit like that. It throws off his rhythm, much like it always does, his equilibrium, clumsily attempting to fall back into it after collapsing all of his weight into you for a brief moment. It’s like you’re trying to make him falter on purpose with how you ramble. He doesn’t miss the hiss he ignites from you after accidentally sinking his cock all the way to the hilt from the misfire. His palms create divots in the mattress as he raises himself off you, his gold chain dangling near his chin. He hopes it tempts you enough to bite at it like you did a few nights ago. It would stop you from uttering anything else that’s going to shade his ears rosy and it’d snugly pull him back down chest to chest with you.

“That’s alright, look at me, watch my face,” you reassure him, taunting him without meaning to, directing his focus where he knows is going to both exacerbate and enhance this experience. As his hips continue to hump against you, somehow yanking the blankets and the mattress into handfuls resuming his pace from before, your lips part in ecstasy, desire swimming in your dilated pupils as you stare up at him. “ Good, fucking good, y-your c-cock is so thick,” you blurt, and Carmen’s breathing picks up. The oxygen is depleting quickly from his lungs, speed beginning to build and build.

“There, there, god, fuck me, Carmy, fuck,” you moan, and he maintains where he is. He’s so close, but he wants to ensure you’re feeling good right now, too.

Carmen’s intense blue eyes are latched on yours, his mind racing when you tell him to fuck you. He wants to respond, reply how he is fucking you, but he can’t find his voice. All he can do is grunt and nod his head obediently when you’re like this. As badly as he wants to match your dirty talk, he’s afraid of stuttering, of the vulnerability, of popping his load because every filthy sentence, every pant of his name, threatens to end it all too soon. If he even tries, says anything about your pussy, or your mouth, or your tits, how much he adores your pleasured sounds, that thing you do with your tongue, how you tighten around him and it’s impossible to not to drill his cock harder—

“You wanna cum?” You ask.

Yes, yes, yes, I wanna cum so fucking bad, please, please beg me for it, he thinks, but it doesn’t actually leave from between his lips. He swallows his own spit, instead, nodding his head violently as he breathes short and rapid exhales.

He’s confused when you don’t immediately respond to this thought. Of course, you’re not a mind reader. You’re observant, much like he is. He relies on this skill of yours sometimes because he’s never been good at talking. He seeks comfort in you. While your way with linguistics in this setting sends him reeling, he also needs it, he craves it. He only hates it because he can never last long with it implemented.

Yet, it is nice when you’re whispering your praises into his ear, sliding your spit slick hand up and down his cock, thighs spread over his open legs. You’ve helped him plenty of times during those heavy rushes or while you’re making out on his couch and he’s too tired to give you what you deserve. He likes it close and you know that. That ability of yours is tremendous for instantaneous relief.

You should know to deliver what he needs right at this moment. He’s hanging on by a thread, a thread, where is that stunning talent of yours when he needs it?

“Wanna cum? Wanna f-fill me up ‘til I’m leaking?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck you, what are you doing to him? He’s straining right now, forgetting to breathe as he glances at your features in disbelief, his arms shaking whenever you cup his face into your hands, thumbs occupying the dimples of his cheeks. His hips grind into you in an offbeat fashion, his voice close to whimpering at this point from how he’s holding himself off. Carmen weakly nods again this time, willing his orgasm away by closing his eyes. He can’t lose himself too much in the feeling. In the tantalizing image of his cum spilling out of you when he inevitably pulls out.

“Look at me,” you say, and Carmen’s eyes shut tighter before he pries them open. He really can’t look, but he also can’t stop himself from listening. You’ve got him wrapped up in a trance. He’s doing his best right now to continue, to hear you, to not give into the edge he wants to hurdle over. “You w-wanna cum for me, Carmy?”

It’s the third time now that you’ve asked. Normally, you’re forgiving. You see how frantic he is and you croak about how much you want him to shatter for you, how he deserves it, how he’s earned it. He doesn’t feel like he’s earned it right now, somehow keeping himself at bay, no matter how desperately he needs to release into your cunt. The more he looks at your expectant features, he realizes what it is that you��re waiting for.

He can’t do that. He doesn’t have the sheer willpower for it that you do. He shakes his head slightly, crimson painting his face and neck, a bit of embarrassment coating his perspired skin, recrimination of the damned knitting his eyebrows together. He doesn’t trust himself. The moment the syllables leave his mouth, he’s bound to be floundering around like an idiot, and the only thing in his head right now is how badly he needs to cum. He can’t ruin this moment, and he has a strong feeling that he will.

But those hands of yours stop him from denying it. Your pressure heightens just a touch, just enough to gain his attention back on your face. You level him with an earnest gaze, lashes batting, nose nuzzling up against his in unspoken affection. There’s no doubt in his head that you could continue to talk and help him out here, but you’re waiting on him patiently. He’s got you both of the brink of madness, and you’re withholding on purpose, softly kissing him while his hips fuck into you in a contrasting slick and clapping noise. He knows what you want. He sighs in frustration, resigning himself, because although he could give into the fire, it wouldn’t burn as good without your permission. He lives for how it tempers inside of him.

“Y-yes,” he manages. You’re too cute, the way your face lights up. You swaddle your plush bottom lip between your teeth, eyes flickering with hope and encouragement for him to continue on. Carmen has to inhale first, a gauche tickling traveling up his throat like a spider climbing up a tree, crawling along the lining of his esophagus.

“Yes,” he repeats, “I-... I w-wanna cum.”

Saying it out loud further solidifies it, eroding his self control bit by bit. It’s salient in how the vein in his neck protrudes, and he’s there, he’s about to lose it. He’s going to, feeling his pressure wean the deeper he digs. You’re taking a lot of time looking him over. He wonders if you’re getting off on how needy he is right now, extending this out, when he was good, did exactly what he knows you wanted without having to ask. He’s about to babble and stutter, he’s got it at the tip of his tongue. Your walls tighten suddenly and this time he does fucking whimper.

“... and?”

And? And what? Where are those gratifying admirations of yours for him? He’s done what you want, he’s certain of it, and his balls are heavy right now, thudding into the meat of your ass.

“Baby, please,” he gushes, but you don’t relent. Your walls tighten around him again. His cock twitches in apprehension, almost there, almost letting it go.

It hits him, then. He remembers what you said a while ago. He’s far too gone to think about what this is going to make him look like, his eyes widening with his epiphany. He starts to move faster again, a new flame lit under him.

“And f-fill you up,” he rasps, “f-fill you up, I… I need to f-fill y-you up with my c-cum. Fuck, fuck, fuck, uh, uh, uh.”

Carmen’s fears were correct. He’s a stuttering, whimpering mess, becoming more vocal as he recites your words and then some. He navigates his way back to earth when you kiss him, shutting him up from cursing. He smothers a few more fucks against your mouth, expecting you to let him have it. Only, you don’t. Your half-lidded gaze greets him when you depart, your voice holding tremors on it. You’re close yourself. He has no idea how you can do this to the two of you. Aren’t you as strung out right now as he is?

“Until?”

Carmen almost swallows his tongue with how quickly he inhales, that one word a knife into his abdomen. The muscles there contract and flex, cock throbbing, his fingers close to piercing the mattress. He holds out a little longer, his next exhale opening his mouth, tongue lolling out.

“‘Til… ‘til y’leaking.”

Triumph cascades over him seeing your pleasured grin. He’s unable to hold the dam back any longer when you nod your head. His body molds against yours, a cry leaving his lips whenever he buries himself. He pants against your neck, his arms engulfing you into them. He greedily plucks your body off the mattress, surrounded by him in every aspect. While in his embrace, the stream of his seed goes on and on, expansive pulses before each spurt. You’ve drenched him, arched into a pretty curve, thanked him while you found your own solace, and he thinks he might disappear into thin air from how light he feels.

He doesn’t. He remains sprawled on top of you, the weight of him crushing you from how he refuses to let you go. If you complained, he would roll off, but you don’t. You peck gentle kisses over his shoulder, featherlike.

“Did so good,” you mutter. “You’re perfect. All mine. Please me like no one could. So, so good for me. Such a good b—”

Carmen’s hand covers your mouth, shielding himself from further onslaught. He removes his head from your neck, still out of breath as he looks down at you. The knife through the hand of his tattoo sits sideways, your bright eyes blinking at him. He sees a mix of amusement, desire, mischief, and confusion all rolled up there.

Carmen leans down, kissing his own tattoo. The action might seem insignificant to anyone else, but when he feels your lips purse into his palm as if kissing him back, he knows it’s not insignificant at all.

“Sorry, babe,” he murmurs. He starts to move again. The sinful sound that vibrates against his palm is a muted symphony to him, but he doesn’t take his hand away.

“I wanna last longer this time.”

[pugh-bug]

No.42 Chapter 1

Art Donaldson x reader : slow burn friends to lovers

I finally wrote chapter 1, I hope you all enjoy it! I’m excited for this slow burn

You widened your eyes at Patrick’s casual declaration. As his words: ‘Art’s gonna come live with us for a while’ hung in the air, you watched your best friend of ten years destroy a churro like it didn’t matter. Flat No.42 had been your sanctuary for four years with nothing but Patrick’s film commentating disrupting your peace. The two of you had a rhythm. An understanding of how the other lived and wanted to live, a schedule for taking out the recycling that Patrick stubbornly ignored.

You had game nights, movie marathons all without anyone having to third wheel. You weren’t ready to give that up, not even for Art Donaldson a man you’d been acting a fool around since Patrick introduced you.

‘Y/N,’

As usual your face concealed nothing.

‘Be good about this okay? Liam kicked him out to move in with his girlfriend, the least I can do is let him live with us for a while.’

You tried to picture watching tv with Art or looking up from your cereal in the morning to be greeted with his sleepy, cute face and messy curls. It took half a second before Patrick asked why you were smiling and even less for you to force a complexed frown.

‘Okay so when’s he moving in?’

Patrick wiped his sugar dusted hands on his ‘I told ya’ shirt, gaging your reaction with amusement. ‘Today, probably 6.’ So much notice - not that you were surprised the man once woke you up 2 hours before a flight he forgot he’d booked for the two of you.

‘Thanks for the heads up.’

——————————————————————

Forever the most organised member of the fire and ice duo, Art was at your door at 6pm exactly. Patrick opened the door as if it was Christmas Day and Art was Santa himself, you’d seen him smile brightly countless times but he actually glowed around Art. It was sweet, only sometimes sickeningly, and you understood the obsession. Art was the type of person lonely people craved.

‘Have my room, I’ll take the sofabed.’

Art broke away from Patrick’s bear hug to widen his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile at Art’s reaction to his friends generous offer. Patrick had a way of being there for his friends in such a way that never made them feel like they owed him. He had always been kind because of who he was, not for any accolades yet it somehow seemed to amaze Art every time.

‘Y/N,’ He turned to look at you, walking over confidently. The two of you had only started hugging in the last month, and usually only at the end of days spent with Patrick. He always hugged Patrick first.

‘Welcome to our piece of shit flat,’ you chuckled, as Art pulled you into a short but sweet hug. It took all of your strength. and did every time, not to pull him even closer to you. He always smelt of strawberry scented shampoo and the occasional cigarette which on anyone else you would have hated, you didn’t smoke, but on Art was heaven.

Art liked his own space, as did you, so for a few hours you let him unpack and relax on his own whilst you caught up on work. It wasn’t until Patrick ransacked his/Art’s room for a tie that the equilibrium of the flat was disturbed. ‘I’ve got a date!’ He exclaimed, ignoring the horror in Art’s face. He’d been on his twentieth push up and hated being watched.

Rushing out the door, using one hand to dress himself and the other to text the girl he was going to be late, Patrick made a lot of noise. You and Art were stood in the living room watching his antics with equal amounts of amusement and judgement. When he finally made it outside, Art watched you lock the door behind him.

‘Lucky girl.’

You raised an eyebrow, not sure if he was joking.

‘She won’t feel it when he eats all her food as well as his.’

Art smiled at your quip, knowing it was absolutely true, and thought to himself how nice it was going to be to get to know you better.

Chapter 2

Masterlist

[missredherring]

Little Girl with a Big Mouth

Joel Miller x Fat F!Reader

Rating: M

Word Count: 1.2k

Contents: PWP. DVP. Dirty talk. Mentions of anal sex/fingering/DAP.

Summary: “More?” he asks your shoulder.

“More.” you agree.

A/N: This was written for @iamasaddie kinky may challenge. My prompt was Joel Miller + DVP.

Thank you @frannyzooey for beta reading and all your amazing suggestions.

Any mistakes are mine.

“Ah, slow, slow,” you pant out as Joel fucks you on your back. Your legs clamp around his torso in an attempt to slow his thrusts, while your hands search all around the bed for something to hold on to. Any parts of your body you can reach are slick with sweat and spit and your head is pressed down too far into the pillow for it to be any help. The nightstand wobbles when your hand smacks into it, but Joel made it, so of course it’s solid. You hold onto the edge for dear life. “Christ, go slow, Joel.”

“If I go any slower, I won’t be moving,” he says, but obeys and slows the roll of his hips until just the head of his cock and the tips of his middle fingers remain. They’re resting there behind the head, not even past the first knuckle, but it feels like so much more.

“What’s a matter; you don’t like my fingers anymore?” Joel teases. When you don’t respond, he tries again. “What happened to all your big talk, huh, baby? Were your eyes bigger than your pussy?”

The fingers twitch, pushing in a little bit more and your hips hitch up to try and compensate for the movement. The stretch increases and you can only gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, your body tensing up in an attempt to reach some kind of equilibrium. 

At your pained expressions, any hint of teasing vanishes from his face. Gently, he takes his fingers out and squeezes your thigh. “We’re not doing this if it hurts.”

You crack your eyes open to look at him. “I appreciate your caution, I really do, but I’ve been looking forward to this all day-” 

Listening, Joel nods along as he leans down to kiss your face, following the curve of your cheek to your jaw. Tilting his head to hear you better, he grinds his hips into yours. He gives you a few languid strokes, as if the familiar feeling of being stuffed full of his cock could erase the sting of a failed attempt.

He nuzzles your temple and pulls away, only patting your wide hip when you whine as his cock slips out of you. “Shift onto your side for me,” he soothes. “My knees are already complainin’.”

As soon as you turn over, Joel is curling his big frame around yours, his cock hot and heavy between you. He grabs a handful of you, smoothing over your hot sweaty skin until his big calloused hand settles on your breast with a knead, paying attention to the stiff nipple there.

“You’re gonna come on my fingers, then we’ll try again,” he says, reaching for the bottle of lube after you make a sound of agreement. 

Gravity has moved your belly aside for him, so it's easy for his hand to snake around your hip and between your legs. He massages the lube around your swollen vulva until he’s satisfied with the glide of his fingers. Then he reaches a little further and pushes his middle fingers, palm up this time, into your pussy.

Between your slick and the lube the sound is obscene, but you associate it with pleasure and Joel. Your body melts into his touch, catching and following the rhythm of his fingers as he strokes, strokes, strokes. 

He coaxes your orgasm out with soft touches and words and kisses until you’re clenching down on his fingers.

“More?” he asks your shoulder.

“More.” you agree. 

“I’ve been thinking about this all day too,” Joel says as he guides your hip forward so your pussy is exposed to him. “Tryin’ to figure out the best way to do it.”

His forearm is all but pinned under your thigh now with his middle fingers still inside of you, but his hand is still moving, his pointer and pinky fingers keeping your labia spread as he notches his cock head against your opening. It’s like he's holding your pussy open for his cock and the thought sends a shiver through you.

“On your back didn’t work, but we can try it again later, if you want.” 

Slowly, so slowly, you don’t even know how he has such control, he presses forward. The pressure builds, the pinch is there, but not enough for you to name it; it seems easier this time with this angle.

“Thought about you on your knees, ass up high, just how I like,” he pants in your ear. “That way I’d be able to play with your asshole too, baby. Would you like that?”

It takes a moment for your attention to surface from below your waist. His words take their time painting the picture of his thick thumb pressing into your ass at the same time your pussy takes his other fingers and cock. Or would he try to fit both fingers and cock in your ass? The idea of the stretch you’re slowly getting used to at that tighter ring of muscles makes your entire body clench. It forces a moan from your lungs and Joel makes a noise behind you like he’s remembered something. 

“That’s right: we’re forgetting that pretty mouth.” 

He frees his other hand from under your body and reaches up to help turn your head towards him. His stubble rubs a little too hard as he kisses you, pushing his tongue past your lips at the same time he presses his hips into you again.

These kisses are sloppy and you can tell your neck definitely won’t support this for long, but right now it’s perfect. He’s plucked the dirty daydreams that had you squirming in your seat at work today and made them real. You’re squirming again by the time he pulls away.

“Fuck. You feel so good, so hot; feeling you squeezin’ my fingers and cock at the same time. I knew you could do it. Tell me how you’re doing, baby. I gotta know.”

“I’m– it’s– . So much. Please move. So good.”

Your words break down into panted breaths, but he answers each one with a kiss, his moustache prickling the skin as he follows the lines of stretch marks that cap your shoulders like epaulets.

“Think you can come like this?”

You can feel the potential coiling in your belly as he holds you there with his giant hand, the heel of it rubbing on your clit while his cock nudges his fingers against your g-spot. You shift your hips around until you find the right angle that jolts pleasure through you as he grinds into your plush thighs.

“Yea, just like that,” you let your hand wander up and play with your breast, enjoying the way he cranes his head around to get a better view. “What about you?”

“I could come just thinking about this greedy little pussy taking everything I give her,” his rumble vibrates through you both. “So don’t you worry about me.”

Satisfied with the situation, Joel draws his hips back and pushes forward, keeping his fingers hooked in your pussy. 

He can’t properly thrust in this position, so you rock your hips together and whether you’re rocking forward into his hand or back onto his cock, it doesn’t matter. 

The hot breath on your neck. The smell of his sweat thick in your nose. The sharp scrape of teeth on your skin. The press of his cock that forces his fingers further inside of you and makes you shake and gasp.

All that matters is the beat of his heart at your back as he gives you more, more, more. 

[sensualnoiree]

astro notes: venus ♾

Venus, in both alchemical and esoteric traditions, holds profound significance as one of the classical planets. Its symbolism extends far beyond its astronomical presence, delving into realms of love, beauty, balance, and transformation.

Venus is actually much more than just the planet of love and beauty; it's considered the embodiment of the soul's essence. Venus represents the substance of the soul, the harmony of beauty, and the talent for art. It symbolizes grace, intelligence in proportion and rhythm, and the principle of "relatedness."

This relatedness is crucial, as it's the expression of the soul of the world and the feminine aspect of Divinity. Venus acts as a vibratory field that resonates between different aspects of existence—between individuals ("me" and "you"), between the ego and the soul, and even between the unit and the universe.

When this resonance is ignited, it sparks love and reveals the soul's fire. This essence of Venus is always present, like an awaitingness for mutual "relevance" to emerge between seemingly indifferent parts of life. This relevance can manifest in various ways, such as when social interactions transform into genuine connections, when artistic endeavors become infused with deep feeling, or when nature's beauty evokes a profound response.

Venus symbolizes a latent field and flow of relatedness that permeates the fabric of the world. This concept is often symbolized by the infinity symbol (∞), which represents the structure of the Ajna center ruled by Venus, or by the number 8, associated with the soul principle and the Christ consciousness. This symbol of infinity reflects how the universe's life of relationship is the substance of its relative infinity.

The pentagram, or five-pointed star, also has deep symbolic significance in various esoteric traditions, including alchemy, astrology, and mysticism. Each point of the star represents one of the four elements – earth, air, fire, and water – with the fifth point symbolizing spirit or ether, the quintessence that unites the elements. The pentagram is often used as a symbol of protection, balance, and spiritual transformation.

Earth: Represents stability, materiality, and the physical realm.

Air: Symbolizes intellect, communication, and the realm of thought.

Fire: Represents passion, creativity, and transformation.

Water: Symbolizes emotions, intuition, and the subconscious.

The fifth point, symbolizing spirit or ether, represents the divine spark within each individual and the higher spiritual aspects that transcend the material world. Venus, as the harmonizing force, is associated with the pentagram because it represents the balance and unity of these elements. Venus's influence helps to bring these elements into equilibrium, fostering spiritual growth and transformation.

Taurus (April 20 - May 20): Venus is the ruling planet of Taurus, emphasizing qualities such as sensuality, stability, and material abundance. Taurus is associated with the earth element, reflecting Venus's connection to the physical world and its pleasures. Under Venus's influence, Taurus seeks comfort, security, and beauty in life, often valuing stability and the finer things in life.

Libra (September 23 - October 22): Venus is also the ruling planet of Libra, but here its influence is more focused on partnerships, diplomacy, and aesthetic pursuits. Libra is an air sign, reflecting Venus's influence on intellectual pursuits, social interactions, and the arts. Libra seeks balance, harmony, and beauty in relationships and the world around them, often valuing fairness, cooperation, and justice.

In both Taurus and Libra, Venus's influence enriches the symbolism of the pentagram, emphasizing the importance of balance, harmony, and transformation in both the material and spiritual realms. Venus's role as a ruling planet further highlights its significance in astrology and its impact on the human experience.

follow for more astro insights like this and support me over on yt @quenysefields or instagram sensualnoiree

[dimigo-cromwell]

First time holding hands

Writing type: Prompt

Pairing: Neuvillette x GN!Reader

Tags: A little blood because of a small cut caused by the criminals evil tomato-chan and dull Knife-san

"Will we ever hold hands?"

In the bustling city of Fontaine, Neuvillette's stature as a figure of authority loomed large, casting a shadow over the possibility of any intimate gestures, let alone the simple act of holding hands. His position dictated a certain decorum, where such displays were often misconstrued: holding hands in public? A gesture ripe with implications. In court? A subtle yet potentially damning manoeuvrer. The eyes of the people remained ever watchful, scrutinizing his every move.

Despite the familiarity with the concept of hand-holding, Neuvillette found himself seldom experiencing it first-hand. His hands, nimble and skilled, were in constant motion, tirelessly attending to the demands of his role. They navigated through stacks of papers with precision, deftly wielded pens to inscribe legal documents, and executed myriad tasks with efficiency. But the touch of another's hand, the warmth of human connection? Such moments were a rarity in his meticulously structured existence.

Perhaps the only beings in Teyvat to have felt his touch repeatedly are the Melusines, but with humans, such occasions are scarce. He observes others intertwining hands in displays of affection, solidarity, and camaraderie, while his own hands remain largely untouched by such connections.

And amidst the chaos of his responsibilities, amidst the relentless rhythm of his duties, his thoughts often wandered to you, his hands subconsciously yearning for a touch they had yet to fully experience.

On a particularly arduous day, weary from the weight of his obligations, Neuvillette found himself drawn to your presence. Shedding the trappings of his status - coat, shoes, and finally, gloves - he entered your shared space, a silent apology lingering on his lips for his absence.

Approaching you from behind, his hands instinctively reached for the glasses you struggled to retrieve. Yet, before he could fulfil the simple task, your hands intercepted his, a gentle interruption to his solitary rhythm.

"No need," you insisted softly, acknowledging the burdens he bore. "Let me help."

As your hands briefly connected, an unexpected warmth suffused through him. The texture of your skin, the delicate pressure of your touch - sensations alien yet strangely comforting.

Embarrassment tinged his cheeks as he cleared his throat, the unexpected intimacy momentarily unsettling. Yet, your reassurance dissolved his unease, your understanding a balm to his weary soul.

With practised grace, he set about arranging the table, a silent testament to his gratitude for your unwavering support.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. A small mishap befell you, a minor injury disrupting the tranquillity of the moment. Concern etched his features as he hastened to your side, his hands reaching out instinctively.

"Are you hurt?" he inquired softly, his gaze fixed on the tiny wound.

A nod was all the confirmation he needed, prompting him to retrieve a band-aid from a nearby drawer.

"May I?" he asked, extending his hand for yours, a silent request for permission.

With gentle precision, he tended to your injury, his hands deftly manoeuvring to apply the makeshift remedy.

As your fingers intertwined, a fleeting sense of connection blossomed between you, an unspoken acknowledgment of the bond shared in that brief moment.

"It's nothing," he murmured, his touch lingering a fraction longer than necessary.

A smile graced your lips, a silent expression of gratitude for his care. In that simple gesture, amidst the quiet intimacy of the moment, a flicker of something indefinable passed between you.

The mundane clamour of the kitchen interrupted the fragile equilibrium, drawing you both back to reality. With a reluctant release, you attended to the errant stove, while Neuvillette lingered, his thoughts still tethered to the warmth of your touch.

As you resumed your tasks, a newfound awareness lingered in the air, a subtle shift in the dynamics of your relationship. It was not the grandiose romance of epic tales, but rather a quiet acknowledgment of the significance found in the simplest of gestures.

And as the evening unfolded, amidst the clatter of dishes and the murmur of conversation, the memory of that fleeting touch remained etched in both your minds, a poignant reminder of the unspoken bond that bound you together.

Maybe this is not the perfect definition of holding hands, but it is worth more then words can describe

[bookuce]

Fools Rush In

SUMMARY: Nessa wasn’t looking for love, neither was Joe, but when you know, you know.

*DISCLAIMER: This is a multi-part series. I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OCs. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey, Jon is Jimmy, Trinity is Naomi, Joe is Roman. The book is not realistic and does not take place during real events, but some actual events (matches, storylines) could pop up in the story eventually. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *

PAIRING: Roman Reigns x Black OC

TROPE: Love At First Sight

WARNINGS: Language, Smut, 18+, NSFW

WORD COUNT: 2.5K

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER FOUR

The doors to the loft suite that Joe was staying in swung open to reveal the damp pair. Nessa enters before him, her eyes immediately shifting to the high ceilings above them. Her lips part, and she lets out a breath. “Wow,” she starts. “I have never been in a hotel room this big before.” She says, turning to face the large man behind her. He was dumping their clothes onto the L-shaped couch in the center of the suite. “Calling this a room would be an insult, right?” She asks, getting a chuckle out of him. “This is like a condo.” She corrects herself.

Joe glances briefly at the floor, an award-winning smile on his lips. “It can be whatever you want it to be,” He says humbly. “Room works.” He assures her. Vanessa turns away from him once more, now walking over to the wall of windows that overlooked downtown Miami. Reflections of lights below filled her eyes, brightening them more than ever. For the first time, she felt like a tourist in the city she’s known her entire life. It’s the same one she’s known for thirty-two years. Same buildings, same lights, same trees, same ocean, same night sky, but here, with him in this room, it felt different. Something felt different. 

And he’d agree. 

The dazzling smile he wore so perfectly melted as he watched her. He's now putting one foot in front of the other. He felt great turmoil as he slowly walked toward her. Though his mind was sure of what Joe was about to do, his heart was beating out of his chest. His head filled with the thunderous rhythm of his heartbeat, but the vigorous flutter made him feel like he was having an out-of-body experience. Perhaps he was.

Silence makes Nessa anxious, and it’s quiet behind her—a little too quiet. She turns, meeting his gaze for only a moment. His large hands were on her face, pulling her in for a grand kiss. Slowly, she sucked in a breath, her body finally catching up to what was happening. Her lips would move against his in that same passionate manner from before. Her hands find the center of his chest, her nails curving around the mounds of his collarbones as she felt him out. Her fingers curl against the thickness of his throat before her left arm takes the lead and wraps around his neck. His warm hands moved from her face, his knees bending as his palms quickly found the flesh of her under thighs. He hoists her up into his arms, her legs wrapping around his thick torso with ease.

Her right-hand travels up his shoulder and down his back, capturing water droplets. His skin was feverish compared to the icy touch of his wet locks against her skin. Despite the contrasting temperatures, goosebumps developed, stimulating her.

Joe swayed slightly with this kiss, his equilibrium getting the best of him. He felt as if he was teetering on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall into the unknown. He takes two steps forward, pinning the woman in his arms against the glass behind her. She breaks the kiss, a loud gasp leaving her lips as she arches off the chilled surface. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He apologizes frantically. His brown eyes were wide with guilt. He takes a few steps back from the glass. “Are you alright?” He asks.

“I’m fine,” she promises. “It just…startled me, that’s all.” She laughs slightly.

“Okay.” He nods once. 

Silence fell on the pair as they searched each other’s eyes. Their chests quickly rose and fell as they recovered from that head-swimming kiss. Vanessa brings her free hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Who was this man that had this beguiling hold on her? She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth. God, how can one man be so attractive, and what could he want with me? She thought. “Can I be honest?” He asks as if he could read her mind. 

Without a word, she nods, her eyes venturing down to his full lips. His lips appeared swollen and perfectly pink. “Would you…” He drifts off. Asking for sex was always awkward for him. “I mean, if you’d like?” He finishes. Consent was the number one rule of the game with Joe. He would do nothing she didn’t want him to do. If she just wanted to kiss all night, he would do that with no questions asked, no pressure given, but if she allows him to do this, he’ll make it an unforgettable evening for her. 

He didn’t have to finish his words for her to know what he was asking. He wanted her, and the feeling was mutual. She could feel her temperature rising by the second, the fever that Joe was feeling transferring to her. She’d release her bottom lip from her teeth, her body nearly screaming at her to allow him to put out the blaze that he started.

Slowly, she leans down, letting her lips hover over his. “I’m here, aren’t I?” she murmurs. If it weren’t for the glasses of wine, she probably wouldn’t be here in this room. She’d be in an Uber on her way home by now, and he would have let her go. Liquid courage prevails for both parties. Nessa presses a teasing kiss to his bottom lip. “Take me.” She tells him, now gently kissing his top lip.

Joe elongates his neck, closing that toying gap between the pair. Their lips reconnect for the third time tonight, but only briefly. He reluctantly parted from her, his head turning as he did so. His eyes darted around the room as if he had forgotten where he was. Brown eyes landed on the stairs that lined the east wall, his legs carrying them over to it. He ascends the steps quickly, taking two steps at a time.

Nessa glances behind them, watching as they quickly leave the first floor. She giggles, her legs tightening around the man.“Slow down. I’m not going anywhere.” She tells him. Joe stops at the top of the steps, a huff leaving his lips. His heart had an extra reason to soar thanks to the weighted cardio he had just endured. 

“I know, I know,” He breathes. “I’m just…” He drifts off when she pulls back to look at him. The moment their eyes meet, his thoughts leave. “Just…”

“Excited?” She finishes. He lifts his eyebrows at her, considering her word choice. He presses his lips together, pushing them up into his nose.

“Something like that.” He murmurs. 

Vanessa unwraps her arms from his neck, her small hands resting on either side of his face. He is one beautiful man, she thought. Though she wanted to tell him that, her brain would stop her. Joe is well aware of his beauty. He wakes up and looks at himself in a mirror every morning. Women probably jump at the opportunity to have his attention, and men likely envy him. Joe was undeniably handsome—there was no denying that. “Something like that.” She repeats. Her thumbs would brush over his cheekbones briefly before she leaned in to kiss him again. 

Joe could find his way to the bed now. It was a straight shot back, ten steps, and he would be there. One, he thought as he took the first step. He takes the next step, counting silently in his head with each step he takes. Nine, ten—. The front of his thighs hit the edge of the bed, informing him he had reached his destination.

He leans over and presses Nessa into the soft bedding beneath them, their lips still attached. His hands slide up the curves of her hips, his fingers wrapping around the elastic of her underwear. He breaks the kiss, standing from her. Joe taps her left hip, silently requesting to remove her undergarment. 

Without a word, Vanessa lifts her hips, allowing Joe to remove the damp panty clinging to her skin. He balls up the article of clothing and tosses it over his right shoulder. His hand would move between her legs, finding her warm, wet center. In response, she shivers at the feel of his hand against her. Two fingers would slide along her folds before slowly pushing into her. She sucked in a loud gasp as she squeezed Joe’s hips with her thighs, her back slightly arching off the mattress. He presses his right knee into the bed, leaning over her again.

Joe would kiss her lips to her cheek, trailing along her jawline, before burying his face in the softness of her throat. His thick fingers move slowly within her, pulling a scant breath from her with each thrust of his hand. He hungrily kisses her neck, biting and sucking to create little markings on her throat. 

Wow, they were really about to do this. Despite both previously deciding not to pursue this course of action, they ultimately ended up in bed together. Hypocrites. Drunken, lustful hypocrites. Oh well, this will be a problem for tomorrow if they want to consider it one. Either way, the pair would have to address it.

“Joe,” she moans, her hips moving against his hand now. Her breathing gradually became labored, her body feeling like a fire was consuming it. She was bound to orgasm soon. It had been so long since the last time she had even cared to be intimate with someone, and this feeling she was experiencing was not containable. His hand would quicken in pace, drawing her closer and closer to her climax. “Wait, wait…” she panted. She squeezes his hips with her thighs once more, her hips tensing as she does so. Toes would curl against the edge of the bed as Vanessa pushed her hips further into the mattress.

Her walls begin to spasm around his fingers as she cums. “God!” She exclaims, relaxing into the bed once more. Joe lifts his head from her throat, his dark hair covering their faces. Her chest rose and fell as she attempted to catch her breath. That was...wow. Their eyes would lock with each other only briefly. Joe removes his fingers from her, causing her eyes to flutter at the sensation. He brings his fingers to his mouth, slowly lapping her fluids from them. He maintained eye contact, humming at the taste while he did this.

That was the hottest thing she had ever seen before. Heat settled between her legs again, followed by a swelling pulse. Vanessa flips them over, trading places with the man now beneath her. She sits up in his lap, her hands grabbing the bralette she had on. She tugs it over her head, tossing it to the side to join her underwear on the floor.

Dark locks would perfectly frame themselves around his face as Joe stared up at the naked woman above him. His tongue would drag along his bottom lip at the sight. The growing bulge in his boxer briefs was aching to be free from its fabric confines. His hands would find her thighs, his thumbs caressing the skin beneath the pads.

Nessa reaches forward, her hand wedging between the bed and the back of his neck. She pulls the man up to her, their lips colliding in a ravenous kiss. Joe wraps a strong arm around her waist, lifting off the bed slightly. His other hand was peeling the elastic band of his underwear down, freeing his lower half from the piece of clothing. 

Without hesitation, Nessa reaches down between the pair. Her hand wraps around the shaft of his cock, positioning it at her entrance. She breaks the kiss, a shaky breath leaving her mouth as she lowers herself onto him. "Fuck," He breathes. Their foreheads gently pressed against each other in response to the feel. There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of soft panting as she started to move her hips. 

Her head drops back, exposing her throat to the man beneath her. His warm breath tickled her neck as his lips grazed its surface. Joe shudders slightly before allowing that muscle within his mouth to taste her skin. Though they just left a saltwater pool, she was surprisingly sweet on his tongue. At this moment, he decided to make it a mission to taste every inch of her tonight.

And so he did. It was an unforgettable night indeed. 

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

As if someone shouted at her to wake up, Vanessa's eyes opened suddenly. Her gaze meets the high ceilings above her. She blinked a few times before slowly turning her head towards the figure she was lying in bed with. Joe was sound asleep beside her, his hair shielding his face from sight. Her eyes widened as she quickly looked away from him. 

Oh God..., she thought, bringing her hand to her face. She pinches the bridge of her nose, gently shaking her head in disappointment. May the morning after regret commence. 

Carefully, she begins to remove herself from the bed. Joe's arm was draped across her body, holding her in place like a clip. Delicately, Nessa grabs his forearm and lifts it, careful not to disturb him. She gradually shimmies from the comfort of the bed. Once out of his arms and the bed, Nessa skims the room for her underclothes. She spots them on the opposite side of the room. 

She turned her attention back to Joe, watching him as she quietly made her way over to her bra and panties. She leans down slowly, her hands quickly snatching up the undergarments. Her heart beat thunderously in her chest as she peered behind her for the stairs. She descends them backward, keeping her eyes on the man sleeping peacefully in the bed on the second floor. Once he vanishes from her line of sight, she turns and rushes quietly down to the first floor. 

It has been years since the last time Vanessa had snuck out of a stranger's home. Seriously, it was a sport she ditched after college. Once her feet touched the first floor, Nessa put on her underwear. "What the fuck did you do?" She whispers angrily to herself as she moves through the living room. 

There was a dull aching behind her eyes from the alcohol she consumed the night before, and all the natural light pouring into this room was not helping her. Her clothes were draped over the back of the enormous couch that centered the room. She grabs the hoodie and sweatpants, quickly putting them on. Her phone was still in the deep right pocket of her pants. She fishes it out, immediately opening the Uber app. She needed to get out of here fast.

Her shoes were on against the wall next to the door. She slips them on, reaching for the door shortly after. With one last glance at the suite, she vanishes beyond the door.

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

A/N: AHHHHHH IT HAPPENED! THEY FINALLY HAPPENED!!! There was so many people who wanted this to happen in the last chapter, but I had plans! Plans that involved writer's block for several weeks at a time lmao. I won't lie to you, I been getting my ass kicked mentally for like a month now. Hopefully, everything will start looking up soon. Don't worry, it's just work that's got me drained.

Shout out to one of my friends for spamming me with nothing but Roman pictures for 5 hours to force me to finish this lmao

🏷️ list: @thesamoanqueen @whatdoeseverybodywant @headoftheetable @mzv11 @southerngirl41 @yana3sworld @wanderingreigns @wrestlingprincess80 @siriuslycee @vebner37 @astridxxxxxx @alichesmi @tshepisho @scarlettnoir01 @brokenglassslippers @reignsboy19 @sayyestoheav3nn @cyberdejos2 @empressdede @sisinever @truefant4sy @paigereeder @tbmotw @fearlesschimera @venusesworld @usoholic @sageispunk @bebesobrielo @jstarr86 @vibessonvibes @issahyland @fandomphasess @evilli0s 

[milkywayes]

dreamt a cipher - chapter 8: Retrace, Reproach

a shepard/garrus post-destroy ending longfic.

fic link // chapter link

Excerpt:

Shepard is feeling deceptively alive, slinking down the empty hallways with Garrus in tow. The rhythm of his gait tugs at her arm as she peers around corners and then presses ahead, leading them onward into treacherous territory, him almost on her six but not quite. When she reached for his hand, she wasn’t expecting him to let her take it. Not with the way he was standing, watching her, a carefully-maintained meter of distance between them that she first had to cross before making her overture. He tracked the movement of her hand with a level of focus that made her think he was following its trajectory with his visor, like it was a bullet he was debating whether or not to let hit. She couldn’t shoot him, she told him as much, but apparently he’d take the blow. At least he didn’t move a muscle as her fingers skimmed over his gloved palm, then wrapped around it, awkwardly for the difference in size. He let her drag him away from the door easily enough. His steps are silent beneath the loud shuffle-squeak of her boots. She’s overtired and still running on fumes and adrenaline, a walking hot wire—glances back at him once to find him already looking, the geometry of his face blank and stark. But when her sweaty grip on him threatens to slip, his fingers tighten just once to ensure that it doesn’t, and she finds her equilibrium again. They’re lucky it’s not yet dinner time. Shift change would flood the halls with people, all of whom are in the habit of gaping at her like she’s some kind of folk hero. The last thing she needs is having to explain to some brave busybody why she’s leading a turian past the living quarters he’s deliberately been barred from. The low voices coming from inside buzz at the nape of her neck like Sur’Kesh gnats; she tugs Garrus closer to her flank, and he goes without complaint. He hasn’t said much of anything since she took him by the hand. Neither has she. Coming to a stop now before the last set of doors, she’s beginning to think that might not have been smart.

-> continue reading on AO3.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Hi! :) was wondering I'd you could have someone get flirty...inappropriatly so with Mycroft then shows up to find him

@theweepingvulcan91 Thank you so much for this gift of a gif. It might have got away from me a little - Em.

The soft glow of the reading lamps illuminated the high ceilings and grand bookshelves of the Diogenes Club, casting long shadows that danced upon the richly decorated walls. Mycroft Holmes, his posture upright yet relaxed, was nestled in a plush armchair near the fireplace. The subtle crackling of the fire added a comforting backdrop to the scene, a stark contrast to the day's relentless demands.

The other members of the club, equally committed to the sanctity of silence, moved about with deliberate quietness, their footfalls muffled by thick carpets. Some were engrossed in their newspapers, others in their books, all sharing an unspoken agreement to preserve the tranquillity of the space.

Mycroft's evening reading was a well-worn ritual, a necessary retreat from the cacophony of his responsibilities. His sharp eyes scanned the pages methodically, each piece of information absorbed and catalogued with precision. The club's unique environment allowed him to process the day's events, each new fact or observation finding its rightful place in the intricate tapestry of his mind.

The atmosphere was one of serene detachment, a haven where even the most burdened of minds could find respite. As the fire continued its gentle murmur, Mycroft turned another page, the rhythm of his routine restoring the equilibrium that had been disturbed by the day's incessant challenges. Here, within the hallowed halls of the Diogenes Club, he found peace. That was until his phone vibrated, drawing his hawkish attention.

Mycroft's eyebrow arched as he glanced at the screen, his eyes narrowing slightly as he noted the sender. Shuffling through his mental rolodex, he realised this was that strange woman from acquisitions who always smiled at him. He barely said a word to her, and yet she always seemed to go out of her way to say hello to him.

He wondered how she had managed to acquire his private number. Mycroft prided himself on his meticulous control over his personal information, a necessity in his line of work. That she had pierced this veil of privacy irked him greatly. This imposition was an irritation, a security breach.

With a silent sigh, he leaned back in his chair, allowing the shadows of the flickering fire to play across his face. The club’s atmosphere, usually a fortress of calm, now seemed to buzz with a faint undercurrent of urgency. Perhaps this message was a necessity, something which required his immediate attention.

He opened the message, his expression becoming one of confusion.

"Did you miss me today, Mycroft?" read the message, followed by a winking emoji.

Mycroft's fingers tightened around his phone as he read the message again, disbelief warring with irritation. His mind raced, analyzing every interaction he had ever had with the woman from acquisitions. Each encounter had been brief, polite, and decidedly unremarkable—at least from his perspective. What had he missed? How had he overlooked someone slipping through his carefully constructed barriers?

He set the phone down on the mahogany table beside his chair, the flickering firelight reflecting off its screen. The message stared back at him, its casual tone completely at odds with the seriousness of his current predicament. Mycroft was not accustomed to being caught off guard, and the sensation was deeply unsettling.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. It would not do to let this minor breach unsettle him. He needed to address the situation methodically. His first step would be to ascertain exactly how she had obtained his private number. That would require some discreet inquiries—he had no doubt that the answer would reveal a lapse in his own protocols, and that was unacceptable.

For now, he had to respond. Ignoring the message was not an option; it would only embolden her to further intrusions. Mycroft picked up his phone again, considering his reply carefully. He needed to convey his displeasure without revealing too much, to reassert his boundaries firmly but without provocation.

After a moment of contemplation, he typed out a response:

"I believe you may have mistaken this number for a more public line. Please refrain from using it in the future. – M.H."

He sent the message and set the phone down once more, feeling a measure of control return. The fire crackled quietly beside him, and he let the warmth and the familiar surroundings of the club soothe his irritation. This would be dealt with swiftly, just like any other anomaly in his meticulously ordered world.

Unfortunately for Mycroft, the matter was far from settled. It appeared that once she knew this was indeed his number, it only encouraged her to send further messages. Each one was more flirty and suggestive than the last, making him feel increasingly uncomfortable. Despite his best efforts to ignore the texts and hope they would stop, they persisted, leaving him in a state of constant unease. Mycroft realized that he would need to take more definitive action to address the situation, but he wasn't quite sure what steps to take next.

Sherlock had asked you to stop by the Diogenes Club on your way home to drop off a file for his brother. As you entered the room, ignoring the glares that quite obviously not being a member earned you, your attention fell on the look of total frustration on Mycroft's face. His entire being practically vibrated with it. It was clear that something was deeply troubling him, and it wasn't just the breach of the club's strict non-communication policy by your presence. Mycroft, usually the epitome of calm and control, seemed to be battling an internal storm. His fingers drummed impatiently on the armrest of his chair, and his eyes, though focused on his phone, were filled with a mix of anger and discomfort. It was a rare sight to see the elder Holmes so unsettled, and you couldn't help but wonder what had pushed him to this edge.

As you approached, his phone vibrated. He looked at the screen and rolled his eyes, frustration rolling off him in waves.

"Trouble at work?" you queried, taking a seat opposite him. Your voice pierced through the silence, earning you more than a couple of black looks from other club members.

"Nothing I cannot handle," Mycroft huffed, his jaw clenching as his phone vibrated once again. The urge to throw the damned thing into the fire grew stronger with each low hum emanating from the blasted machine.

You glanced at his phone, then back at him. "It doesn't look like nothing," you remarked, your tone gentle but probing.

Mycroft's eyes flicked to yours, a mixture of annoyance and resignation in them. "Persistent... nuisance," he admitted, the words forced through gritted teeth.

You raised an eyebrow. "Anything I can help with?"

For a moment, he seemed to consider the offer, then shook his head. "No, but I appreciate the gesture. It's a personal matter that requires a delicate approach."

"I doubt a 'delicate approach' from a Holmes is possible," you said, raising an eyebrow and trying to suppress a grin.

The phone buzzed once more, breaking the moment. He reached out and grabbed it with such force that his knuckles turned white.

Without a word, you extended your hand, eyes locked on his. He hesitated but eventually handed over the phone, his gaze never leaving your face. As you scrolled through the messages, your eyebrows shot up and a smile tugged at your lips; the messages were becoming increasingly bold.

He watched, his curiosity piqued, as you typed a reply and hit send. Then, with a smirk, you handed the phone back to him.

He held it in his palm, expecting another buzz, another daring message in response to whatever you had sent. But the phone remained silent. Intrigued, he opened the message thread. A look of amusement spread across his features as he read what you had sent to his rather persistent admirer:

"Consider your approach noted. Best of luck, but persistence doesn't always equate to success. - someone with a much better approach to courting Mycroft Holmes."

[talonabraxas]

Seed of Life

In sacred geometry, everything starts with a circle seating at the center (at the void or the zero point). The first step of creation is to create a second circle that departs from the center to form a Vesica Piscis. These two circles are connected at their center and illustrate separation and the mirror of consciousness. By repeating this process 5 more times in a vortex motion, we obtain a pattern called

the Seed of life.

The Seed of Life is composed of 7 identical circles, 1 circle at the center and 6 circles around it. All circles that create the pattern of the Seed of Life fit together perfectly in their center. This placement/alignment symbolizes the perfect order of the universe. As we will expand the pattern of the Seed of Life to create the Flower of Life, you will see that this perfect order will continue.

These 7 circles are the core of creation. Together, they embody our 7 main chakras, the 7 notes in the musical scale, the rhythm of life (7 days per week), and the 7 visible colors of the rainbow. It is interesting to note that, even though one single circle is associated with white light, when apparent separation occurs the full spectrum of visible light becomes visible. Despite the apparent separation, white light can be found at the heart of the inner circle where all rays merge as one. These 7 colors are often referred to as the 7 rays of creation. Just as a seed, this symbol contains all the information and elements necessary for creation.

The Seed of Life is also associated with the 7 days of creation because the number 7 symbolizes a complete cycle of manifestation. From the pattern of the Seed of Life, we can draw the number 8 / the infinity sign. It depicts the infinite nature and potential of Spirit/creation. Also, the Seed of Life can be used to draw the yin-yang symbol to illustrate polarity and how each polarity balances the whole in perfect equilibrium.

Sacred Geometry, Seed of Life:

[tsunagite]

Doodles, mostly Arcaea

[hurtcomfortficstilltheend]

Swamp Oak

Charles Rowland x gn!Reader

Summary: A tranquil walk on a chilly morning with Charles.

Warnings; none, only fluff, a kiss maybe.

Word count: 770

You are walking down a dirt path overflowing with different tree leaves. You lazily wonder if you will be able to recognize at least one species, since you are so far from home. 

Charles' arm is linked to yours, he turns to look at you, puzzled, when you stop on your tracks and look up. “These are European oak trees.” 

“Mmh?” 

“Yeah, I don’t know what species exactly, haven’t studied them yet, but I know it’s European because of the soft edges of the leaves and the shape of the acorns.” You squat down to pick up a perfectly intact looking seed. It’s cupule still there and all. You stand back up, re-link your arms, and hand it to him. “Look.”

He takes it into his glove and inspects it as you pick up the pace once again. “I didn’t know there was more than one type of oak.” He rolls the seed between his fingers and then puts it in the pocket of his coat. His earring dangles with every step.

“Yeah, I started noticing them a few years back in my city. Santa Fe has a bunch of them scattered around the urban area, they aren’t native, of course. There is this one type that’s called swamp oak –from up north, I think– and it has the most beautiful acorns, they are almost spherical, dark with the cutest brown stripes. My sister and I used to play with them, pretending they were marbles.” You find him staring. “If I find some here I will show them to you, the acorns are right in season.”

He smiles, a glint of amusement in his eye, and you can’t help but look away. You bump your head against his shoulder. “What?”, he chuckles.

“You can tell me if I’m being annoying, you know that.” You smile at him, but feel suddenly like your expression is a facade. “I don’t mean to bore you.”

“You couldn’t if you wanted to. I love how your mind works. And I would love to see a swan oak one day, I can already tell they’re mint.”

You laugh at that, your worries dissipating. “It’s swamp oak, but yeah, I’m glad.” You feel your face heating up slightly, even in the chilly autumn morning.

You keep walking for a while. The park is beautiful, all browns, yellows and oranges, the drying leaves crunching beneath your boots. 

You look to your side. Charles notices and turns his whole body to face you. You are both grinning so bad.

“Hey”, you whisper, your hands climbing up his arms and finding a home in the nape of his neck.

“Hey”, he murmurs back, pulling you closer by the waist. 

You fit into each other's embrace so naturally, as if that’s exactly where you’re meant to be. 

“You have such beautiful eyes…”, he says softly, his breath fanning across your philtrum and tickling your lips.

“It’s central heterochromia.” He’s caught off guard, and starts laughing heartily, pulls you closer and hides his face on your shoulder. You hug him back and smile, but also kick yourself mentally for spoiling the moment. You can feel the vibrations of him trying to regain his breath all through your chest. “I’m sorry.” You pull away from him a little so you can see his face. “You can kiss me now.”

It’s sweet and innocent. His lips are soft and his curls more so. Your noses brush as you both take a breath, and you take it as a perfect opportunity to add: “Heterochromia sounds so fancy, but It’s not even that rare–” He pecks your lips, a smile on his. You can’t contain your excitement.

You wonder how odd it would be to step away for a little bit to run a few laps and do a little victory dance, but you decide to contain yourself and hug Charles instead. You start tapping rhythms in his back, and he gets the hint to hold you tighter. You are completely full right there and like that, the sun coming up behind you and the first rays promising some warmth. You are just fine though, Charles sharing his and you yours, in perfect equilibrium.

“Do you want to go grab some tea?” He asks you, still engulfed in the embrace.

Your face is squished into the side of his neck, so your voice comes out a little muffled. “Sounds nice. In a little bit though.” 

You start swaying, not quite dancing, but as close as you’re gonna get without some music. You feel completely at peace, your rumbling stomach can wait a few. 

He hums. “Brills.”

.

.

.

A/N: Autumn and college are kicking my butt, i wrote this as a little treat :P

Tell me what you think! Feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[frostfires-blog]

Módào Zǔshī Hanakotoba Analysis Part 2

◤━━━━━━━━━◥✿◤━━━━━━━━━◥

-> 4) Lotus/Water Lily

-> 4.1.) Lotus/Water Lily Flower Symbolism:

Despite having a few differentiating characteristics, lotuses (Nelumbo nucifera) and water lilies (Nymphaea) are often confused with one another. As a result, there is a lot of overlap in their symbolic meanings, to the point that they convey the same sentiments across multiple cultures. In China, lotuses are known as lián huā (蓮花) or hé huā (荷花), whereas water lilies are known as shuìlián (睡莲) and héhuā (荷花).  Lotuses are known as the "gentleman's flower" in China because they grow upwards pure and unstained from the mud. The flower is thus associated with perseverance, elegance, resilience, as well as ultimate purity of mind and heart. The lotus is revered as a sacred flower in Buddhism, representing the essence of divine beauty, wisdom, humility grace and rebirth. It is also a sign of moral integrity, emphasising the importance of maintaining inner purity and virtuous behaviour in the face of worldly temptations. The word “l蓮” (lián) also sounds like “連續” (liánxù) which means continuous. This conveys the idea of constant growth and spiritual progress thus making the lotus a symbol of the continuous pursuit of knowledge, wisdom, and enlightenment. The lotus also has profound significance in Taoism, representing serenity, balance, and the "interconnectedness of all things and the inherent harmony within the universe".  The lotus' adaptability to various environments embodies the Taoist concept of living in harmony with nature, flowing with life's rhythms, and preserving equilibrium in the face of change. Additionally, the lotus' ability to rejuvenate and blossom year after year, despite the shifting seasons, represents the continuous cycle of life, death, and rebirth. Part of the lotus flower’s Chinese name “l蓮” (lián) is homophonous with the words “聯” (lián) meaning “to bind/connect as in marriage”; “戀” (liàn) meaning to love; and “廉” (lián) meaning modesty. As a result, the lotus flower has also come to symbolise union, love and marriage in Chinese culture and is thus a prominent motif in both historical and modern works to convey love and emotion. Lotuses are commonly used in bridal bouquets as a symbol of luck and 100 years of love.  A single stem bearing two lotus flowers represents the desire for harmony and a shared heart. This is derived from the fact that the “荷” (hé) in the lotus’ other Chinese name also means “union” and is homophonous with the word “和” (hé) meaning uninterrupted or one after another. Furthermore, a lotus flower with a leaf and bud symbolises complete union. In Japan, lotuses are called ren (蓮) or hasu (はす), while water lilies are called suiren (睡蓮). In hanakotoba, lotuses symbolise a pure heart, eloquence, sacredness and departing love—while water lilies symbolise a pure heart, faith and trust. Additionally, both flowers are also associated with rebirth, transformation, enlightenment, beauty, grace, and perfection. In Western floriography, water lilies symbolize purity of the heart, virtue, innocence, achieving great things, beauty rising from humble beginnings and bringing together separate things. Pink waterlilies are commonly associated with feelings of admiration. Since its scientific name was derived from the mythical Greek nymph, water lilies also symbolise dangerous beauty and estranged love.

-> 4.2.) Lotus'/Water Lilies in MDZS:

Lotuses are the most commonly referenced flower in MDZS, and they are generally associated with the Yunmeng Jiang clan. This is due to the clan's insignia, a nine-petaled lotus, as well as the name of their residence, Lotus Pier. According to the novel, the compound is surrounded by “pink blossoms with broad jade-green leaves rose from the depths of the lake, whose waters spanned hundreds of kilometres […] giving the lovely scenery a sort of charming innocence” (MXTX, v. 3, p. 9).

The lotus’ symbolic meanings best embody the characters of Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian. > 4,2,1) Jiang Yanli: The flower's symbolic representation of virtue, modesty, innocence, beauty, faith, grace, and purity of the heart perfectly conveys Jiang Yanli's kind and caring demeanour. Jiang Yanli's relationship with Jin Zixuan is a key aspect of her character. The lotus' symbolism of love, union, marriage, and a shared heart corresponds with this. Additionally, in both the web drama and MDZS Q, Jin Zixuan grows lotus flowers as a gift for Jin Yanli. > 4,2,2) Wei Wuxian: Wei Wuxian's life can be divided into three parts: his time as the first disciple of the Jiang clan, his time as the Yiling Laozu, and his life after his resurrection as Mo Xuanyu. During his youth with the Jiang clan, he was a promising upcoming cultivator with a humble background. Despite displaying a mischievous and carefree attitude, he was intelligent, dedicated, virtuous and possessed a strong sense of justice. This ties into the lotus’ symbolism of flowing with life's rhythms, wisdom, perseverance, virtue and beauty from humble beginnings. As the Yiling Laozu, he defies convention by developing an unorthodox cultivation path that deviates from the norm. This corresponds with the lotus' symbolism of the continuous pursuit of knowledge, wisdom and achieving great things. He is determined to protect the innocent regardless of prejudicial beliefs—however, this sense of justice renders him capable of brutality at times. This is what inevitably results in him being seen as an outcast in the cultivation world. Ultimately, his power overwhelms him, causing many casualties given that “no one can walk along a single-plank bridge their entire lives and never fall” (MXTX, v. 2, p. 173). This turn of events all juxtaposed against the lotus’ symbolism of preserving stability in the face of change and achieving ultimate purity of mind and heart. After his resurrection, as a result of his experiences as both a hero and a pariah to the cultivation world, Wei Wuxian sees nuance where many do not and often expresses regret and admits his faults—“You’re not the only ones who remember what I’ve done. I remember too. You won’t forget—what makes you think I will?” (MXTX, v. 4, p. 174). This ties into the lotus’ symbolism of wisdom, constant growth and spiritual progress as well as the continuous cycle of life, death, and rebirth. Additionally, his courtesy name Wuxian (无羡) is derived from the last line of a poem by Xu Ben which translates to “to be free of envy and aspire to greater heights; not be misguided by honorary reputation and personal gain”. This ties into the lotus’ symbolism of maintaining inner purity and virtuous behaviour in the face of worldly temptations.

-> 5) Peony

-> 5.1.) Peony Symbolism:

Peonies (Paeonia) are known as mǔdān (牡丹) in China and were regarded as China’s national flower during the Tang Dynasty (618 to 907 A.D.). In accordance with this, they symbolise prosperity, honour, wealth and beauty, love and happiness. The Chinese term for peonies means "the most beautiful” while other Chinese names for peonies are "fùguìhuā" and "huawang," which translate to "king of the flowers" and "flower of riches and honour," respectively. In Japan, peonies are called botan (牡丹) and symbolize shyness, wealth and regalness in hanakotoba. The flower's profound appearance, notably its multitudes of large petals that are thin and silk-like, is where the peony’s symbolism of wealth and regalness originated. In Western floriography, peonies represent bashfulness and compassion.

-> 5.2.) Peonies in MDZS:

In the series, a white peony cultivar named “Sparks Amidst Snow” is used as the symbol of the Langling Jin Clan. It is said that “by comparing themselves to the king of flowers, they implied they were kings among immortals” (MXTX, v.1, p. 65).  This ties in with the peony flower’s symbolic meanings of prosperity, wealth, honour and regalness. Furthermore, pink peonies are often associated with the novel’s central love story between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. During the Siege Hunt at Mount Baifeng, Wei Wuxian throws a pink peony to Lan Wangji amidst the parade. Later, while on a trip to Yunmeng, the latter once again encounters Wei Wuxian who throws him another pink peony. In this audio drama adaptation of this scene, Wei Wuxian asks a ghost woman what the meaning of peony is, and she responds that it means "wishing you would return my feelings" or to part with a heavy heart." Years later, following Wei Wuxian's death and resurrection, he finds a pressed peony flower that Lan Wangji uses as a bookmark. This peony was noted by Wei Wuxian as being “extremely well preserved, [with] the colours still vivid and the veins on its petals so delicately textured that it still looked alive” (MXTX, v. 3, p. 191). Given Lan Wangji's sentimental nature, this peony is undoubtedly one of those given to him by Wei Wuxian. The flower’s association with the pair ties into its symbolic meanings of love, compassion, and happiness.

-> 6) Willow Tree

-> 6.1.) Willow Tree Symbolism:

Willow trees are known as liǔ (柳) in China. They are regarded as a symbol of friendship, long-lasting affection, and "urging someone to stay." Willow trees are also connected with spring, therefore they can represent renewal, resilience, the cyclical cycle of existence and the revival of life after a dormant period in winter. Additionally, the willow tree's supple branches can convey an image of meekness and humility. The willow tree's interwoven branches symbolise the depth of friendship because similarly to how branches connect and support one another, genuine friendship is also based on trust, understanding, and mutual support. The willow tree is also associated with separation from loved ones, prompting feelings of sorrow and longing. Willow branches are commonly utilised in Chinese funeral rites as a symbol of grief and remembrance. Willows, known in Japan as yanagi (柳), represent obedience, independence, and the melancholy of love in hanakotoba. The willow’s symbolism of obedience is derived from how its leaves sway in the wind. In contradiction with this, its symbolic meaning of freedom also stems from how freely its leaves sway in the wind. In Western floriography, willows are associated with both freedom and sadness. Weeping willows in particular represent grief, melancholy, and mourning.

-> 6.2.) Willow Trees in MDZS:

Given its symbolic meanings, willow trees can be associated with Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian’s complicated, but strong dynamic. This is supported by Wei Wuxian specially mentioning a willow tree when remising about his youth spent in Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng—“there was an old willow tree rooted on the bank, with a thick, sturdy trunk that slanted over the water and branches that trailed onto its surface. The boys of Lotus Pier would often walk along the trunk of this particular willow tree to sit and fish from the treetop” (MXTX, v. 3, p. 109). While the duo's bond started as one of trust, support, and mutual understanding, it has distorted into one of melancholy, mourning, and longing. This juxtaposition encompasses all of the willow's connotations across various cultures. The willow’s association with spring, renewal, resilience and revival could be indicative that Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian’s bond could be repaired if given time, considering that they never properly reconciled because of Jiang Cheng’s reluctance—“But just as the Wei Wuxian of the past who’d extracted his golden core for Jiang Cheng had been unable to tell him the truth, the Jiang Cheng of the present could no longer bring himself to speak up” (MXTX, v. 5, p. 127).

◣━━━━━━━━━◢✿◣━━━━━━━━━◢

╰┈➤ Part 1

╰┈➤ TGCF Hanakotoba Post Part 1

╰┈➤ Other Hanakotoba Posts

[Please check out part 1 as well! If anyone has any ideas on what anime/anime theme song I should cover next in this series please lmk✿ Also, if you liked this post, check out my other hanakotoba analysis posts... Lastly, if I've gotten any of the kanji, romaji, hanzi or pinyin incorrect, feel free to correct me]

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

RE: Gallifreyan Autism;

Telepathic stimming?

How does stimming work for Gallifreyans?

💫 Telepathic Stimming in Gallifreyans

Here’s how it theoretically could work:

Mind Resonance Patterns: Autistic Gallifreyans might create rhythmic mental patterns, similar to humming or tapping, within their telepathic fields. These patterns help soothe their minds and maintain focus.

Telepathic Echoes: Some might generate faint telepathic echoes that bounce back to their own minds, creating a calming feedback loop. This resembles how some humans might use repetitive sounds or motions.

Psychic Tuning: Adjusting the ‘frequency’ of their telepathic signals could serve as a form of stimming. This involves fine-tuning their psychic energy to create a sensation of mental equilibrium.

Mental Imagery Constructs: Creating complex mental images or scenarios can be a form of telepathic stimming. These constructs provide a mental playground where they can engage in repetitive, soothing activities.

Telepathic Harmony: Synchronising their telepathic signals with others in a shared mental 'hum' might provide comfort and a sense of connection.

🖐️ Stimming for Main Senses

Gallifreyan senses are highly developed, so stimming can involve them too:

Sight: Gallifreyans might engage in visual stimming by focusing on shifting light patterns or holographic displays. Their advanced vision allows them to perceive intricate details, providing a source of visual comfort.

Sound: With their broad auditory range, they might create or listen to specific frequencies or rhythms that provide auditory stimming. This could include something like the hum of their TARDIS engines.

Touch: Tactile stimming might involve interacting with textured materials or using devices that provide gentle, rhythmic pressure. The sensitivity of their skin enhances this experience.

Smell and Taste: Gallifreyan olfaction and taste are incredibly sensitive. They might use scented objects or flavoured substances to engage in stimming, finding comfort in familiar, pleasant scents and tastes.

🔮 Stimming for Somatic Senses

Thermoception: Gallifreyans might use temperature changes for stimming, such as holding a warm or cool object or purposeful regulation of their body temperature.

Nociception: Gentle, controlled pain stimuli like pinching or pressure could serve as a form of stimming, helping to regulate their sensory input.

Equilibrioception and Gravitoception: Rocking or swaying motions might help them maintain a sense of balance and grounding.

Mechanoreception and Magnetoreception: They might use magnetic or vibrational devices that provide consistent, soothing feedback.

🕰️ Stimming for Time Sense

Temporal Rhythms: Gallifreyans might create or focus on rhythmic time patterns, such as the ticking of a clock or the regular pulse of a chronometer.

Chronopsionic Meditations: Engaging in meditative practices that involve visualising the flow of time could help them achieve a calming state.

Time-Sensitive Imagery: Visualising timelines or time streams, perhaps in artistic forms like temporal sculptures, can provide a source of mental stimming.

🏫 So ...

Gallifreyan autism gets a whole new host of possible stims, including telepathy, and this list is definitely not exhaustive. But remember each Gallifreyan is unique, and their stimming behaviours will reflect their individuality and the complexity of their senses.

Related:

Are Gallifreyans naturally autistic?: Exploring autism and its rate of occurrence in Gallifreyans.

Can Gallifreyan autism affect telepathic/psychic development?: Exploring how autism could impact Gallifreyan development.

Hope that helped! 😃

More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[spiralizera]

buzzcut season

Summary: Namjoon x reader. Self-explanatory

warnings/notes: established relationship, depression, hurt/comfort, mild suggestion, a shower, this was so self-indulgent, and by self-indulgent I mean I wrote it at 4am when I had to be up at 6am

———————————————————————

‘Ready?’

You hold Namjoon’s eyes in the mirror as you stand behind him. He sits in front of you, shirt off with a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He looks at you with firm determination.

‘You still sure you want to do this? You can always change your mind. No one has to know.’

A flicker in his eye. You would know, you knew everything. It terrified him sometimes how much of him, all of him, you held in his hands. But you kept your face open, loving and non-judgemental. No one would know because as far as you were concerned you were no one, this was nothing. As in, this room, you and him, did not exist outside this moment. Two separate planes of existence where the outside world could not begin to fathom, let alone touch the tiny world you’d crafted between each others touch and gaze. No one would know if he failed. Again.

——————————————————————

Joon had come to you that morning. You’d been waiting for days. He’d not been in a good place for months. The growing number of hours at the studio, the obsessive workouts, the half written lyrics left absently around the house, the holding onto you at night like a life raft. He wouldn’t talk. You didn’t push. You made sure he ate, got some sleep; held him and told him simple things about your day. You were there in the hopes that he would soon join you.

Then, he came to your desk and knelt by your side, placed his head in the crook of your hip joint. You ran your fingers through his glossy hair before pressing your lips to his head. Some days he did this and you let him sit there for what felt like hours as you wrote your notes. It was a peaceful equilibrium only interrupted by the afternoon sun sifting through the curtains. Today there was a charge. If you didn’t hold on, it felt like he might take off, or fall apart. There was an energy. It was good. It had to be.

‘I need you to do something for me.’

You hummed, keeping a steady rhythm.

‘I need you to shave my head.’

He raised his head, eyes a little woozy from the blood rushing to his cheeks. Your hands followed them, cupping the skin as you searched his gaze.

Not a question. A need.

‘Ok.’

‘I need you to cut it all off.’

‘Ok,’ you repeat, as softly as you thumb his cheeks.

His gaze is hard and his eyes are bright. You slip to the floor, not moving your hands from his face and landing between his thighs. He pulls at your waist, gets you as close as he can.

‘Ok Joon. We can do that.’

———————-————————————

You do eventually talk about it. As you make the coffee you listen as he takes you through all his thinking. There’s so much of it and you can’t help but smile. Of course he would overanalyse this small act of rebellion into oblivion.

You touch his hip as you hand him a cup. ‘It’ll feel good.’ Simple language felt right, grounding. You weren’t going to question him, he did enough of that on his own.

‘I did it a couple of years ago. It felt good to let go like that.’

His eyes slightly widened. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ you traced the rim of your own cup. It was strange to find pockets of yourself that he didn’t know. You forgot sometimes, forgot that he hadn’t burrowed into and fused with every cell of your body and all its rotten, gorgeous histories. It sure felt that way. You were quick to remedy the fact.

You’d been going through a rough time. But that didn’t necessarily feel relevant to the shaving. It’d been difficult to tell when the rough time had started, long before the head shaving. But it was easy in retrospect to string together the expected narrative. You’d actually been feeling good that summer. It’d felt empowering. You’d been giddy. Friends watched in a neat line on the sofa as you committed the fateful act. It became a ritual then, an occasion. Ask a different friend each time to shave and then eventually bleach your head. A gesture of trust. An excuse to have dinner and catch up in a city that was hostile to such acts of tenderness. But it’d also been a form of armour, a repellent. One you only began to recognise when you let it grow out again. When you’d let it grow soft and it’d start to graze your shoulders, only then did you realise how hard you had been. You didn’t want to be a cliche. But again, it’s easy to fall into such things in retrospect.

Namjoon listened as he buried his face into your hair. It was thinner than his, but curly at the ends and you had a lot of it. He liked how he could grab a fistful and feel it disappear into the nothing at the end. Like silk or water.

‘Do you think I’m crazy?’ He asked into your neck.

You shook your head and he got a wave of heady perfume.

‘No. I think you’re sad.’

You’d never said it so simply before. It cut to the quick of what he’d been circling for months. His hands slightly tightened around your hips and you could feel the way his chest hitched. You turned around, tracking his fingertips on your waist as you grasped his cheeks.

‘And that’s ok. Change is good. We don’t know what it will bring but the act of choosing something, choosing for yourself, for better or worse, is one of the best things you can do.’

He closes his eyes, the tears caught in his throat, and you kiss his eyelids like a shrine.

‘I love you.’ You pull his head towards you slightly and press your forehead to his. ‘I love you and I promise everything will be ok.’

He nods slightly, his forehead bumping against yours and you can’t help but laugh at the small ‘ow’ that escapes his lips.

——————————————————————

You started at the neck where his hair was already short, giving him that final window to back out if he needed.

He stared hard into the mirror like man heading to war. You couldn’t help but break the tension and eventually went straight through the middle of his head. Black swatches fell to the floor and a noise escaped your mouth as you both stared at the consequences. A trench ran straight through the middle of his thick hair. For one long second, both of your faces were a gobsmacked mirror, frozen in disbelief, before Joon cracked with a laugh. He grabbed the clippers off you and repeated the action. His smile growing bigger and you couldn’t help but giggling as you watched him attack his head.

He’d been fastidious about his appearance for years, everyone had. Now it was all gone.

You went in afterwards and evened it out, neatened the edges, touching the soft velvet of a fresh buzzcut with growing compulsion.

Joon had closed his eyes, his brow as soft as his smile as he cherished every touch you stole against his new scalp.

When you finished, you kissed the top of his head. And then his temples and the nape of his neck until he swatted you away and opened his eyes.

He looked and felt lighter. He felt like he was seeing himself for the first time in months. You caught his eye and couldn’t help but catch the grin that was threatening to split his face in half.

Before you could stop him, he’d grabbed you and pulled you into his lap. You squealed and complained about all the hair in your mouth and across the bathroom. He ignored you and whispered thank you into your neck like a mantra. You eventually settled and pulled away to get a proper look. You placed your hands on his chest and felt that heartbeat for what felt like the first time in months.

You kept looking at each other. Not saying anything but occasionally ducking heads into smiles like crushing teenagers.

Despite the vehement protests, Joon picked you up then. Hooking your thighs around his waist and crushing his lips to yours. Holding you and refusing to let go, he grappled his way to the shower. Steam quickly fogging the glass. He pressed you against the cold tiles, your clothes soaking thin, and touched you in ways that he hadn’t in months.

‘Thank you’ he kept repeating, peppering your skin with it, breathy and high with adrenaline. You laughed and ran your fingers against the grain of his scalp, felt his hands tighten on your thighs.

‘Show me how thankful you are.’