#64matty

[64yrsold]

64yrsold masterlist i’m bel (she/her) ❤︎

18+ blog. taglist. please be sure to read content warnings (cw) on my masterlists! hope you enjoy reading, i love hearing from you.

-> most recent: 8. eggnog and mulled wine (wintering)

SACCHARINE

oneshots of a sweet domestic life together. (fluff and teasing) ✴︎ saccharine masterlist my favourites from saccharine

ACHES

completed. the bittersweet experience of being in love, being in love forever. (contains smut) ✴︎ aches masterlist first update: 1. january final update: 28. honeymoon -> bonus: lassitude (smut)

WINTERING

ongoing. the holidays push two exes back in each other's lives. ✴︎ wintering masterlist

matty healy oneshots:

writing challenge to write new themes and classic tropes! (smut and fluff) ✴︎ write anything that you want to week

ross macdonald oneshots:

play with me finding your ex right where you want him, an empty bar. (smut) ✴︎ part 1 ✴︎ part 2

[64yrsold]

I hold my coffee with two hands, and take tiny sips as he shuffles around the kitchen, stirring his tea. He slumps beside me on the window seat, and kisses me hello on the top of my head.

“Good morning, good morning,” he mumbles, still jet lagged and tiresome.

“Hello,” I smile, and tuck into my spot on his shoulder. “And how is the tea?”

“Mm, shitty. But warm.” He takes a sip, “Why is yours always better?”

“I add more honey.”

“My sweet one,” he squeezes my arm.

“Ugh,” I roll my eyes, kicking his leg gently.

“My sweetest sunbeam,” he smirks. Now he’s set his tea down. “My inspiration and daily prayer,”

“Please, god,” I roll my eyes. He grabs the coffee from my hands. He takes a quick sip, and his face softens.

“Oh this is good,” he nods. “Hm. Right, where was I?”

“My north star, my radiant wife,” I continue monotonously. He nods, holding a finger in the air.

“My gorgeous, radiant wife, my oxygen and light, my sun, stars, moon, and shelter,” he pronounces, wrapping his arms around me in a hug. He kisses my cheeks and chin and forehead with each word.

“My everything! My world and hope! My future and past, all together, my dreams personified.” We’re both laughing hysterically, the morning sun warming his skin for me.

“I love you,” I wink, and brush my fingers over his face, “Look at you,”

“Look at me,” his mouth could split from his smile. I hold him gently as he gazes at my face, and it seems like I’m seeing him all at once.

Then he heaves me over his shoulder, into the kitchen.

“Alright darling, please make me a fucking coffee,” he laughs, and I kick my feet and laugh with him.

[64yrsold]

Inside your mind

“And I would split it right here,” he said, dragging a finger down my forehead to my nose.

I raised an eyebrow.

“You already know everything,” I sighed, “I have no secrets left.”

His eyes glossed, looking up to the left. His index finger slipped to my temple.

“But I’ll never see everything,” he blinked. “I want to lay it all out in front of me, and connect strings to the thoughts scattered in your head, and see the starburst of thread leading to the center.”

“Mm,” I nodded, and mirrored him, placing my fingers on the side of his head. “And what do you think my most central thought is?”

He knew I was teasing. He frowned and moved closer. He was warm and playful.

“I’m humble enough to know it couldn’t be me,” he looked straight into my eyes, “But really. Isn’t it me.” It was a statement in a sigh.

I couldn’t help but laugh, and wrapped my fingers around his neck, shaking him gently until he buried his face into my chest, laughing and giggling into my sternum.

“My every breath and thought sing the chorus of your name, my dear” I announced, threading my fingers between his curls. “My heart beats in your rhythm, my thoughts are circling your hands and binding them.”

“Oh disgusting,” he looked up at me to sneer, “Pretend to be the poet, darling.”

He rolled to pull me over him. I rested my chin on his chest, and I rose and fell with his heart. After a while, I turned my head to the side. I closed my eyes, safe and surrounded.

“I see you all in white, with red roses, and red hands,” he whispered. “I slip the ring over your knuckle and ignore the blood, now on my hands. I’m grasping your hands, both of them, and you say what you say, and I fling you over my shoulder.”

“I’ll take the blood,” his voice is quieter. “God, I would endure anything.”