#dissipation and decadence

[is-the-19thcentury-man-okay]

Help! My 19th century man found my dab pen after I left it out and now won't stop asking me about it!

Oh dear! He hasn't, by any chance, seen the dab pen in use, has he? You may have engaged his natural fascination with novelty smoking devices!

If a 19th century man isn't trying to "properly colour" his meerschaum, he may be attracted to the exotic Turkish chibouk!

Now that you have opened a Pandora's box of vaping, you will need to establish boundaries. Try directing your 19th century man to etiquette books that will encourage him to avoid smoking (reassure him that your dab pen is the same sort of thing, despite the futuristic lack of flint and steel). Monitor his indulgence before you have a victim of pleasure on your hands!

[cappucosmic]

I think that once it's all said and done, Shi Qingxuan probably feels melancholic when looking at the ocean.

[halffizzbin]

It’s that time of year again! When everyone starts going AH ISN’T FALL GRAND!! THE COOL CRISP SNAP OF FALL!!!! and I’m like

[lvmimis]

"You follow her around like a dog, man," Sero says finally, and even if the surrounding ballroom chatter doesn't cease for a moment as the table set for ten starts to receive their first course salads, the parallel conversations among the group of old friends halt abruptly to a stop. Eijiro gives Sero a raise of the eyebrow, then turns to Katsuki, expecting to have to mitigate his hot temper.

The latter clearly has heard the jeer, but he's not the same as perhaps a decade ago, where any one of Sero's teasing comments could have set him off. Glancing back for a second in the direction where you left just moments ago to go to the bathroom, followed by most of the other women at the table, he then turns to look directly at Sero.

"Yeah, that's love, right?" he says, calmly.

Kirishima blinks for a moment, incredulous, then exchanges a look with Kaminari beside him.

Katsuki, as if he hasn't said something highly uncharacteristic of himself, reaches for a bread roll in the middle of the table and then a butter knife.

"You didn't see me follow her into the bathroom, did you?" he adds. Sero snorts, but leans back into his chair.

"I mean no, but-"

Katsuki smears butter on the roll, and sets it on your empty plate, then takes another piece of bread to and butters it the same before taking a bite.

"But what?" he asks. The edge to his voice is back, something that paradoxically puts Sero back at ease.

"It looks strange on you," Denki finally points out.

Katsuki chews for a moment, then swallows, his eyes making a quick scan across the room. At another table, Midoriya's partner is focused on adjusting the lapel of his suit, and at yet another table, Iida is trying to convince Mei to keep her gadgets off the table before the MC starts another toast.

The bride and groom continue to cruise around the venue, and Katsuki cannot stop thinking about how beautiful you would look in that exact dress.

Or something of your own.

"I just can't imagine what the fuck she did-" Sero starts again before Eijiro cuts him off.

"Just knock it off for a second," he says, gently but assertively. Katsuki doesn't pay any mind to him as he observes the table favors.

These flowers are beautiful, but they aren't your favorite. They're gorgeous, but made of plastic while you'd prefer hundreds of real ones.

You've told him small weddings feel more intimate. This wedding isn't in the right season for you, but it's your second choice. You don't yet know how many people will be in the bridal party but you've floated some ideas.

You don't yet have a ring on your finger.

The many thoughts dissipate when your hand rests gently on his shoulder as you slip back into the seat next to him.

"Oh, they didn't bring out the food yet," you say, and Katsuki points to the bread on your plate, reminding you to eat.

His friends are captive audiences as you smile and take a bite, and perhaps horrified as he smiles back warmly, genuinely.

Love does look strange on him, perhaps.

But they'll have to get used to it because it will not go away.

[freakycore]

🎧 now playing: queen never cry

ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

sukuna’s queen should never cry. so when he finds her in tears, he’s ready to unleash his wrath— only to be met with a situation he never expected.

sukuna never believed there was a force in this world that could bring him to his knees— until he saw you crying.

the faint sound of muffled sniffles greeted him as he stepped into your shared chambers. his crimson eyes narrowed, searching for the source. then he saw you, perched on the edge of the bed, your face buried in your hands, shoulders trembling with each shaky breath.

his chest tightened, a feeling he didn’t recognize—or perhaps refused to admit—clawing at his heart. who dared to hurt her? his jaw clenched, and his cursed energy began to crackle in the air.

“who did this to you?” sukuna’s voice thundered through the room, sharp and biting, his rage barely contained. “tell me, and I’ll flay them alive. I’ll make them beg for—”

“it’s not a person!” you interrupted, looking up at him with teary eyes.

his fury faltered for a moment as confusion replaced it. he stalked closer, crouching before you so he could see your face. his large hands cupped your cheeks, rough thumbs brushing away stray tears. “then what is it?” he growled.

your lip quivered as you tried to form the words. “i… i dropped my favorite dessert.”

sukuna blinked. once. twice. his expression was blank, but his crimson eyes burned with disbelief.

“you’re crying… over that?”

“yes!” you wailed, fresh tears spilling over. “it was the last one, and i was saving it for today! and now it’s gone!”

the room was silent for a beat. sukuna’s hands dropped from your face as he straightened, his cursed energy dissipating into the air. he crossed his arms, his lips pressing into a tight line as his eyes bore into you. “you mean to tell me i nearly destroyed this entire palace… over a shit of sugar?”

you sniffed, your watery gaze meeting his. “it was a really good shit of sugar..”

for a moment, sukuna said nothing, his temple visibly throbbing as he tried to process the situation. then he let out a harsh, frustrated groan, dragging a hand down his face. “you’re insufferable,” he muttered.

despite his irritation, he reached out and pulled you into his lap, cradling you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. “stop crying,” he ordered, voice gruff but quieter now. “queens never shed tears over something pathetic.”

you let out a soft laugh, burying your face in his chest. “you’re so cute when you’re mad.”

sukuna froze, his scowl deepening. “excuse me?”

“ you heard me,” you teased, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. your fingers lightly traced the sharp lines of his jaw, and despite himself, sukuna leaned into your touch.

“you’re lucky i adore you,” he muttered under his breath, his arms tightening around you protectively. “otherwise, i’d throw you out for being this ridiculous.”

but as much as he grumbled, you knew he wasn’t truly angry. later that evening, when he thought you weren’t paying attention, sukuna disappeared for a short while. he returned with a boxes containing even larger, more decadent version of your lost dessert.

he didn’t say a word as he set them all down before you, his expression carefully neutral. but the slight twitch of his lips betrayed him when you squealed with delight and launched yourself into his arms.

no one makes his queen cry— not even herself.

[spurbleu]

fussy. simon riley.

simon who is terrified of fatherhood and the child he cannot stop holding. a little over 1k words about simon accepting paternal love. gross fluff.

Simon doesn’t know what he’s doing.

The hospital room filters the bruise of early morning through windowpanes that looked cleaner before the rain. Silver linings sparkle around cloud rims when thunder collapses between them. Aside from the yellow bedside lamp, and the sheet of light that flattens from under the door, the world is still dark.

The clock is one of two sounds. The other is your snoring.

You swelter under thin cotton. Rashes of red labor cling to the skin visible from where Simon guards. Hair mussed and barely contained in the complimentary hair ties from the nurses. Sleeping, sure- but still raw. Nearly burned alive, by what Simon can only assume was his own selfishness.

Despite all of this, it’s the first time you've looked at peace within the last 3 months. Beautiful- a word that grows low on trees, but Simon finds himself unable to reach much farther. Exhaustion taunts his mind and paralyzes the arm he usually holds you with.

But the bundle flinches, and he is once again wide awake.

Made from China glass. Painted in pink and tulip pollen. She’s got your nose, curving into small nostrils that breathe amateurly. Cheeks that swallow the crease of her lips and eyes that have not yet opened.

Simon is terrified that when they do, they’ll be his.

He is built from barnacles and the bottom bricks of a lighthouse. Iron that’s been fed to a kiln a dozen times until its edges sport burnt, flaking edges. Salt strung upon a wire until the saline coats his teeth when he speaks.

He probably looks ridiculous, holding a newborn. Even if she’s his.

Because nothing about him is soft, or new. He is decades beyond cradles, velvet rabbits and the grass that will undoubtedly grow when she takes her first steps. He is what happens to a man when you feed him hours not made by God. He is old and mean and none of that belongs to a baby.

But he pulls her from the incubator anyway, maybe with the hopes of proving himself wrong.

She stirs before settling between the crook of his elbow. A small thing, hair like thin field callows over her head, thumbs the size of mouse ears. Barely a beginning, despite it feeling like ages ago since you revealed the pregnancy. Hardly possible, to be looking at almost a year of his life, only for her to be as fresh as the morning and blissfully unaware of who she is. Who her father is.

And God, she’s warm. Practically burning him. Warm enough to ignite the ugly fire in his chest that he’s spent the more active, awake years of his life keeping at bay. A desperate creature that drools when softness offers itself to him. Bone marrow to a set of canines.

Told himself he’d only indulge it once- his marriage. To the bread dough and the goodnight kisses and the fresh clay that you envelop him with. The arms that wait for him. Something he really wasn’t made for. But something you fit him in anyway. Put your two hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye and told him,

“I want you and everything that comes with it.”

If that’s not a confession of love, damn the fairytales he’ll raise his daughter on. Knows shit about what it means to give and expect little. To take knowing you don’t deserve it.

Thunder blossoms outside, and the baby jolts. Her face scrunches, and Simon stiffens at what he knows will follow.

He’s never really been…fond of children. Too fussy, too loud, too flushed in the face. All delicate rounds, emotions nonsensical and unpredictable. Manifestation of a love he hadn’t understood. Not when comrades talked about it, not when Price had, not even, admittedly, when you had.

Held a peculiar, unviolent anger towards them. An ugly disquiet that had him convinced for years that children were his anthesis. The North of his South.

All of this dissipates when she starts crying.

Bounces her gently and pulls her closer against his chest. Swears quietly when she worsens, the poor, pathetic, toothless mouth opening wider to choke on her own sobs.

“I know, I know…” He shakes his head, “’don’t like the rain, either.”

She doesn’t stop, but neither does Simon. Guess she inherited his stubbornness, too.

“C’mon now…Is’alright I gotcha. Can’t get you from inside,” leans his head back when the cry rattles his teeth, “Just loud-shit…just loud…”

Re-adjusts her in his arms, and she chokes again, before her crying becomes a long, drawn-out thrum. Waters his ears until he’s looking over at you, praying you'll stay asleep and that his daughter will begin to like him.

Won’t blame her, if she doesn’t. Looking like the personification of danger probably doesn’t convince her he’ll protect her from it. He didn’t realize how quickly he was going to have to learn to be gentle. Kind.

She wails again, and he sighs, accepting defeat. Letting the exhaustion drown him before being pulled from the waters by her shaking, fat fingers. But Simon is void of the anger that attaches itself to interrupted peace. He couldn’t fathom looking at the swaddled thumbprint in his arms and feeling anything but immense…gravity.

A pull. The moon to the waves, waves to the shore, shore to the land he built his house on and will bring her home too. Not anger, not grief, not even joy. It was-

“Mm…love…” Simon’s head snaps up, and stares to where you have rolled over, eyes blinking away tear crust, “Is’at you?”

“I’m ‘ere darl,” a baby cry, “’m sorry I couldn’t get ‘er to…she won’t…”

“Si…” you reach out your hand and beckon him closer. He stands slowly, making sure not to stir the baby more than she has been, and starts to hand her back to you. But you shake your head, hand out to stop him. “Sit down.”

He blinks, before taking a seat next to the hospital cot. His jaw reaches the head bar, and he leans up against the beside table with the weeping child. You mumble something unintelligible, voice and body still plagued by sleep, before reaching over the mattress and stroking the top of the baby’s head. She still cries, and Simon sends you a desperate look.

Your hand travels down, before settling your palm over the baby’s chest. Make slow, small circles, and begins humming like you would when you bake, or when you read. Tiny normalcies amongst chaos.

And it’s a miracle. She stops crying. Hiccups a few times, fades into sniffles, and eventually a dove coo. Hands rest over yours, barely twice the size of your knuckles. Simon doesn’t take his eyes off his daughter.

“You did it.”

“We did it,” you correct, “You’re the one holding her.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t working before.” Still staring, watching for a crack, a fissure in this carefully crafted peace. It doesn’t come.

“’Cus you were doing it alone, Si,” You look at him, really look at him, and Simon feels young again for the first time since exchanging vows, “She needs the both of us. Should’ve seen her when it was just me ‘n her.” Laugh to yourself, before yawning.

Simon nods, even though he doesn’t understand. It feels like he won’t for a long time. Maybe he never will. But staring at his daughter, all flushed in the face and fussy and loud, he feels like trying.

“’gonna be alright, Simon.”

He looks up, mouth twitching into a dry smile, “Me or her?”

You reach across with your other hand and stroke under his cheek. “Us.”

And at least for this moment, Simon will let himself believe it.

[utterlyazriel]

ain't you my baby?

word count: 4k ish pairing: din djarin x reader a/n: [old timey radio voice] interrupting your regular schedule of bat boy to bring you [does jazz hands] yet another man that could kill u! i will apologise for not updating wtssf and instead giving this but i do not control the brain worms <3 hopefully this is still tasty for sum of y'all ! title from NFWMB by hozier

synopsis: Din gives you an unexpected gift. A dagger crafted with beskar, a fine weapon, a courting gift. You misunderstand. It doesn't take long for you to catch back on. inspired by a convo with my beloved @djarinova

By now, the constant hum and rattle of the Razor Crest around you was nearly unnoticeable.

You travel enough light-years with one stubborn screw in your cot, almost always returning to the spacecraft with one injury or another, and eventually the low lull becomes something more familiar.

Almost, if you'd let yourself admit it, a comfort.

Sleep is funny on the Crest. You'd been a light sleeper for most your life and it had saved your skin more time than you cared to count. Yet, it was the simple knowledge that a Mandalorian roamed in the cockpit above that allowed sleep to drag you deeper than usual.

It had taken months to let your guard down, to realise there wasn't going to be blade buried in your gut as you slumbered defencelessly. In the safety of his company, for the first time in decades, you dream when you sleep.

He hates having to wake you, only doing so if it's absolutely necessary. It's always with the lightest of touches, the leather of his gloves pressing softly against your shoulder, your name murmured and diluted through the modulator of his helmet.

Despite his gentleness, it never stops you from jarring awake.

You shudder awake with a violent twitch, pressing up on your elbow in a split second, prepared to move. You're stopped from moving further by Din's hand on your shoulder. He's knelt beside your cot, visor fixed on you.

You're on a new planet. The foreign atmosphere gives that away in an instant, the chalky taste in your mouth and the swarming heat on your skin. Your jack-rabbiting heart calms a bit.

"Din?"

You know he's only waking you because he must. The momentary calm banishes again as you push yourself up again. Din lets you this time, his gloved hand retreating to his side.

"It's not an emergency." He says, knowing your train of thought already. He tilts his head slightly, gesturing towards the ramp door. "I need to leave the ship. I didn't want you to wake and..."

Your trailing gaze darts back to his visor quickly, swallowing as you fill in the end of his sentence. Din doesn't finish it, but his shoulders readjust in a minuscule motion.

"I'm getting supplies. Watch the kid. Please."

You're nodding before he's finished his sentence. The sleep in your system is already dissipated and you push up, shifting onto your feet and trapping your pained hiss behind gritted teeth as Din rises to his full height.

There's a beep from his valance as he punches a button then a soft hiss as the pressure changes, the ramp door beginning to lower.

It's habit to watch the sliver of the outside grow, the new terrain stretching out before you as the mouth of the ship opens. As expected, a seemingly endless spread of sand greets you. You wrinkle your nose.

Din hadn't indulged the reason or destination of this particular trip. You hadn't asked. A deep slice in your thigh courtesy of a vibroblade and a mouthy Twi'lek had kept you off your feet and eager to rest.

The slice had been by pure luck—or so you thought.

But Din's silence following the patch up in the ship, his quietness suddenly uncanny, left you beginning to wonder if he was questioning your ability to fight. Weighing up your ability to defend.

And if those things were up for debate, certainly so was your position on his ship.

It had just been passed 3 years, almost six cycles if you counted how time passed on your home planet, since you had joined his crusade. Your job had one very simple, very crucial objective.

An objective that was now babbling at your feet, tiny claws reaching out for you.

"Hey, you," You say, reaching down to scoop Grogu up into your arms. He reaches his arms up as he does, making a happy gurgle as you tuck him against your hip.

His round, dark eyes peer up at you, his big ears twitching mischievously and you couldn't help but smile. You turn so he could see the stretch of desert and are surprised to find Din still in the mouth of the ship. He's turned back, his dark visor giving away nothing of his expression.

It's then you get the feeling once more; you're being evaluated. Your usefulness being weighed up. You shift beneath the weight of his gaze, unmoving but still not speaking.

"Did you forget something?" You ask, just to break the silence.

Din finally shifts, his helmet giving a small shake in answer. He doesn't speak, just stares another moment, before he's turning, his cape catching the wind as he strolls down the ramp.

You watch him go, heart in your throat, pondering with an ache of melancholy if your time on the Crest was coming to a close.

Another burbling noise from the little green monster in your arm tugs your attention away. You look down, smile already pulling at your mouth at his clawed hand reaching for you.

"At least I know you still like me," You murmur, letting his cling to one of your fingers. "You wouldn't fire me, would you?"

Grogu makes a noise of agreement, gripping your finger tight. Then he opens his little mouth and tries to direct your finger into it, the clearest declaration of his hunger he can give.

You huff a quiet laugh, turning back to the ship, mentally tallying up your list of things to do.

—

By the time of Din's return, the sun has dipped low in the sky and the dunes glow a scorching orange in its rays.

You see him coming in the horizon, the only figure out on the desolate landscape. You wonder, for not the first time, if he's burning up beneath all his armour. He never seems to use the fresher to cool off like you do.

It's as he reaches the ship, his footsteps heavier than usual and betraying his tiredness, do you realise he's returned with a bag. Your eyes glue to in instinctively but you bite your tongue and swallow the burning question of what the contents of the bag is.

"Get what you need?" You ask instead, hands laying flat on your knees, avoiding the bandage on your thigh.

You're knelt besides the ship wall, sitting on your feet, one of the panels hanging haphazardly by a single screw and a box of tools beside you.

There's a function for cooler air on the Crest but it's been busted since a gnarly shoot up leaving the atmosphere of Coruscant months ago. You've been trying to fix it for weeks, each time with no avail.

Today is no different.

“You haven’t fixed it.” Din says candidly, instead of answering your question.

That suddenly familiar worry of your usefulness shirks up within you.

“Yet.” you counter, aiming for optimistic. It’s impossible to tell what the immovable expression of Din’s helmet means. “It’s not the same problem as I started with, at least.”

After a moment, he gives a short nod as if he understands — which is mean because there isn’t a single thing you can think of that Din Djarin is bad at. Besides talking to Jawas, of course.

He passes you and you force yourself to keep facing forward, even as you long to trail his broad figure. You squint at the tangle of wires within the panel and sigh. It’s feeling pretty fruitless. You were hardly a mechanic to begin with and—

A loud clatter beside you makes you startle, something heavy dropping into your toolbox.

You jump back and after a quick second, realise that it’s Din who had dropped something purposefully. Trying to calm your racing pulse, you lean forward and peer in.

“This might help.” He says.

You blink down at the new tool he’s given you. It’s the one spanner size that’s missing from your toolbox.

The last one had been lost when you lobbed it at an intruder’s head in a blind panic. Not your proudest moment— even if it did distract the guy enough for Din to put him down.

You swallow your heart in your throat. “Thank you.”

You don’t hear him retreat but the part of you that fizzles like a freshly born star when he’s near dims, a giveaway to his movements. You curl your fingers the new tool and try to tell if this a good sign or not.

Behind you, Din clears his throat.

You peer over your shoulder, your brows knitting together — it’s not often he calls your attention so forwardly, much preferring to stand and wait, staring long enough til you notice and flush.

He’s still standing in the hull, one hand curled around and holding the bag he returned with. You twist fully, letting him know he’s got your attention.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move. You stare, waiting patiently and try not to let your eyes roam—especially after the last comment he made when he absolutely caught you staring at the broadness of his shoulders, eyes drinking in the cut of his figure.

You’d be a terrible criminal, cyra’rika.

What’s that supposed to mean? You had retorted, flustering just a bit.

He had turned and fixed you with a tilt of his helmet that meant he was likely smirking underneath it.

You have shifty eyes.

Your face had glowed fiercely at the reminder that just because you couldn’t see his eyes, that didn’t mean he couldn’t see yours.

Across from you in the Crest now, Din coughs awkwardly.

“I,” He starts. One of his hands clenches, the leather crinkling as he does. “I have something. For you.”

Surprise piques up inside you, fiery and delighted. It warms your stomach and there’s no fighting the smile that pulls at your mouth even if you wanted to.

Gifts from a bounty hunter are few and far between and he’d already replaced the spanner. Your bounty hunter in particular doesn't like to spend his credits unwisely.

Even less commonly does he acknowledge that something is a gift—but you've learned to love the quiet hum he gives you when you thank him for something.

"Oh?"

He shifts his weight ever so slightly, the most obvious indication that he's nervous.

You sit up a little straighter. The anxiety from earlier pools in quickly.

He gives a tiny, almost inaudible huff and then, instead of reaching into the bag, he pushes back his cape and reaches back. His skilled hand unclips something sheathed at his waist. He drops the bag and steps forward, his hand outstretched.

You hold your breath without realising.

It's... a dagger, you realise.

A very beautiful blade by all standards. As you press up to your knees, rising to get a closer look, the details of its intricacy begin to call out to you.

The hilt is twined in a delicate, leathery fabric, not yet moulded to any hand. The pommel holds a promise of a shimmer as though it's embedded with a mineral. And the blade itself... A darker metal curls through the lighter one that encases it, like smoke on a sunlit sky.

It's expert craftsmanship, with a precise balance of two metals — and if you stare a moment too long, you swear the darker one matches the hue of Din's armour. His beskar armour.

"Will you accept it?"

It's with the gravel of Din's voice do you realise you haven't moved. You haven't reached out for it, haven't even blinked since he offered it out to you. You exhale, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded.

It's elegant beyond words. It's too much.

Too much for you, too much as a... a... What was it?

A gift? A reminder of your sole duty on the Crest? Of what you nearly failed at during your last mission together? The wound on your thigh seems to throb painfully as if in response.

He's never got you a gift that's anything less than helpful.

"I," You breath, finally tearing your eyes off the dagger and looking up at the visor fixed on you. "Din, I—"

Your gaze drops back to the blade in his hands. This time, you're certain it's beskar twined within the steel.

"It's very beautiful but..." I'm not worthy of beskar. "I couldn't, it's— it's too much. I can't accept it, Din."

The words come out clumsily and you wonder if in your attempt at being polite, you've gone too far in the other direction and offended him. You wring your hand against your thigh, pressing your knuckles into your wound. The pain dances along your nerves, a welcome distraction as you force yourself to meet his gaze.

The hum of the ship fills the space between you and like almost always, you have no idea how to read his silence.

"I understand."

And then he's stepping back, resheathing the blade into its holster in one fluid motion. He does it so quickly you don't see the tremble in his wrist, his hand just a touch unsteady. Above you both, there's a beep in the cockpit.

This time, you do manage to clock his body language, well aware of the way his guard has suddenly been wrenched up and the anxiety in your veins quickens with a sinister twist. Oh stars. You've definitely made it worse. You should've just accepted the dagger.

He turns and wordlessly heads towards the ladder to the cockpit and you watch him desperately, a dozen words caught in your mouth and none of them the right ones to say aloud.

"I—"

Din pauses, one gloved hand on the rung of the ladder, facing forward. He gives you a moment to speak. Your mouth dries.

When it's clear you aren't going to, you catch the slight sigh he gives, his shoulders dropping an inch.

"Grogu will miss you."

What?

You don't even get a moment to consider what he’s said or to digest the implications before he’s climbing the ladder, deft and quick. By the time you’re on your feet, the swish of his cape is disappearing into the hatch on the ceiling.

You stare at it a moment, all your unsaid words suddenly transforming into confusion. Your mouth opens then closes, your hands held out in front of you in evident bewilderment.

“What—” You begin as you take the rungs twice as fast, following Din’s path up to the cockpit. “—is that supposed to mean?”

You’re halfway up when The Crest suddenly lurches to the side with a rumble, the powering of engines thrumming beneath your feet and you stumble to catch your balance. Below you, you hear the familiar hiss of the ramp closing.

Stars, what is he doing? He hasn’t been this eager to leave a planet since a bounty back on Hoth.

“Where are we going?” You ask, forgoing your unanswered question. You shift forward as the Crest continues to rise with a powerful whirling sound.

Casting an eye at the passenger seat, you’re relieved to find it already occupied by your favourite green friend. Grogu coos in your direction at the sight of you and despite the situation, you can’t help but smile.

“I can take you wherever you wish to go.” Din’s flat response has your smile fading, your head whipping around to face him.

But he doesn’t take his focus off the control in front of him for a moment, stoic and silent as he continues to initiate takeoff. The Crest rises higher, the sandy ground of the planet out the window growing smaller and smaller.

Wherever you wish to go?

Does he— does he think you want to leave?

Your head spins in a tizzy as you try to clue together how the hell he had come to that conclusion. The Crest rocks as it breaks through the atmosphere and you stumble again, struggling to keep your balance.

For whatever reason he’s thinking it, he’s wrong.

Action finally possesses you. You surge forward and slam your hand onto the console, killing the power to the thrusters.

The ship stalls with a loud droning noise, coming to a shuddering stop before it begins to float in the darkness of space. The only light is the glowing orange of the planet and stars beyond the glass.

“Why do you think I want to leave all of a sudden?” You demand hotly.

For a moment, you think Din will continue the silent treatment that he’s all but mastered. His helmet, visor gazing out through the windshield, doesn’t move — until he tilts his head toward you slightly. He sighs quietly.

“I don’t imagine after…” He waves a hand idly and you scan his figure intensely, searching for what he could possibly be referring to.

After…?

It suddenly seems quite obvious.

Even if you had no idea what it had meant to Din, clearly this has to do to you turning down his gift.

“Din,” you say very quietly.

His helmet turns another inch, his chin tilted up to show he’s listening.

You swallow and it feels like your heart in is your throat, burning and bursting all at once. But you have to ask.

“What did the dagger mean?”

Now he averts his gaze, his helmet dipping as he mumbles something, nothing, his voice almost too low for his modulator pick up, a gift, but in the gravel of his murmuring, you hear one unmissable word: courting.

Oh.

Oh.

It was a… courting gift.

A dagger blended with beskar, given as a courting gift from a Mandalorian. It meant you- and him — the hope you had been harvesting, the hope of something more blooming between you two, it had not been unrequited.

Your mind casts back to the exact phrasing as you turned what you believed to simply be a gift too prized for you— it’s too much, I can’t accept.

Maker. No wonder he thought you wanted to leave.

Whatever is crossing your face must be the opposite of subtle because as you grapple to find a response to that, Din’s head tilts back up.

“You didn’t know.”

There's a tiny wobble of relief in his voice.

“No,” You breathe. Blinking hard, suddenly you feel a bit wild because Din all but proposes to you but doesn’t even think to check if you knew the depth of what he was offering? Of the real question behind his gift?

You shake your head. “No, I didn’t know, Din.”

Silence lulls between you, charged and heavy. Even without seeing his face, you know Din must be squirming beneath his helmet — his intentions, his feelings, out in the open and you still staring at him speechless.

You manage to find your voice.

“May I see it once more?”

The request comes out softer than you intend, your courage suddenly quivering in your chest. You will it to rise, to embolden you. Din had been brave — now it's your turn.

Without a word, he shifts and reaches back to release it from its sheathe on his waist. For a split second you see it, the hesitation in his hand.

Then he's holding it out, balancing in his open and trusting palm, held out for you. The thickness in your throat grows.

You swallow tightly and grip your courage, searching within you for that warm, safe feeling that beats like a drum, Din, Din, Din. You seize it tightly.

Eyes fixed on the blade, you ask quietly, "Would you... offer it to me again?"

It's impossible to draw your eyes up, too nervous to see yourself reflected in the darkness of his visor.

"Yes."

Your heart becomes a supernova.

"Will you?" You whisper, finally daring to look up at him.

Your protector, your partner, the man who showed you the softness of his heart and asked for nothing in return. "Will you offer it to me again?"

The subtle motions of Din are something you've come to learn with the years you've spent at his side. Now, staring up at you, the inclination of his armour gives away his surprise.

Then he's rising to his feet only to step before you and sink down, brought to his knees before you. His hand remains steady, the offering held out, and this time the meaning of it cannot be misconstrued in any way.

"Cyare," He murmurs — and it's beloved, it's please, it's don't part from my side for as long as you'll have me.

Something within you trembles and your bottom lip quivers in emotion and then you're moving without thinking, sagging until you're on your knees too.

Equal heights, each of you in a position of devotion, facing toward each other.

Hand reaching out, you clasp your fingers around the hilt of the dagger and say thickly, "I accept."

There's a ragged exhale through the modulator of Din's helmet. He shifts, moving to strip the gloves from his hands and the sight of so much skin from him is enough to make you falter. But there's barely time to recover your stolen breath before his bare hand curls around yours, far larger, the dagger gripped in both of your hands.

His skin pressed against yours burns like starlight. You stutter out a breath, your smile coming so easily at the sight of your joined hands.

Din's other hand raises up and pauses momentarily, halting as if he's unsure if he's allowed before it settles gently on your cheek. You lean into the warmth of his skin and hear another sharp inhale through the modulator.

"I—" He begins, quickly cutting himself off. His thumb on your cheeks begins to wander, soothing over your skin lightly. He urges you forward and you bow your head, forehead pressing to the cool beskar of his armour.

"Thank you."

"You're thanking me?" You chuckle wetly, emotion clinging to your words. His thumb on your face traces another soft circle and you shudder beneath the loving touch, eyes fluttering closed.

“You could have been clearer." You chastise lightly, though your evident joy means your words don't have any real bite.

“I offered you beskar, cyra’ika,” He murmurs, voice warm and full of love. His thumbs draws another delicate circle. “How much clearer could I be?”

His point makes you laugh, eyes opening and seeing your own reflection in his visor. "I don't know," You say, averting your eyes down to your still intertwined hands. You squeeze your hand and feel him echo the motion. Your heart sings.

"Use your words?" You suggest with a cheeky smile, well aware that words were not a strong suit of your Mandalorian.

Din sighs, a faux long suffering one, and the mere familiarity of it makes your heart ache in the best way.

The worries of earlier bubble up within you, the reminder of why you had been so sure the dagger had some other meaning.

“I,” You begin, pulling back lightly and casting your gaze towards Grogu, who had been suspiciously silent as if knowing the significance of the moment before him. “I wasn’t thinking about the beskar, I was being stupid.”

With your free hand, you cover Din’s hand with yours, hiding your face away, which suddenly feels a little warmer. The nudge of your hand against his does nothing to alleviate the glow.

“I thought it was, like,” You mutter quietly, embarrassed. “You were saying I wasn’t doing my job well enough or— or something and I started worrying you were gonna…”

You can’t even finish the sentence with how foolish you feel.

“You thought I wanted you to leave?” Din asks, his voice dubious and warm. Like the mere thought of that is so far from believable that it’s amusing to him.

“Shut up,” you groan, eyes closing as if it can save your from your further flustering.

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to.” You murmur.

His hand in yours tightens, the other on your face coaxing you out of hiding with the gentlest of nudges.

"Never. As long as you want it, I want you with me." He says and in his voice you hear nothing but utter devotion. "Close your eyes."

You follow his command without hesitation, darkness cloaking your vision and you feel his hands retract from yours. The dagger remains in your palm, still cradled in your fingers. Then, there's the tell-tale hiss of his helmet and you inhale sharply.

"Cyare," He says and this time, it's with all the richness and roughness of his natural voice.

The timbre of his voice is like gunpowder sprinkled across your soul and when his hand finds the curve of your cheek once more, it's set alight.

"May I?" He asks. You can feel the soft heat of his breath fan across your lips and feel your heart quiver in response, bursting forward, as if trying to reach him. His thumb soothes across your cheek, full of wanting.

Your nod would be imperceptible if it was anyone other than Din — if his gaze wasn't trained on your face, drinking the details like a starved man, finally with uncloaked eyes.

He moves forward, presses his mouth against yours, and finds home.

[inupibaldspot]

Back off, kid.

Pairing: gojo satoru x reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : this is a part 2 but you don’t really ly need much context haha.

·:*¨༺ Part 1 ༻¨*:·

“You know you guys don’t really look alike.” You say as you bring your hands up and rearrange the tuft of hair to your liking, you hum when the other wise spiky persistent hair bends obediently.

While in-front of you there was a younger dark haired boy, face completely pink but doesn’t dare let any part of his body move from your touch. “We aren’t related so we shouldn’t look alike.” Fushiguro tries to act as normal as ever.

“You know he has been introducing himself as your dad in your PTAs.” you pull away with a smile. “Satoru says they get so shocked and think he is a teen-dad.” You laugh as you trail back to the memory, Gojo’s snarky comment on ‘If I’m Megumi’s dad then you’re his mom; Which makes you my wife~’ remains unsaid.

When you pull away, Fushiguro finally feels his body release tension and finally he lets out a sigh. He hopes Tsumiki comes back finishing her club meeting soon.

“Why are you sighing like a old man, Megumi?” You get up from cushion floor as you then proceed to sit on the nearby sofa and cross you legs, giving him a teasing smile.

Fushiguro looks away from you with a huff. “Just a small headache.” and maybe even a chest pain. Both caused by you.

You hum as you then let out a ‘ah—!’ as you then proceeded to smile and pat on you nap. “Come here.” You smile proudly.

Poor Fushiguro Megumi’s face burst into steam from the heat radiating off his face. “Like hell I can!”

“Megumi…” you said in a soft tone which make the younger boy flatter. “I’m not teasing, I’ll just give you a massage.”

The boy huffs and sits infront of his feet as he felt your gentle soft hands guide his head to you lap. His frown dissipates as he then lets out a sigh of relief upon the movement of your hands near his temple.

You let out a giggle to how Fushiguro was acting like an old man, maybe this is what happens to people who deal with Gojo on a daily basis. “How’s school? from next year you’re going to be a middle school student,megumi.”

It’s been a while since you visited, already finished with highschool and now acting as an active jujutsu sorcerer has kept you busy but still then you would always visit once a week, make them a good meal while also bringing in some groceries. You didn’t have to but you’ve always done it, your soul was so unwavering it warmed Fushiguro to his very core.

“I’ve been using the notes you’ve prepared for me so school is pretty smooth for now…” Fushiguro finally replied as he still doesn’t move his head from your lap, his eyes closed and arms crossed infront of him, cheeks with a rosey color.

“Thank god.” You beam, Fushiguro watches from the crack of his eyes. “It was actually my notes from back in the days. I always kept them with me.”

Fushiguro closes his eyes, the more he watches you the more he feels his heart constrict as if it ran a marathon. “y/n, I want to say… thank you—ugh!” The poor boy’s was pushed off your lap with a sudden but controlled push. “What the hell?”

“I’m so tiredddddd, y/n.” The voice almost purrs as there is a tuft of white hair on the plush of your thighs. You blink at Gojo who seemed to be looking at you from behind his bandages with a wide smiles plastered on his face. “Gimme a massage too~”

Fushiguro knows this scene too well.

Perhaps he wasn’t as subtle as he thought but any time he was too close to you, Gojo who is in his early 20s and almost a decade older than him always manages to throw him away. And now he watches you frowning and reprimanded Gojo for acting like that.

He sighs. “I’m leaving.”

You and Gojo quickly turn to his direction. You had a confused look to your face then it contours to something of worry. Was he mad at Gojo? Fushiguro could almost hear your thoughts.

Where as Gojo who currently has his head on his lap and one of his hand playing with your finger, give him a confused look before it turns into a full blown egotistical. ‘I won!’ smirk.

“Got homework.” Fushiguro turns and leaves.

“Satoru, you’re always acting like that to Megumi.” You say as you tear your hands away from his and then give his head a light ‘chop’.

“Then he shouldn’t touch what’s mine.” He huffs , as he closed his eyes and forms a sassy pout.

“What’s mine?” You question. “Did Megumi take something of yours?“

“No…Right now, it’s still with me.” Gojo opens his eyes, which makes your breath hitch. his eyes ever so beautiful as the evening glow assist its glimmer. “You know what I mean right?”

Your breath hitches and suddenly the room is much hotter,your heart races as it blooms in warmth.

Gojo’s face softens as he looks at your flustered face. “What I mean is… I’m in lo—UGH!”

“Sorry”

Suddenly a new enters the room, the same dark haired boy who left moments earlier. “My pencil slipped from my hand.”

“Megumi, you brat!” Gojo stands up, with currently a pencil stabbed on his forehead. Megumi threw it because he knew Gojo wouldn’t even think of letting his infinity be active when he was near you after all.

Gojo watches as Fushiguro gives him his usual deadpanned look before it turns into a full blown egotistical. ‘Hah! As if I’ll let you confess on my watch’ smile.

Taglist ˙✧˖° 🫧 ⋆｡— @lysaray @thirtykiwis @sillysillygoofygoose @hotvinimon @olivianyx @anan-baban @shirabaee @genticcs

Reblogs, like and comment are appreciated! Love this work? out other here

[sydneymykah]

WHAT’S NEXT FOR THE MUSIC INDUSTRY?

☆ Neptune in Aries and the music industry ☆

☆ I've seen a lot of people make the realization that the Grammy’s were actually enjoyable this year. The public mostly agreeing that the awards given out were justified and long over due for certain artists. (Disregarding pointless stan wars) There was a section during the ceremony where the head of the grammy committee gives a speech about making things right and rewarding artists more for innovation. For example; Beyonce finally getting Album of the Year, an award that has been long overdue according to fans and critics. Along with her best country album win that even shocked her. And the Grammys giving The Weeknd a formal apology for not nominating him after he had one of the most iconic eras of music we’ve since in the past decade. It also seems like music award shows are slowly becoming more enjoyable again.

☆ Festivals like Coachella recently sparked conversation and arguments about what is acceptable as a performer, with all of artists getting flack for being lack luster, low energy and lacking professionalism while performing. Especially when you’re in this economy where you want to get your moneys worth. Other artists being praised for putting in actual effort and people even saying that Megan Thee Stallion should’ve been a headliner.

☆ Apps like TikTok changing how music and artists get recognized adding onto the digital era of music. But ever since the end of quarantine blowing up on TikTok for your music is more sparse, especially with the app constantly being threatened to be banned in America. And your chance of sticking is less and less in such a now crowded space.

☆ The most current thing about music that is making the rounds is the rise in main female pop and rap stars vs the men. It seems like every year a new pop girlie is announced or started to gain momentum and sky rockets to stardom. Whilst for male artists the competition seems to be more sparse.

☆ All of these things occurring during the tail end of Neptune in Pisces. So it sparks the question;

HOW WILL MUSIC CHANGE WITH NEPTUNE IN ARIES?

☆ Neptune is a very mysterious planet. Many of its rulings feeling contradictory to one another. It can rule compassion and kindness but also deception and delusion. One of its rulings is melodies/music.

☆ Neptune entered Pisces August 2011. The state of music in 2011 going onward was this:

The increasing rise of streaming

The widespread of new emerging Artists via the internet (social media)

Rap (specifically mumble and female rap) and Edm/Dance topping the charts and radio

The new mainstream trend of blending genres

The rise of music from other cultures and countries in western media

Pisces Neptune and the ending of things:

☆ Pisces is the last sign of the zodiac and can often show us what is dissipating and coming to an end, not necessarily being destroyed (that would be more pluto energy) but a cycle that is ending at least for now. Pisces is spiritual, referred to the higher realm, and can be considered a healing sign. Therefore Neptune in pisces coming to an end can show what the world of music has learned and healed from. The ripple effect that will lead to the Aries transit. It seems that people are tired of just the chill vibes and wants energy in music and on stage again. In essence for the past few years the music scene has been in a limbo but artists who bring the heat are getting more recognition and respect, for ex: Megan thee Stallion. Or artists who are more blunt and bold with their lyricism and performances. Ex Sabrina Carpenter (esp with her Juno positions) Also whilst I do enjoy artists feeling more comfortable than ever in their art and music (as Neptune is at home in Pisces) it has also made music a bit calm. Many people complaining that we don’t have many powerhouses in the mainstream. It’s hard to think that someone like a Whitney Houston or Aretha Franklin will be a heavy hitter in the mainstream but with the Aries in Neptune transit now here i believe there’s a chance of that. Less whisper singers or people who can’t sing on stage without sounding out of breathe constantly (no shade)

The last time Aries was in Neptune

☆ The last time Neptune was in the sign of Aries the biggest historical event(s) to take place was the Civil War. I feel the need to talk about this because in a lot of my predictions that are below I believe this new wave of music will be filled with revolution topics and artists getting their emancipation back. Artists challenging labels or calling out labels for ex Chappell Roans speech at the Grammies talking about healthcare for artists. Beyonce taking back genres once owned and created by black people that have overtime been taken by white people. Also Movies like Sinners getting so much love from the mainstream, with a messages that center around individualism/identity, your passions, and people who prey on your talents for their own gain (Neptune also rules film) and the Cowboy Carter tour being filled with messages saying “You can’t reclaim something that already belongs to you” I see Artists and people in the music industry will start to fight for their autonomy and freedoms. I see artists that will refuse to conform. They will set their own paths and change how things are operating behind the scenes. In a sense making things right (by their own definition)

MY MUSIC/MUSIC INDUSTRY PREDICTIONS

Resurgence of Artist Development

☆ Complaints on artists with no media training and lack of professionalism from mainstream artists have been a complaint for a while. I think the chill laid back nature of artists is slowly not becoming the cool norm anymore and people want authenticity still yes but they also want to see drive and passion. Being nonchalant is a trend amongst more of the younger generation and the fear of being a try hard will make you look cringe. But I think this transit will glamorize being a hard worker and someone of passion. If labels are smart they’ll start actually devolving artists behind the scenes like they did in the 90s. Beyond labels I think more artists will treat their craft with more discipline.

More powerful independent music labels

☆ Aries is known to be one of the more independent signs. Off that fact alone I’d hope to see more and more artists be independent and/or sign to new independent labels that might have a chance of becoming extremely successful. It’s not exactly a secret that labels have been getting lots of flack for not prioritizing their artists health, finical stability or actually giving the artists the dreams they’re selling. It’s becoming more and more of a better option to be an independent artist than it is to sign to a label since they’re essentially glorified banks that give out huge loans. Aries being innovate, first of the zodiac and independent may give independent labels and artists the chance to thrive.

Shortcuts in music

☆ Aries is a temperamental and emotional sign. Quick to get riled up in passionate emotions and easily one of the most impatient of the signs. This leads me to believe that music will have a lot of shortcuts and quick fixes or “cheatcodes” if you will which sadly reminds me of AI and AI music. If there’s an artist who comes out who strictly issues AI and becomes popular I will not be surprised. I can also see this as labels growing more impatient with signing new artists who have potential to go viral but don’t after a certain amount of time and more artists getting dropped for those reasons

Extreme competitiveness behind the scenes

☆ Ares is the god of war and very militant. I see a lot of strategic fighting and dirty plays being made even more so in the industry. I think the more and more new artists are able to blow up and sign to management/have distribution deals the more competitive the field will become. It’s already a competitive industry but I think it’s going to enter a whole new phase of it. For ex; I think labels are gonan start cracking down on finding and developing the new “black pop girl”. And black girls in pop/rnb who are already established, their teams will most likely try to jump on that opportunity or put them on the back burner for someone else (harsh but the truth in this field). I also see artists and their teams being more strict.

New leaders, holy trinities and standards

☆ Aries is the first sign in the zodiac and is known to be trailblazing and set standards. Neptune in Aries will bring a new era of music along with new leaders of music, and new holy trinities. Similar to Mariah, Whitney, and Celine being the holy trinity when Neptune was in Sagittarius/Aquarius and Rihanna, Nicki, and Beyonce being our gens big three when Neptune was in Pisces this new era will give us a new standard to look up to.

More innovative/trailblazing performances

☆ I see new ways of performing making the mainstream. We’ve gotten used to the norm of award show performances, the Super Bowl and the typical day time/late night television performance. I can see music teams, labels and artists getting more creative with places to perform and do performances never done before. For ex. The Beyonce Bowl. Although it was still a NFL performance not only was it live streamed to Netflix but was a Christmas Day special performance with such a high production it was a performance an artist hadn’t done for the NFL Christmas show before. Performances like that might inspire people in the industry to come up with performances that haven’t been done before and become new norms.

Rock/Grunge Comeback

☆ When it comes to specific genres I do believe rock, rock influenced music and grunge will become mainstream again. Especially with black artists as it’s speculated artists like Beyonce will be releasing a Rock inspired album for her 3rd act album. I think it’s pretty self explanatory why Aries in Neptune can bring back the rock wave. Rock can be extremely powerful, expressive, emotional (not just including rage and anger), a lot of people consider rock to only be an aggressive genre so it coming back during this transit would aline very well with what a lot of people have been feeling. Music can reflect the world we live in and it’s safe to say A LOT of people are angry. Rock has always been a revolution filled genre with subjects that often criticize and rebel against the status quo and polices/systems against the oppressed

The New Male Pop Star

☆ Aries is masculine and even though it doesn’t necessarily mean men I do think we’re long overdue for a new male pop star or just star in general. A Justin Bieber, A Harry Styles, an Usher or maybe even someone who will live up to a legacy like Micheal Jackson. We’ll have to wait and see 🤫

What’s your prediction for what will happen to music and the music industry with the Aries Neptune transit?

Xoxo

- Sydney Mykah ✫彡

[is-the-19thcentury-man-okay]

Rating: NOT CUTE.

The vogue in 1840s men, incorrectly believed to be docile and low-maintenance, has led to many scenes like this. Even worse, some will indulge this behaviour, as though all that plaid-clad cake couldn't do wrong!

These 1840s men need immediate intervention with a book of etiquette: direct his attention to a chapter on the evils of tobacco, a crass and low habit. Giving your 1840s man the fringed joinville necktie or silly little walking stick he desires is harmless; his constant smoking is not!

Never be seen in cigar divans or billiard rooms; they are frequented, at best, by an equivocal set. Nothing good can be gained there; and a man loses his respectability by being seen entering or coming out of such places.

— Etiquette; or, A guide to the usages of society, with a glance at bad habits (1843)

[moonstonejpg]

late night (g. suguru x reader)

—mdni 18+

sum. on your way from the kitchen you stumble upon your roommates best friend suguru geto who decides he needs a midnight snack; you. cw: fingering, drooling, cunnilingus

this is entirely self-indulgent. oopsies

quietly, you pad down the hallway to the dark kitchen, softly humming to yourself as you grab a glass and fill it with water. you set the glass on the counter then turn to flick the light on, nearly jumping when a pair of dark brown eyes meet yours, his hair half up.

“oh! ‘m sorry suguru, I didn’t know you were still awake.”

suguru geto was your roommate shoko’s best friend, and someone you’ve grown very fond of. it certainly didn’t hurt that he was one of the most attractive men you’ve ever met and one you’d touched yourself to the thought of plenty of times before bed.

“no, can’t sleep.”

he’s sitting on the couch which is positioned behind the l-shaped kitchen counter, phone in hand. his dark eyes stay on yours for a few long moments, then slowly scan down the length of your body, lingering on your legs. his eyes flick back up to yours, then pats the spot on the couch next to him.

and really, you should grab your glass and make your way back to your room, but the way his gaze rakes over you has you feeling emboldened.

you leave your glass of water on the counter and slowly walk to the couch where he sits. ignoring the heat in your cheeks brought by the sudden realization that you currently are only in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties, you take a seat, sitting only a foot away from the dark haired man.

he reaches forward and grabs the remote, turning it on and flicking to a random channel. it’s so late that all they are playing are decades old sitcoms, and you pretend to watch, the silence making you nervous. you eye him several times out of the corner of your eye, wondering what the hell he’s thinking.

it’s quiet for a few more moments before the old laugh track on the tv booms, making you jump a little.

suguru turns his head to watch you, a small smirk on his face.

“jumpy tonight?” he asks, glancing at you and tilting his head, eyes gleaming in the dim room.

you reach down to nervously play with the hem of your shirt, your earlier feelings of bravery dissipating by the second.

“s—sorry.” you mumble, settling further in the couch, your fingers clenching tightly around your shirt hem.

a sly smile spreads on his face as he hums in response, turning his attention back to the tv.

nothing happens for a few moments, and you press yourself into the couch, desperately trying to wipe the pout off your face.

why are we just sitting here? you wonder.

but then you startle as he shifts, warm fingers settling gently on your thigh. he doesn’t move for a while, the warmth of his hand causing goosebumps to pebble all over your skin. suddenly his fingers twitch and start rubbing gentle circles on the top of your thigh. this continues for the rest of the episode before moving down to the soft inner flesh of your thighs.

his fingertips gently stroke over your skin, back and forth until you’re twitching slightly next to him. his fingers then dig in slightly, massaging the taut muscles, every once in a while fingertips gently skim the corner edge of your panties.

he does this over and over, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye every so often, but mostly pretending like he wasn’t doing anything at all (much to your dismay). the ministrations were getting to be too much, your jaw locked and teeth clenched to keep any sounds of pleasure from escaping. but it was getting harder and harder, your brain turning to mush as his fingers kept creeping closer and closer to your wet heat.

you slide your hand around his wrist, nails digging into the skin of his wrist to find purchase in something.

suddenly, a fingertip brushes against your clothed pussy, and you audibly gasp at the sensation, legs falling open a few inches in response. he does it again, this time gently pressing his finger over your clothed entrance, eyes now wholly focused on you.

“your panties are soaked, angel.” he whispers casually, pressing the pad of his finger into the spot again, eyes slightly hooded. a low whine escapes from you, and he moves both hands under your shirt to grip your waist. he then fists the material there, eyes locked on the tightening fabric against your tits. he wets his lips, and to your surprise leans down to suck on your nipple through the fabric, moving back to watch the darkened spot peek through the now damp white fabric.

you push at his hands, sitting up to shuck the shirt off, cheeks warming as his eyes stay right on your tits. his tongue pokes out, licking his lips before glancing back up at you, a slightly dazed look in his eyes.

he brushes a thumb over your pert nipple, a cocky grin lighting his face as you gasp out a whimper. he does it again, flicking it lightly before moving his attention back down to your pussy. he huffs out a laugh, the pad of his finger hovering over your entrance.

“so…greedy” he says lowly, voice husky.

he taps once, twice, your legs involuntarily convulsing with every tap. suguru then hooks your panties to the side, a long finger slowly dipping into your wet heat. a shaky moan breaks free from you as he adds a second finger, starting to slowly twist his fingers around inside you. he withdraws the digits, making intense eye contact with you as he brings them, glistening, to his mouth, sucking lewdly.

you stare open-mouthed as he smirks then licks his lips.

you stare open-mouthed as he smirks then licks his lips. you yelp as his hand strikes out faster than an adder, gripping your panties and pulling, the sound of fabric tearing filling the room. gaping at him, you watch as he throws the material behind him, before he settles himself in between your legs and slowly pushes his two fingers back inside of you.

you moan at the feeling, clawing at the couch before reaching down to sink your hands into his soft black tresses. it’s so soft you muse to yourself, tugging slightly.

he groans at the feeling of your fingers tugging on his hair.

he looks up at you briefly, before slowly adding a third finger. you tug his hair harder, hips pushing towards him at the feeling of being slightly stretched.

your eyes roll back as he curls one of the fingers inside of you, immediately hitting your soft pleasure point.

he moves his fingers at a leisurely pace, dark eyes filled with something akin to wonder at your reactions. without warning he retracts his fingers, hooking them around your ankles and tugging hard, your body scooting to the end of the couch. he moves to the floor, getting on knees then spreading your legs.

“what are you—oh.” you cut yourself off with a moan as he leans forward, large hands keeping your thighs spread open as he attaches his lips to your clit.

he hums, your legs twitching at the sensation.

“you—ah, right there” you mewl, walls contracting as his tongue flicks your clit.

he works his tongue around your clit, then sinks a finger into you once more. you let out a moan, gyrating your hips against his face.

it doesn’t take long before the pleasure starts building hard and fast in your lower belly, the combination of his finger pressing into your g-spot and his tongue working circles on your clit causing your walls to start fluttering.

“oh—sugu—fuck. I’m gonna, gonna—“ you stutter out, drool gathering in the corners of your mouth as you tip over the edge.

“that’s it sweetheart, come for me.” he mumbles into you. he’s got you gasping and moaning as he keeps moving till you’re twitching from the overstimulation.

you collapse back onto the couch, making eye contact with suguru as he lifts his head from between your thighs. his dark eyes are sparkling and slightly hooded as he gazes up at you. his lips are glistening slightly, and the sight nearly makes your mind go dumb.

“been wanting to do that forever, princess.”

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Hiiiii could you do a fic where reader is pregnant for the first time? I need more soft!young president coriolanus so so bad

Soft as Snow || Young President!Coriolanus snow x reader

A/n: thank you for this request anon!! I need more soft coryo too 🥹

Warnings: fem!reader, mention of death

Wc: 860

Divider by @firefly-graphics

In the opulent sun room of the presidential mansion that you call your home, you sat in a plush chair with a bowl of fresh lychee perched carefully on your pregnant belly. The brightly lit room, adorned with decadent furnishings, seemed to reflect the weight of the world you carried not only as the First Lady but also as a soon-to-be-mother.

The door cracked open and Coriolanus entered with an air of authority that seemed to dissipate as he laid eyes on you, his precious wife. Coryo gestured the servants to leave the two of you alone as his steely gaze softened, and a small, genuine smile graced his lips as he approached.

"May I?" he gestured toward the empty space on the chair beside you. You nodded with an eager smile and he took a seat, his eyes fixed on your protruding belly which was covered by the softness of your silk dress. Gently, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "How are you feeling, my love?"

His voice, usually reserved and commanding to people outside of his inner circle, held a tenderness and softness that sent a comforting shiver down your spine. You couldn't help but smile at the sincerity in his question.

"I'm well, Coryo. Our baby seems to be quite content by these lychees," You chuckle as your rub your stomach. Coryo smiles, lychees were a rare fruit to come by this time of year but he made sure that you were fed only the most juiciest, ripe, lychees.

"I'm glad," he hums. His hand finds its way to your belly, fingers tracing delicate patterns on the fabric of your dress, ghosting over your skin underneath. "It's a remarkable thing, life," he mused, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions—awe, anticipation, and a hint of vulnerability.

You watch him knowing where his mind was at. The thought of his mother dying during birth along with his baby sister. You knew that he was scared. Scared that maybe you would have the same fate as his late mother. But you assured Coryo, that times have changed and that you would be alright.

The weight of his responsibilities seemed to momentarily fade as he focused on you and the life growing inside you. Your fingers dipped into the fruit bowl, a lychee in between your fingers as you bring it to your lips, Coriolanus watching with fascination. The atmosphere hung in a delicate balance, as if time itself had slowed down to savour this tranquil interlude.

"Have you thought about names," he asked, breaking the silence. You chuckled softly, the sound echoing through the room, "I have actually. Vicky," you watch Snow's features contort into a mixture of emotions.

"Vicky. like my mothers-" "Yes, like your mother's name." You interrupt him as your thumb brushes over the back of his hand, a comforting gesture that spoke volumes. "I love it. Vicky Snow," He says with a smile on his face.

As you continued to share the bowl of fruit, the conversation drifted from politics to dreams, hopes and the shared future that awaited your family. Coriolanus, a man known for his strategic mind and politics, revealed a more vulnerable side, a side reserved for you, his wife carrying his child.

Time slipped away, and the room glowered in the soft hues of twilight. Coriolanus stood, his eyes lingering on you with an affectionate gaze. "I've got state matters to deal with, my dear. Just know, you and our child are always on my mind."

~

Days turned into weeks, and the swell of your belly grew more pronounced. The Capitol buzzed with excitement over the impending arrival of the newest member of the Snow legacy. Coriolanus, ever the stoic leader, became a pillar of support, attending to your needs with a grace that contradicted his ruthless reputation.

One evening, as the two of you stood on the balcony overlooking the Capitol, he wrapped his arms around you, his hands resting protectively on your belly. The lights of the city below shimmered like a sea of stars, and for a moment, it felt like the world paused to witness the union of power and vulnerability.

As the days dwindled down to the eagerly anticipated arrival, Coriolanus stood by your side, a beacon of strength. The birthing room, stark and sterile, contrasted sharply with the opulence of the Capitol. Yet, in that space, you found an intimacy that transcended the political stage.

The first cry of your newborn filled the room, and Coriolanus held the tiny bundle in his arms with a reverence that bordered on awe. His usually composed demeanor crumbled, replaced by the unfiltered joy of fatherhood.

"She's so beautiful, just like her mother," He whispers, his eyes never leaving the small face nestled in his arms. "Thank you, thank you for gifting me a gift beyond measure," Coryo looks at you as you couldn't help but let a teardrop roll down your cheek as you gazed at the future you had brought into the word.

You couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected beauty that had blossomed in the heart of the Capitol's calculated power.

[azrielbrainrot]

Sweeter Than Sweet

Pairing: Azriel x Princess!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Anal Sex

Description: You and Azriel try something new.

Warnings: Smut, fingering, anal fingering, anal sex, oral sex, dirty talk, praise kink

Word Count: 2,8k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: I actually have a whole series thought up about how azriel and princess!reader meet and get together so I'm not sure why this is how I decided to introduce them, especially since this would be like a bonus story/prologue but oh well. I hope you enjoy!

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Most of your nights were spent like this ever since accepting the mating bond, tangled in each other's arms, trying to fill up a bottomless pit of desire. It seemed like no matter how hard or long you held onto each other's bodies, the bond always wanted more, probably would still feel needy even if you crawled under his skin. Sometimes you wondered if this incessant need would ever dissipate - you don't think you ever want it to.

Tonight Azriel had you laying over his lap, starting by caressing your skin affectionately, playing with your soft flesh, occasionally leaning down to mark you with his teeth, quickly soothing the bite with gentle kisses, until you were trembling, begging him to do something, anything, cooing down at you as he slowly fucked two fingers inside your sopping cunt. He was only moving them enough to let sweet pleasure travel through every nerve of your body, keeping you on edge and pliable under his hands, pathetic whimpers escaping your lips.

A shudder runs through you when you feel him leaning down once more, letting a drop of spit landing over your other hole, spreading it around with his finger before carefully pushing it inside as well, stretching the tight ring of muscle ever so slightly.

“Fuck, you're so beautiful,” he breathes out, spreading your cheeks apart so he could watch his fingers pumping in and out of both your cunt and ass, entranced by the sight of you so full of him. You can't help the needy moan that escapes your lips at not only the feeling but also the praise, the onslaught of desire trickling down his side of the bond.

This wasn't the first time he had done something like this, but when another finger joins the previous one you can't help but tense at the foreign sensation, making you clamp down around his fingers.

“Relax.” He runs a hand over your buttcheek in a soothing motion before leaning down to press a chaste kiss to the other. “I'll make you feel really good.”

You tell your body to listen and feel yourself softening under his hands, melting back into him. You had no doubts about Azriel's skills, he's taken you to heights you never thought possible countless times. There had been a slight discomfort at first but, the more he moved his fingers the less you could feel it. It just felt good now even if it was still a bit foreign.

As he keeps going and the pleasure intensifies, your moans growing even louder than before, forehead falling against the mattress, you start wondering what it would feel like to have his cock fucking you like this. Azriel seemed to know what he was doing so you were almost certain he had some previous experience, but you can't say it was something you ever truly considered.

He must notice your conflicting thoughts, always so attuned with your emotions, because he slows down until he's barely moving his fingers inside you, his other hand coming to palm at the soft skin of your cheek once again, massaging the flesh tenderly.

“Have you ever done it?”

You know what he means, you also know he's avoiding the word for your sake. You would have been offended if it weren't for the way your ears burn at just the thought. It had been decades since you tried anything new, and you had almost forgotten what that sweet mix of excitement and nerves felt like as it traveled over your body.

“No,” you breathe out, pushing past your silly nerves, “Have you?”

“Yes,” he admits, his fingers still moving slowly inside you, hazel eyes studying the way your tight holes stretched out to accommodate his fingers.

“Do you like it?”

“It's certainly more than enjoyable,” he answers right away, a knowing tone to his voice, one you weren't privy to. Noticing the serious tone the conversation was taking, he stops his movements, pulling his fingers out slowly, letting out a hum when your hips chase them on instinct. “Why haven't you? Don't think you'll like it?”

“That's not it.” You shake your head against the mattress, biting your lip and choosing your next words. “I just never really thought about it.”

Leaning up on your forearms and turning your head, you do your best to meet his gaze, but it's too difficult from the position he had you in. Noticing your struggle, Azriel helps you up, sitting you on his lap, holding onto your hips with wet fingers. The love and adoration written in his eyes calms you down instantly, leaning down to take his lips between yours and wrapping your arms around his neck with a sigh.

“We don't have to do anything you don't want to,” he murmurs against your lips, pausing to kiss you again before adding, “I don't want you to push yourself for me.”

“It's not that I'm not curious,” you sound bashful even to your own ears. After everything that has happened between the two of you, you didn't think it was possible for you to feel shy around him anymore, it's not like you were ever much of a shy person to begin with. “Like I said, I've never done it before,” you have to look away from his gaze to be able to finish your sentence, “and… you're big.”

To this day, even after how many times you've had sex, you still need some adjusting before taking him comfortably. Seems he couldn't help the twitch of his lips or the surge of satisfaction you felt through the bond at the compliment. You think if you kept going he might even purr. Males and their cocks.

Azriel kisses your cheek and gently holds your chin, effectively moving your eyes back to meet his. You can feel him search your feelings through the bond so you open it completely to him, not ever wanting to hide anything from your mate. You hope he could make sense of the want, even excitement under all the reluctance and nerves.

“I would never hurt you,” he drops another kiss, now to your lips, “it would take some preparation but I promise you'd feel nothing but pleasure.”

It's funny how something that never truly crossed your mind could send you into such a frenzy, but after he eased your nerves, all you could think about was what it would feel like to have him stretch you out like you had never been before, showing you something no one else had, and that's how you find yourself lying on your back, looking up into half lidded hazel eyes as he fucks his fingers into you with new vigor.

Azriel, as attentive as ever, takes his time, dragging things out as much as possible to make sure you're more than prepared. His shadows handed him a little bottle of an intense smelling oil before he started, one he used to coat you and his fingers before inserting them again. You barely had time to think before he leaned down, his skillful tongue licking over your ignored cunt, sucking your clit into his mouth, sending you into an orgasm as he slowly stretches you out, adding another finger when you're distracted in the throes of pleasure.

When it feels like you could cum again, he abandons your cunt with a playful bite on your clit, one that sends a shudder through your body and prompts a particular loud whimper past your lips. Azriel begins trailing kisses up your still trembling body, his fingers never faltering through it all. Your own fingers easily find his dark hair when he pauses his ascent at your breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth at the same time he scissors his fingers just to hear you mewl his name.

As your fingers start tugging at his messy curls with more intensity, pleas of his name pushing past your lips in that sweet cadence you know he can't resist, he finally gives in, kissing up your chest and neck, leaving a few marks of his teeth and soothing kisses until he finds your lips, taking them between his in a mind numbing, passionate kiss.

“Still want to try?”

“Please,” you breathe out, perhaps a bit too excitedly. He was right before, this was certainly more than enjoyable, and you could only imagine how much better it could get once he truly started.

Azriel kisses you once more, his own desire now obvious with every stroke of his tongue, it catches you off guard when it rushes through the bond in full force after he had been filtering it out while you made up your mind, not wanting to influence your decision even a little.

Pulling away entirely too soon, Azriel also removes his fingers carefully. You can't help but clench around nothing when he does, already used to having him there. Your hips also chase him ever so slightly, something he notices with a knowing smirk as he finally takes his underwear off, stroking his throbbing cock a few times.

Biting your bottom lip, you watch him for a moment, taking in your mesmerizing mate - all sweaty, glistening skin and ripped muscles; powerful wings framing his frame enticingly, somehow making him appear even larger as he stood before you; shadows absent as he bares himself fully to you. Azriel looked downright edible and if it weren't for the excitement bubbling inside your veins, you might have taken him into your mouth before letting him fuck you, salivating at just the thought.

Your brain catches up to you when he grabs one of your thighs, scarred hand squeezing the flesh appreciatively before pulling you in closer, adjusting your position.

“Should I turn around?”

“No, I want to watch you,” he says, voice thick with arousal, sending a shiver down your spine. You hadn't thought about it before, but you find you also wanted to watch him, needed to see him getting lost in you.

As soon as the words leave his mouth he sets into motion, guiding his cock to your awaiting hole, carefully, oh so carefully pushing the head inside as you desperately try to relax at the intrusion. His cock was obviously a lot thicker than his fingers, this much you knew. but bit by bit, with a few deep breaths and with his thumb finding your clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure to have you melting into the mattress, he works himself into you slowly.

His hazel eyes darted between the sinful sight in front of him and your face, taking note of every little sign of discomfort or pleasure. Drinking up every whine and harsh breath; how your eyes glazed over as you tried to look up into his, mouth parted and kissed raw; your untouched cunt, leaking and fluttering around nothing; a deep moan escaping him as he desperately tries not to let his body take control when you were squeezing his cock so hard, so well. Azriel thinks he will never get used to how perfectly you fit together in every way.

“You're taking me so well,” he pants, continuing when you reward him with a needy moan, “So fucking perfect for me.”

Mindless praise flows freely from his lips as he moves carefully, his body trembling along with yours, both from restraint and the desire running through his veins. One of your hands fists the sheets as the other finds his wrist, his hand holding onto your thigh firmly, keeping you nice and open for him, sitting his cock fully inside you at last.

It's a strange sensation, feeling so full, but nowhere near painful or as uncomfortable as you imagined. His eyes stared into yours with so much hunger it felt like you could suffocate, the desire, so clear in every inch of his body, making yours grow as well, flooding the bond, the corner of his lip rising as he felt it. Azriel made good on his promise, it felt good.

“You can move,” you whisper, breathless as your body tries to make sense of what it's feeling.

Azriel gives a shallow, experimental thrust of his hips, one that prompts a whiny moan past your lips. Both of his hands grasp onto your hips then, starting to fuck you slowly, eyes now transfixed on the way his cock disappears inside you. He was still being careful, but with every stroke of his hips, he went harder, deeper, until he set a pace you're more than familiar with, one that never fails to make you see stars.

Your body was shaking against your blue sheets, hands going from grasping onto the silky fabric to his wrists, trying to hold onto whatever you could reach for any sort of stability, trying and failing to not lose yourself too soon.

With a tug on his wrist and a broken plea, you bring Azriel down to lay over you, whimpering when the change in position drives his cock deeper inside you, wrapping your legs around him as your arms circle his neck, bringing his mouth to yours, letting him swallow the breathy noises you can't keep down even if you tried.

“What would your people say if they saw their perfect little princess,” he says, giving you a sharp thrust that has you gasping into his mouth before continuing, “let a bastard like me fuck her in the ass?”

His words send a shiver down your spine, the image it calls into your mind downright sinful. The way he said it almost makes it feel like an illicit affair, one that reminds you of the time you met in secret, stealing scalding moments, sometimes as scandalous as this one, away from everyone's watchful gaze.

“They know better than to say anything about my mate,” you manage between breaths, hand holding onto the back of his neck.

Azriels hums, teeth catching your bottom lip teasingly, a tremble noticeable in his wings, always giving him away. You pull him down for another kiss, your hips chasing his slowly as he swallows every breath and moan rising up your throat, feeling an achingly familiar high approaching rapidly.

One of his hands travels down your body as if he can read your thoughts, goosebumps chasing its path as he goes, diving between your bodies and easily finding your cunt, you can't help the flinch at the direct touch after being ignored for so long.

“Can you feel how wet you are?” He whispers against your lips, his fingers swirling over your cunt, spreading your wetness around and making an even bigger mess of it, smirking when he feels you clenching around nothing. “I can feel you dripping down to my cock.”

Any words you had for him die in your throat when he plunges two of his fingers into you abruptly, a yelp escaping you followed by a long, drawn out moan when he starts fucking them into you in time with his thrusts, your nails biting into his shoulders, toes curling with every roll of his hips as he keeps hitting all the right places.

Holding onto sanity proves to be an impossible feat as he keeps whispering filthy words into your ear in that maddening deep voice of his, the pathetic moans and squelching sounds that echoe around the room only adding onto it.

You're sent over the edge before you even get the chance to warn him, a choked moan of his name in between mindless whines the only thing you manage. It feels like the world is collapsing aeound you for a moment, holding your breath as you're drowned in pleasure, every single one of your nerve endings lighting up beneath his body.

Azriel follows you immediately after, unable to hold himself back as you clench around him and tremble against his body as you call out his name like you were praying to a god, a shudder running through him, wings fluttering as he throws his head back in a long moan.

It takes a moment for you both to fully come back down to earth, a whimper pushing past your lips as he carefully pulls out, dropping his tired body next to yours and bringing you to lie on top of him. You hold onto his cheeks and meet his lips in a soft kiss, letting his strong hands massage your sore muscles.

“How was that?”

“Enjoyable,” you answer with a teasing grin, pushing his damp hair back as you keep pecking his face.

“Wouldn't have guessed with how hard you came around my cock.” Your teeth sink into his skin at his words, a chuckle escaping him as he grabs your neck and brings your lips back to his. “Next time I'll make it even better for you.”

With the way your legs still shake and pleasure still swims through your veins it feels impossible that it could ever get any better than this, and still you believe him.

[talaok]

But Daddy I Love Him

summary: You and Joel shouldn't be together. According to the people in Jackson, he's a bad, cruel, crazy man, and yet... he's all you ever wanted.

Warnings: smut (unprotected p in v), angst, blood, physical fight (?), happy ending (cause of course)

a/n: ive been obsessed with this song since it came out, please just go listen to it

Now I'm runnin' with my dress unbuttoned Screamin', "But, Daddy, I love him I'm havin' his baby" No, I'm not, but you should see your faces I'm tellin' him to floor it through the fences No, I'm not coming to my senses I know he's crazy, but he's the one I want

— — —

"fuck"

"god"

His breath, his hands, his beard, his mouth, his cock

Him

He was all you could feel, he was all that existed,

nothing but him and his intoxicating aura, his manly mist, his sweaty body his strong arms,

Him

Joel Miller

The man you should not want, the man you should be terrified of, that you should run and hide from, 

the terrible, crazy, Joel Miller 

The same one everyone told you to stay away from, your friends, your family, strangers, the entirety of Jackson

And yet he was the only man you ever really wanted, really needed. 

"I missed you so much"

Even your own voice was nothing, it was a phantom of something that existed long ago, something that stopped living every time he was near, every time he would make everything dissipate into thin air with just his presence.

"I missed you too baby girl" he grunted,

oh how he grunts, how he groans, how he moans

nobody does it like him

"missed you so fucking much darlin'"

His voice felt like a prayer, like a sweet invocation to the sky up above, to whomever would listen,

one that countered completely what he was doing, the nothing but sinful way he had you up against the wall, his hands gripping your waist as he thrust his cock in and out of you so fast you might just break.

The bed was right beside you, but that didn't matter, that's how you were

You and Joel, 

like animals, like soulmates, like desperate, desperate lovers

Your minds didn't work the same when you were near, they didn't work at all, one could argue

But isn't that was love is after all?

"oh my god" you moaned, hiding your head in the crook of his neck as one particular deep thrust made you see stars

"I know darlin'" he cooed, only going faster, deeper "I know"

"Joel" you cried, biting down on his skin "f-fuck"

It had only been two weeks since you last saw each other, but it might as well been decades.

They had sent him away.

Nobody liked him in Jackson, not once they'd learned his story, the terrible things he'd done

And when they found out about you... not even his own brother could protect him.

So they'd exiled him. 

But they couldn't keep him away forever, not when he had something to come back for.

"god fuckin' damnit babygirl- you feel so fuckin' good"

Your moans only got higher, your nails clinging to his back like a rabid cat.

"perfect lil' pussy" he growled, his hot breath on your sweaty neck pulling shivers from your body "Perfect fuckin' girl"

"oh fuck" you whined, tightening your legs' hold onto his waist 

"you feel so good too Joel" you promised, breathing heavily in synch with him "You and your perfect cock"

He groaned so loud he sounded like an animal

"might want to keep that pretty mouth shut if you want this to last, sugar"

You didn't know where you found the strength to laugh, but you did

"you're gonna come too soon, old man?"

His hold on your waist pulled you even closer, as you raised your head to look him in the eyes

God, he was handsome

"just might, if you keep saying stuff like that"

but before you could tell him how it wasn't fair, how he did it all the time and you couldn't do it even once, his thumb was on your clit and your eyes were to the back of your head.

"no" he stopped you before you could hide your face from him again "I want to see you"

And as warmth filled your chest and your forehead fell to his and pressure built in your belly, he murmured:

"good girl- come for me, just like that- Jesus Christ-"

And so you did,

You came and moaned and cried, and it didn't take much before he was doing the same, pumping you full of him until he'd given you every single drop.

And then you kissed, he kissed you slowly and gently and in the same exact way that made you fall for him the very first time.

"god I missed you so much" he breathed once you leaned away

A smile from ear to ear took over your face and all you could do was kiss him again

"me too baby" you murmured, as he helped you to your feet

You both smiled like silly idiots as you dressed again,

but neither of you could resist being in each other's arms, so you didn't.

He pulled you closer and wrapped his arms around you, kissing the crown of your head once you rested it on his still bare chest.

You didn't get how anyone could hate him,

You swore they wouldn't, they wouldn't if they only got to meet him, the real him, not the idea of him they had painted in their minds.

And so you hummed, breathing him in, clinging to him as he clung to you

Up until the very moment it all went to shit

Again.

"hey honey I just got back I-"

It was sad really, the fact you'd seen this scene before.

The disappointment in your dad's eyes, the fear turning into primal rage inside his iris, his fists tightening, Joel taking a step back

A deja-vu had never felt quite so devastating

"Arthur" Joel tried to speak, but your dad was already on him, his fist had already connected with his cheek

"What did I tell you!?" another punch "Last time was just a fucking warning!" and another

Joel was on the ground

He wasn't going to fight back.

This wasn't how he wanted to handle things

Not this time

Not with you

"I'll kill you this time you fucking disgusting pervert!" you swore you heard Joel's cheekbone crack with another hit "How dare you!?" your dad growled, Joel's bloody face beneath him "In my own home- how dare you take advantage of my daughter you fucking- pig!"

Your eyes were overflowing with tears, the top buttons of your dress were still unbuttoned, and Joel's chest was rising and falling too slowly, much too slowly

"dad"

But he kept going

"dad stop!"

you grabbed his wrist, and the moment his eyes met yours it felt like the word stopped, like it had frozen over.

You caused all that anger, all that pain

But if he just would listen to you...

"y/n"

"dad" your voice trembled as much as your fingers "dad I love him"

You saw his heart break. For all the wrong reasons,

for his poor daughter who was taken advantage of, for the naive, innocent daughter he couldn't protect. For the daughter that didn't exist. Because that wasn't you, that wasn't how things had gone.

"you don't know what you're saying"

His voice was harsh, cruel, cold.

"But I do!" tears ran down your cheeks as you glanced down to where Joel lay, to the cuts and blood coating his face "I love him dad, I really really do"

"You don't know who this man is" he said "The things he's done..." he said with a snarl, as if disgusted, as if the rage was surging from his chest all over again

"I know" you whispered "I know everything- He told me all of it dad, please" you begged "Please just let him go, let him talk"

"I don't need to listen to a word that comes out of this fucker's mouth"

"but dad-"

It was like a bomb went off

"HE'S 56!" he yelled, his grip on Joel's neck tightening "he's fifty fucking six y/n! You just fucking turned 21!" his voice bounced off the walls like thunder, "You're not even half his age!"

"who cares!?" you screamed too now, only your voice was interrupted by sobs 

"I DO!" he roared "Your mom would!" his eyes were wide with urgency, and although he was mad you could still hear the care behind his words "He might have made you think this is ok, that he loves you, but trust me none of it is true" he sighed "He's using you honey, I know it's hard to understand right now, but you- you're young- you don't know-"

Your hand left him, shaking as it went to wipe your tears.

"dad" you said more firmly now "I might be young but I'm not stupid"

"y/n-"

"no" you stopped him "Dad this is the first time I've ever felt this way, like I cannot breathe when he's not close, like I need him more than I need air" you swallowed thickly "And I know- I know it's hard to understand, I know it's easier to just go with the narrative in your head, of the fragile little girl and the big creepy guy, but this-" you took a shaky breath as you glanced at Joel again

His eyes were barely open, he was barely conscious

"This isn't like that" you promised "I- I love him, and he loves me"

"Honey-"

"I'm not done" you stopped him again "I'll never forgive you dad" you shook your head, simply stating the truth "I'll never forgive you if you do this, if you don't even give him a chance to explain, to tell you how things really are"

You saw the conflict in his eyes, the searing pain caused him to hear such words from his daughter, to hear her beg and threaten and speak up all at once,

and yet... yet he couldn't shake off the honesty, the hope lacing your words, your voice, sparkling from your eyes

And so he did the only thing he could,

he agreed, he agreed to hear the full story.

___

That was two years ago now,

and sometimes you wondered if it all was just a bad dream, if your imagination had tricked you into believing some silly made-up story,

but the glares from the people in town always seemed to refresh your memory.

And yes, maybe you would have liked to live a life without people whispering ugly things about you behind your back every day... but then maybe, maybe it was all worth it

For this.

For the child growing in your belly, for the veil on top of your head, for the sound of your dad stifling his sobs beside you, 

for the image of Joel waiting for you at the end of the aisle, for the tears in his eyes, for the smile on his face,

for him, 

for you,

It was all worth it,

Yes, yes it definitely was.

— — —

Now I'm dancin' in my dress in the sun and Even my daddy just loves him I'm his lady And, oh, my God, you should see your faces Time, doesn't it give some perspective? And, no, you can't come to the wedding I know it's crazy, but he's the one I want

[thedilfdiaries]

Moth to a Flame

Firefighter!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 6,877

Summary: During a fire station training session, seasoned firefighter Joel Miller becomes entranced by a volunteer's poise and spirit. When you lose your cherished nanna's ring in the hustle and bustle, Joel seizes the opportunity to return it.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, male masturbation, soft but dom!Joel, light alcohol consumption, f!oral receiving, reader wears a dress.

Notes: Tysm @joelslegalwhre for being the most incredible human and beta 💖 tysm @saradika-graphics for the divider

In the golden embrace of the morning sun, the fire station pulsates with an electric anticipation. The air is thick with the scent of determination and the metallic tang of polished trucks standing at attention. Joel Miller, a firefighter with a decade of scars and stories etched into his soul, feels the familiar rush of adrenaline as he prepares for the day's training session with live volunteers. The heat, the weight of his gear, and the omnipresent smoke are his constants, his companions in a dance with danger that defines his existence. Yet amidst this orchestrated chaos, a new melody captures Joel's attention. You stand there, signing waivers, a vision of delicate strength wrapped in an aura of grace. Your eyes sparkle as bright as the ring on your finger with a blend of trepidation and thrill. There's an undeniable resilience in your gaze, and in this moment, Joel is certain, he yearns to unravel the story behind those eyes.

As you slip into character for the training exercise, your performance is nothing short of mesmerizing. You become the embodiment of someone caught in tragedy's grip, each flinch and strained breath echoing through Joel's heart like a siren's call. The world around him blurs into insignificance; all that remains is you—a beacon amidst smoke and shadows.

Joel watches you intently as you navigate through simulated wreckage with elegance despite your role as an injured victim. Your portrayal is hauntingly authentic; it stirs something within him that goes beyond professional admiration—it touches on something deeply human and profoundly connective. With every second that passes, Joel feels himself being drawn deeper into your orbit, captivated by your enigmatic presence and vibrant spirit that shines even in play-acted despair.

As Joel moves closer to you during these drills designed to hone their skills, he finds himself longing not just for safety but also for connection.

———

As the echoes of the day's training drills dissipate into the quiet corners of the fire station, a stillness settles over the scene. The once vibrant cacophony of shouts and machinery now gives way to a serene hush, as if the very building itself exhales a sigh of relief.

In this newfound calm, Joel's gaze falls upon a glimmering object nestled against the concrete floor. He stoops down, his gloved fingers encircling the small, radiant treasure. It's your ring—the same one you wore when you first walked in, its presence etched in his memory from when you signed those waivers with such care. The ring looks well-traveled, its metal worn smooth by countless days and nights on your finger.

With a sense of purpose, Joel secures the ring in his pocket. He hastens through his post-training routine, shedding the day's sweat and grime under the cleansing spray of the station's shower before gathering his belongings to depart. But there's an unfinished task that weighs on his mind, one that cannot wait until tomorrow.

Approaching Beatrice's desk with a warm smile playing on his lips, he prepares to make his request known. "Beatrice," he begins affectionately, "my favorite admin."

She looks up from her paperwork and returns his smile with one of her own. "Joel Miller," she says with a hint of playfulness in her voice. "What brings you to my corner of chaos today?"

He chuckles lightly at her jest and nods towards her computer screen where he knows she keeps all their records meticulously organized. "Actually," Joel confesses earnestly, "I need your help trackin’ down my victim from today's exercise." He gently takes the ring from the safety of his pocket and holds it up for Beatrice to see. "She dropped somethin’ quite precious during all that commotion.”

"No problem at all, Joel," she chirps, her voice as bright as the sun filtering through the station windows. "Just give me a moment."

"Thank you, darlin’," Joel responds gratefully, his own smile mirroring hers as he waits for the information that will bridge the gap between him and you. The seconds tick by in anticipation, each one carrying the promise of an imminent reunion that stirs his heart more than any fire ever could.

———

As Joel strides toward your neighborhood, the address scribbled on the post-it note seems to pulse with a rhythm that matches his quickening heartbeat. The discovery that you live just a few blocks away from him in this cozy enclave feels like a serendipitous twist of fate. With each step he takes, the anticipation builds within his chest, a fluttering sensation that's both exhilarating and unfamiliar.

The trees lining the sidewalk whisper secrets as he passes, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. He navigates the familiar streets with a newfound sense of purpose, each step bringing him closer to your front door—and to the mystery that is you.

Upon reaching your home, Joel pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. The facade of the house seems to reflect his own nervous energy back at him. He takes a deep breath and ascends the front steps, his heart pounding with an intensity he hasn't felt in years.

With a trembling hand, he reaches out to press the doorbell, but before he can, the door swings open. There you stand, framed by the doorway and bathed in soft afternoon light. Your yellow sundress adorned with white flowers accentuates your silhouette, while an intricate silver chain with two delicate pendant charms rests against your skin—a subtle allure that captivates him instantly.

"Hello?" you inquire cautiously, your expression one of mild confusion—a sign that perhaps you don't remember him as vividly as he remembers you from just hours before at the fire station drill.

"Hey there," Joel begins with an attempt at casualness that belies his racing pulse and slightly unsteady voice. He clears his throat and steadies himself before continuing, "I'm Joel from earlier today—the fire department training session." His hand instinctively lifts to present your ring between two fingers for you to see. "I believe this belongs to you."

Your eyes widen in surprise and relief as recognition dawns on your face—a beautiful tableau of emotions playing across it like sunlight dancing on water's surface. "My nanna's ring!" You exclaim softly while gently accepting it back into your care with delicate fingers poised between reverence and joy at its recovery.

The gratitude shining in your eyes is palpable as they meet his once more over this small but significant reunion of yours with such precious memories attached. Your words of gratitude hang in the air like a sweet melody, and with a gentle tug, you pull Joel into a warm embrace. "Thank you," you say softly against his shoulder, "you have no idea what this ring means to me. I thought it was lost forever."

As the hug comes to an end, you step back, your gaze drifting toward the interior of your home before returning to meet Joel's eyes. There's a sincerity in your voice that's impossible to ignore as you extend an invitation that catches him off guard. "I was just making dinner. Would you like to join me? It's the least I can do after you've returned something so precious."

Joel's hand instinctively moves to the back of his neck, a sign of his nervousness as he contemplates your offer. "Wouldn't wanna impose," he replies hesitantly.

"Not at all," you assure him with a reassuring smile. "It's just spaghetti and meatballs—nothing fancy."

The mention of a home-cooked meal stirs something within Joel. His demanding schedule often leaves him with little time for such simple pleasures, and the prospect of enjoying one now is unexpectedly enticing.

"If it's not too much trouble ma'am."

You catch the slightest wince in Joel's expression as the word "ma'am" slips from his lips, and you can't help but tease him a little. "Please, ma'am makes me sound like some old spinster," you say with a light-hearted laugh. You introduce yourself by name before extending your hand in greeting. You step back, holding the door open, an unspoken invitation for him to cross the threshold into the warmth of your abode.

Joel pauses, a momentary hesitation before he steps inside, his senses are immediately greeted by the intoxicating aroma of home-cooked food that fills every corner of the house. “Smells delicious," he remarks, his voice tinged with anticipation.

"Hope it tastes even better," you reply with a smile, gesturing around you. "Please, make yourself at home. Mi casa es tu casa, or whatever it is."

As you lead him through the foyer, he takes in the cozy living room, a space that feels both personal and welcoming. The walls are adorned with photographs—snapshots of your life, your loved ones, and cherished memories. A stack of books on the coffee table hints at your eclectic tastes, while a vibrant bouquet of fresh flowers adds a touch of elegance and freshness to the room.

You guide Joel to the kitchen, where he takes a seat at the island, a central hub of domestic activity. You head to the refrigerator, pulling out a couple of beers. "Drink?" you ask, holding one out for him.

You watch as Joel's eyes flicker with a hint of surprise, perhaps at the contrast between the expected glass of wine and the down-to-earth beer in your hand. "Didn't take ya for a beer girl," he comments, a playful challenge in his tone.

You let out a small giggle, the sound mingling with the clink of bottles. "My parents are the wine connoisseurs," you explain, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. "I keep beer on hand just to stir the pot. They turn their noses up at it, call it a 'poor man's drink,' but I love the simplicity. No need for fancy glasses or decanting—just open and enjoy." You twist off the cap and take a sip, your expression one of contentment. "It's my little rebellion."

Joel can’t help but smirk as he sips his beer. You lift your drink and take a refreshing sip before you set it gently on the counter. Turning your attention back to the stove, you tend to the sauce, stirring with a practiced hand, the rich aroma filling the kitchen and mingling with the yeasty scent of the beer.

Joel takes a long drink from his beer, the bottle cool against his lips as he watches you move gracefully around the kitchen. He's a sweet man, the kind who would offer the shirt off his back without a second thought. Yet, beneath that kindness lies a deep-seated longing—a desire to find someone like you to make his wife, to be the heart of his home.

As he observes you, his mind begins to weave elaborate fantasies. He imagines himself returning from a grueling day of battling flames, the anticipation building as he envisions you waiting for him in your charming sundress and apron, bent over as you retrieve dinner from the oven. In his mind's eye, you're sans panties, a detail that sends a thrill through him.

His pants begin to stir with this thought, an involuntary twitch that betrays his growing arousal. The fantasy escalates; he sees himself approaching you from behind with his erection straining against the fabric of his jeans. He imagines grabbing your hips and plunging into you with one swift motion, filling you completely as your moans of pleasure echo in his ears. The scenario is tantalizingly vivid, and it fuels the hardening of his cock, which now presses urgently against his denim confines.

The fantasy lingers too long—a delicious torment that has him shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He takes another swig of beer in hopes of quelling the fire that burns within him, all while keeping his gaze fixed on you.

You're oblivious to the storm of desire raging across from you as you stir the sauce on the stove and speak over the hum of the fan. Your voice is soft and inviting when you apologize for the noise and offer Joel another beer from the fridge—a gesture so simple yet so full of warmth.

Then it happens; as if by some unspoken cue in this erotic dance between reality and fantasy, you bend down to take out the garlic bread you've prepared. The hem of your sundress lifts just enough for Joel to catch sight of what he's been imagining; no panties—a confirmation that sets his heart racing and sends a jolt straight to his groin.

"Shit..." he murmurs under his breath while subtly trying to adjust himself in an attempt to conceal his burgeoning erection beneath the tablecloth draped over your dining table. "Mind if I use your restroom?" Joel asks hurriedly, striving for normalcy despite feeling anything but normal at this moment.

You turn around with a smile that lights up your face like a sunrise over calm waters—warm and welcoming without even realizing how much more fuel it adds to Joel's fiery imagination. “Of course, just down the hall, first door on the left."

"Thanks," Joel manages to say, his voice betraying a hint of awkwardness as he rises from his chair. He quickly exits the kitchen, his steps hurried as he makes his way toward the sanctuary of the bathroom. The door closes behind him, and in the privacy of this small space, he allows himself to feel the full extent of his arousal.

His hands find the cool wall in front of him, bracing himself as he tries to regain control over his body's reactions. But it's no use; the image of you, the fleeting glimpse of your naked flesh beneath that sundress, has ignited a fire within him that only one thing can quench.

With trembling hands, Joel releases his cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers, letting them fall to the floor. His fingers wrap around his length while his other hand presses against the wall for support. His thumb caresses his balls as he closes his eyes and loses himself in the fantasy of being inside you—your warmth enveloping him completely.

The sensation is overwhelming; with each stroke, he imagines himself thrusting into your wet cunt, feeling your body yield to him as pleasure courses through both of you. His breath hitches as he pictures your inner thighs slick against his hard cock, an image so vivid it feels like reality rather than mere fantasy.

His rhythm quickens; the sound of his heavy breathing fills the room as he chases release—a necessary escape from this fevered dream that has taken hold of him. With a final groan Joel reaches climax, spilling himself onto his hand in hot spurts while images of you dance before his closed eyes.

Once spent and with control regained, Joel cleans up and takes a moment to compose himself before stepping out into the hallway once more.

He reenters the kitchen with cautious steps; taking in every detail anew: how your hair sways gently with each movement; how gracefully you navigate around your own space; how utterly captivating you are without even trying to be so. Like an intoxicating drug coursing through Joel's veins—a potent mix that leaves him craving more.

You pivot gracefully, two plates cradled in your hands, their contents a testament to your culinary prowess. As you sit down beside Joel, he watches you with an intensity that borders on reverence. Every subtle movement of your hair, every shift of your body captivates him utterly. It's as though he's discovered a newfound addiction, one that courses through his veins and leaves him yearning for more—more of your presence, more of this warmth that seems to radiate from you effortlessly.

The scent of garlic wafts through the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread and homemade sauce. It's a comforting symphony of scents that causes Joel's mouth to water in anticipation.

"Hope it's good," you say with a hint of modesty in your voice, "sorry it's nothing more interesting."

Joel shakes his head emphatically after taking his first bite of pasta. "It's perfect," he assures you, his words genuine and heartfelt. "I honestly can't remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal like this. It's delicious—quite the step up from frozen pizza."

Your smile is radiant as you accept his compliment with grace. "Well, honestly," you reply with a light laugh, "I'll be repaying you for a lifetime for finding this ring for me. Come by anytime you're in the neighborhood."

"Funny thing," Joel responds between bites, "I only live a few blocks from here, down on Anderson." This revelation sparks an animated conversation between the two of you—a sharing of stories and dreams that flows as easily as the beer in your bottles. You talk about everything: work and family; friends and interests, and even your favorite bad movies that are so terrible they loop back around to being entertaining again.

After a few hours filled with laughter and learning about each other over drinks the camaraderie between you is palpable as you prepare to introduce Joel to what is perhaps one of the most delightfully awful films ever made—a movie so bad it transcends its own terribleness into something truly special.

"I can't believe you haven't seen it yet! We have to watch it; I'm putting it on right now! It's the best worst movie there ever is or ever will be." Your enthusiasm is infectious; even if Joel has his doubts about such bold claims regarding cinematic quality or lack thereof, he can't help but be drawn into your excitement.

“That's a serious claim, dunno if I believe it." Joel's words carry a playful skepticism as he raises an eyebrow at you, clearly intrigued by your passionate endorsement of the movie.

"Trust me!" You reply with an infectious enthusiasm that lights up your entire face. "You'll never want it to end." Your conviction is unshakeable, and there's a sparkle in your eyes that speaks volumes about the joy you find in sharing this guilty pleasure with someone else.

With a swift, almost eager motion, you spring up from your seat and make your way to the couch, a well-loved blanket clutched in your hands. You turn to look at Joel, patting the spot on the couch next to you with a warm, inviting smile that seems to brighten the entire room.

"I can't in good faith let you leave until you've at least seen this movie," you tell him, your tone half-joking, half-serious. It's a playful challenge, one that Joel readily accepts with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He rises from his chair, crossing the short distance to join you on the couch. As he settles in beside you, the cushions dip under his weight, bringing the two of you closer together. You can't help but smile as you pull the blanket over both of you, a cozy shield against the outside world.

The movie's opening credits roll across the screen, but Joel's attention is divided. He's acutely aware of your presence beside him—the warmth of your body, the soft rhythm of your breathing, and the intoxicating scent of vanilla and coconut that seems to envelop you both. As you snuggle into him, resting your head on his arm, Joel feels a surge of desire tempered by a wave of uncertainty.

His mind races with images of you—bent over, moaning beneath him, your body tightening around him as he imagines himself thrusting deep inside you. The fantasy is so vivid that it takes all his self-control not to act on the impulses that course through him. But then you shift closer to him, nestling into the crook of his arm with a contented sigh that makes his heart skip a beat.

Joel's arm hovers in the air for a moment before he gathers the courage to wrap it around your shoulders. The gesture feels natural yet charged with an electricity that hums just beneath the surface. You respond by snuggling even closer, your arms encircling his torso in a silent embrace that sends shivers down his spine.

This newfound intimacy is both exhilarating and comforting for Joel; it's as if he's found a sanctuary in the warmth of your embrace—a safe haven from the tumultuous desires that wage war within him. His heart rate begins to slow as he holds you gently but firmly against him, savoring the softness of your skin and the trust implicit in this quiet cuddle on the couch.

The thought of kissing you crosses Joel's mind more than once. Your lips look so inviting—soft and sweet like ripe fruit just waiting to be tasted. He imagines what it would be like to close the distance between you two; to feel those lips yield under his own; to explore every single curve and contour with an urgency born from longing and restraint.

But despite this overwhelming temptation, Joel remains cautious—mindful not to scare you away with his crippling desire.

As the movie plays out, Joel's thoughts drift further away from the screen. The plot, the characters, the absurdity of it all—none of it can hold a candle to the vivid fantasies that dance through his mind. The desire that has been simmering beneath the surface since he first walked through your door now threatens to boil over, fueled by every innocent touch and shared laugh under the soft glow of your living room.

His cock twitches with a life of its own, straining against the fabric of his jeans as the images of you flood his senses. He imagines cupping your breasts in his hands, feeling their weight and warmth; tracing the contours of your neck with his tongue before capturing your lips in a searing kiss; teasing your nipples with his teeth until they're as hard as the erection that throbs insistently beneath the blanket.

The need for release is overwhelming, and despite his best efforts to remain still and composed, Joel's arousal is becoming increasingly difficult to conceal. The blanket tented above his groin is a clear indication of his body's betrayal—a beacon signaling his unspoken desire for you.

He holds his breath, praying that you won't shift your hand any lower lest you discover just how much he's struggling to maintain control. But what Joel doesn't realize is that you've already noticed—it would be impossible not to with such an obvious bulge pressing against the fabric that separates skin from skin.

The knowledge that you are aware of his predicament only serves to heighten Joel's arousal. And then, without warning, you move—your hand grazing the top of his thigh before inching higher and higher still until it hovers just below where he needs it most.

Joel gasps as you begin to palm him through the denim barrier. Each movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through him. His moan is soft but audible in the quiet room; a testament to how much he craves your touch—how much he craves you.

As you continue to explore the contours of Joel's body with your touch, he feels a shiver run down his spine, a visceral reaction to the electricity that seems to arc between you two. The desire that has been building within him since he first stepped into your home now threatens to consume him entirely. He aches for you—for the taste of your lips, the softness of your skin, the warmth of your embrace. Every moment in your presence only fans the flames of his longing, and he finds himself teetering on the edge of restraint.

Your hand glides over his thigh, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure through him. His cock strains against the confines of his jeans, a testament to how much he wants you—how much he needs you. His breath hitches in his throat as he fights to maintain some semblance of control, but it's a battle he's losing quickly.

You see Joel's eyes flutter shut, a silent admission of how deeply your touch affects him. The evidence of his arousal is plain to see beneath the blanket that does little to hide his desire for you. His grip on reality—and perhaps more importantly, on the couch cushions—tightens as he struggles against the tide of yearning that threatens to sweep him away.

But you have no intention of letting this moment pass by unexplored. With deliberate intent, you move your hand higher still until it grazes the head of his cock through the denim that separates you. The sound that escapes from Joel is part sigh, part plea—a clear indication that his control is hanging by a thread.

In one swift motion, Joel captures your wrist, halting your movements and drawing your attention back to him. His eyes are dark with need as they lock onto yours; there's an unspoken question lingering in their depths—a question that hangs between you both like an invisible thread.

You give Joel a small nod, granting him silent permission to explore his desires. Without missing a beat, he leans in, his lips brushing against the tender skin of your neck. He lingers at your pulse point, his gentle suction sending waves of pleasure through you. His hand finds your thigh, caressing it with an up-and-down motion that makes your legs tremble with anticipation.

A soft whimper escapes you, and you bite down on your bottom lip in an effort to stifle the urge to scream out his name. Joel's fingers trace a path under your dress, moving upward with agonizing slowness. His smile broadens as he feels the warmth of your flesh beneath his fingertips.

He carefully lifts your dress off your body, casting it aside in one fluid motion, leaving you completely exposed and naked before him. Standing up, you take his hand and lead him towards the stairs that ascend to your bed. Joel is taken aback by your assertiveness—it's not what he expected from you—but his surprise quickly gives way to desire. All that matters is that he wants you, needs you. So he follows without question as you guide him upstairs to the intimacy of your bedroom.

You walk backward towards the center of the room, drawing Joel along with you. You gaze into his eyes and see pure desire shining back at you—a look that matches the yearning within yourself. In this moment, there's no room for doubt or hesitation; there's only the two of you.

In the dimly lit room, the air is thick with anticipation, each breath you take laced with the scent of desire. Joel stands before you, his silhouette a study in masculine beauty against the soft glow of the room. With a measured pace, he grasps the hem of his shirt, the fabric straining against the defined muscles of his body. As he lifts it over his head, the light dances across his tanned skin, highlighting the rugged contours of his chest and the salt-and-pepper dusting of his happy trail.

The sight of his broad shoulders and the solid expanse of his chest leaves you momentarily breathless. His physique is a canvas of hard work and dedication, each muscle carved from years of physical exertion. The soft dusting of hair trails down his toned stomach, leading your gaze to the waistband of his pants.

With a swift, almost impatient motion, he frees himself from the last of his clothing. His movements are a symphony of strength and grace, and as his pants slide down his powerful thighs, you catch your first glimpse of his manhood. His cock stands proud and erect, a beacon of his arousal, the skin stretched taut and flushed with the heat of his desire.

The sight of him—unabashedly naked and utterly desirable—sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. His cock is a testament to his masculinity; thick, with a defined shape that beckons your touch. A bead of moisture glistens at the tip, a clear sign of his readiness, and you can't help but imagine the warmth of his skin against your palm, the weight of him in your hand.

Joel's cock is a marvel of male anatomy, the veins tracing intricate patterns along its length, pulsing. It's a sight that is both primal and beautiful, the very essence of his maleness on display just for you. The coarse hair at the base only serves to accentuate its impressive girth, and you find yourself drawn to him, eager to explore every inch of his rugged, manly form.

As Joel hovers over you, his gaze rakes over your body with an intensity that sets your skin ablaze. He drinks in the sight of you, his appreciation evident in the hunger that darkens his eyes.

He takes a moment to explore, his rough palms gently cupping the softness of your curves, his thumbs teasing your hardening nipples. The contrast of his rugged hands against your delicate skin sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and a soft moan escapes your lips, encouraging him to continue his sensual exploration.

You feel the weight of his body as he settles between your thighs. The coarse hair of his happy trail brushes against your sensitive skin. With a reverence that makes your heart flutter, he lowers his head, his lips tracing a path from your navel to the soft curve of your breast, his breath hot against your skin.

As Joel lifts himself, the muscles in his arms and shoulders ripple with the movement, casting enticing shadows across his skin. He leans over you once more, his gaze filled with a mix of adoration and unbridled lust. His lips trail a scorching path down your stomach, each kiss a tender promise that sends shivers of anticipation through you.

You arch your back, your body instinctively responding to his touch. Your breath hitches as he reaches the delicate juncture of your thighs, his tongue darting out to taste you. He licks and nips at the sensitive skin along your inner thighs, each touch of his mouth stoking the fire within you.

A smirk plays on Joel's lips as he reaches your clit, a knowing glint in his eyes that tells you he's fully aware of the power he holds over you in this moment. With exquisite tenderness, he flicks his tongue over the engorged bundle of nerves, each lick sending jolts of pleasure radiating through your body. You squirm beneath him, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you.

His fingers part your folds, exposing you fully to his ministrations. He thrusts his tongue into you, exploring your depths with a hunger that leaves you gasping for air. His movements are deliberate and skilled—circling, probing, and sucking in just the right way to make your clit twitch erratically with need.

Joel's own excitement is palpable; with each moan that escapes your lips, his cock grows impossibly harder. The sight of him so turned on by pleasuring you only adds to the intensity of the moment.

As he continues to suck and flick his tongue around your glistening cunt , you can't help but voice your pleasure loudly, the sound echoing off the walls of the room. You push yourself further up the mattress, seeking friction against his relentless tongue as you chase the elusive wave of your orgasm.

"I'm gonna come," you pant out between ragged breaths, "please don't stop." Your world narrows down to the feeling of his tongue against your clit—a maddening rhythm.

As the words tumble from your lips, Joel's eyes flash with a primal hunger, and he knows that you're on the brink. He redoubles his efforts, his tongue working with a renewed fervor as he hears the desperation in your voice.

"That's it, such a good girl," Joel growls against your sensitive flesh, his voice rough with desire. "You're so fucking beautiful.”

Just as you're about to cum Joel pulls away and Joel's dominance takes center stage. He looms over you. His eyes are dark with desire, and there's a wicked glint in them that promises an escalation of pleasure and intensity.

"You like that, don't ya?" he rasps, his voice thick with lust. "Feelin’ my tongue on your wet cunt, makin’ you squirm and beg." He punctuates each word with a roll of his hips, his cock rubbing against your sensitive flesh in a way that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

"Yes," you admit breathlessly, the admission spilling from your lips without hesitation. You're past the point of being coy or reserved.

He grabs your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head as he leans down to whisper in your ear. "I'm gonna make you scream my name until all your neighbors know exactly who owns this tight little pussy. "You're mine," he asserts, his voice a possessive rumble in your ear. "This little pussy is mine to fuck, mine to pleasure, mine to own.”

The raw intensity of Joel's words sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. His dominance is a potent aphrodisiac, stoking the fire within you to a fever pitch. You're helpless against the onslaught of sensations—the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress, the feel of his calloused hands restraining your wrists, the heat of his breath against your ear.

"Say it," he commands, his voice a low growl that resonates with authority. "Tell who this pussy belongs to."

"It's yours," you gasp, the words spilling from your lips in a rush of submission. "All yours, Joel."

A satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he releases your wrists, only to grip your hips with both hands. He positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. The anticipation is almost unbearable; you can feel every ridge and vein of his impressive girth as he teases you with shallow thrusts, barely breaching your opening.

"Please," you beg, your voice laced with desperation. "I need you inside me."

With a grunt of approval, Joel gives in to your pleas, driving his cock into you with one powerful thrust. The sensation of being filled so completely takes your breath away, a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you gasping for air. He doesn't give you time to adjust to his size, instead setting a relentless pace that has your body arching off the bed with each forceful stroke.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Your pussy feels like heaven wrapped around my cock baby."

You can't form coherent words anymore; all that escapes your lips are inarticulate cries of pleasure as Joel claims your body with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His hips snap against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room, punctuated by your desperate moans and his low, guttural grunts.

As he continues to fuck you with wild abandon, you can feel the familiar tightening in your core, a sign that your orgasm is imminent. Your inner walls flutter around his cock, gripping him tightly as he plunges in and out of your soaked pussy.

As the intensity of your shared passion builds, Joel's gaze locks onto yours, his eyes dark with desire and command. "Look at me," he orders, his voice a low, insistent growl that cuts through the haze of pleasure clouding your senses. "Wanna see you when you come for me."

Your eyes meet his, and in that moment, something profound passes between you. It's as if he's reaching into the very depths of your soul, claiming not just your body but every part of you.

With each powerful thrust, Joel drives you closer to the edge of ecstasy. The sight of him above you—his muscles straining with exertion, his skin slick with sweat, and his eyes burning into yours—is more than you can bear. You feel yourself teetering on the brink, a prisoner to the exquisite torment that is building within your core.

"That's it," Joel encourages, his voice ragged with need. "Come on, baby. I gotcha."

As you surrender to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body, your orgasm takes hold, and you can't help but cry out his name. The sound of it reverberates through the room, a testament to the raw, unfiltered pleasure that Joel has coaxed from your very core.

In the midst of your climax, with your body trembling beneath him, Joel's voice breaks through the fog of ecstasy. "So damn beautiful when you come," he murmurs. "Seein’ you like this, feelin’ you tighten ‘round me—it's the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed."

His praise washes over you, amplifying the intensity of your orgasm. The knowledge that he finds you beautiful in this unguarded moment of pleasure adds a new dimension to the experience—a sense of being cherished and admired that goes beyond the physical.

The combination of his words and the relentless rhythm of his hips proves too much for Joel to withstand. With a final, powerful thrust, he reaches his own peak, his body shuddering as he empties himself inside you. His groans of release mingle with your cries of pleasure, creating a symphony of shared ecstasy that fills the room.

Joel's laughter suddenly fills the room, a warm, hearty sound that wraps around you like a comforting blanket. He pulls you close, his arm a secure band around your waist as he tucks you into his side. You can't help but smile, your heart fluttering in your chest as you press your face against the solid wall of his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat is a soothing counterpoint to your own rapid pulse and heavy breathing.

The reality of tonight's events still feels surreal to you. Here you are, nestled in the sanctuary of your bed, with a man who has managed to ignite a fire within you that you didn't even know existed. The thought flickers through your mind that this is something transient, something that might not be meant to last. But in this moment, none of that matters. All that matters is the connection between you and Joel—a connection that feels as real and as solid as anything you've ever known.

After several moments of comfortable silence, Joel's voice breaks through the quietude of the room. "That was perfect," he says, his words laced with genuine admiration and wonder. You can't help but giggle at his enthusiasm—it mirrors the joy bubbling up inside of you. Turning in his embrace, you find yourself lost in his deep brown eyes—eyes that seem to see right through to your very soul.

Leaning in, he captures your lips in a kiss that is both tender and passionate—a slow, sweet melding that sends shivers down your spine and makes your lips tingle with delight. You part your lips slightly, granting him deeper access as his tongue sweeps against yours in an intimate dance that leaves you breathless and yearning for more.

His hand finds its way into your hair, fingers gently tangling in the strands as he cradles your head with surprising gentleness for someone with such strong hands. Every touch feels electric—each caress igniting sparks beneath your skin until it seems like there's nothing else but this perfect moment suspended in time.

As the kiss comes to a gentle close, Joel pulls back just enough to gaze into your eyes, his own reflecting a mix of satisfaction and reluctance. His attention shifts momentarily to the alarm clock on your nightstand, its glowing digits announcing the arrival of midnight.

"Fuck," he sighs, the word a soft exhalation against your lips. "As much as I'd love to stay here with you, I really gotta head home and try to get a few hours of sleep.”

You offer him a smile that's both understanding and a little wistful, nodding your head in silent agreement. Leaning in, you initiate one last kiss—a sweet, lingering press of your lips against his.

"Guess it's true what they say," you murmur, your voice soft yet teasing, "heroes never rest. Go on, Mr. Fireman, get some sleep. But do me a favor and text me when you get home. I need to know you made it safely and weren't murdered on the way.”

Joel's chuckle is warm and genuine as he cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your cheekbones in a tender farewell. "I wouldn't dream of leavin’ ya worried," he assures you before capturing your lips in one final kiss.

With a reluctant groan, he extricates himself from the tangle of limbs and bedding, rising from the bed. You watch him dress, the moonlight casting shadows across his toned body, and you can't help but appreciate the sight of him—a man who embodies strength, courage, and unexpected tenderness.

Once he's fully clothed, Joel turns to you one last time, his eyes drinking in the sight of you lying there amidst the rumpled sheets. "I'll see you soon, pretty girl," he says, his voice filled with quiet determination. And then, with a final wave, he's gone—leaving you with the lingering scent of his cologne and the memory of his touch to keep you company through the night.

True to his word, your phone buzzes a short while later, the screen lighting up with a message from Joel

Made it home safe and sound. No murderers lurking in the shadows tonight. Sweet dreams, beautiful. I'll be thinking of you.

[cr4yolaas]

for lovers who hesitate — tsukishima kei

synopsis: you find your old academic rival at your new job. every bone in your body says it’s fate, but everything else seems to be stopping you.

notes: puking cuz idk how i feel abt this one. i worked on this all thru out my trip and there was a lot of scrapping and rewriting and deleting the entire thing and rewriting it again, but i think this version is the best i could get it to. i <3 tsukishima kei

tags: fluff → angst → fluff, self-indulgent long fic, reader smokes, reader has trauma w/ their parents, mainly fem reader oriented but gn pronouns used, reader has self-destructive habits, themes of self-doubt from both, tsukishima is probably ooc, slow burn but not really, the most awkward love confession ever, mitski rdr x radiohead tsukishima (sorry), proofread but not really

tsukishima kei, for once, was at a loss for words.

there you stood beneath the bright green foliage, your face marred by the heatwaves of the sun and still all too familiar. he thought, for a moment, that he had the wrong person — you had taken on a rougher appearance, but his body, heart, and soul still recognized you. and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to speak to you.

where had the last decade gone?

he coughed into his fist and walked past you, feigning ignorance to your arrival. when you followed after him with a keycard of your own, he found himself flustered.

no words were exchanged. he was playing the silent game with you, although he quietly hoped you would say something first.

and thus, he continued his shift as usual, with the added oddity of you shadowing him alongside his boss. he just couldn’t find the proper words to place on his tongue, nor the right gestures to show that he did want to talk, he just didn’t know how to.

but truthfully, what was one supposed to say in such a situation?

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

you believed that tsukishima hated you. and you wouldn’t blame him.

when you applied for this job, you had no expectations going into it, save for the hope of a higher salary and a lighter load than your previous job. what you had not anticipated was to stand face to face with the man you swore to hate in your youth.

a sliver of hope embedded itself within you; an overwhelming desire to perhaps refurbish a long lost relationship had taken root. but when he looked away so persistently and spoke not a word to you, that sliver dissipated into meaningless sand.

you continued your work as best as possible. it was a routine job — set up the displays for the day, guide whatever visitors came around, and leave in the afternoon. but when a certain blonde was sneaking glances at you and somehow always in your vicinity, it proved to be easier said than done.

you were too afraid to admit that his presence was refreshing. that, in the midst of the mundane and borderline unhealthy cycle you had formulated within the past handful of years following graduation, he had proven to be an odd factor; he stood as a disruptor to the routine. it was unwelcome. and even still, you craved it and more.

tsukishima kei had always been a constant in your life. you just didn’t expect him to reappear so soon, so suddenly.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

it was a wednesday. an uneventful shift had come to an end. and just as you rid yourself of your work attire, a verbal invitation to a work party was sent your way.

the prospect of it was almost laughable. you were under the impression that the body of employees in a museum would be too reserved to host parties such as this, and you were quickly proven otherwise. thus, you accepted instantly.

as soon as you sat down, you regretted it just as quickly.

the moon had just barely begun to hang bright in the sky, and yet the table was already full of drunken coworkers that you hadn’t seen before. loud chatter filled the room, as if this table was the only one in the establishment. it was overbearing.

before you could take even a sip of your drink, you excused yourself under the pretense of needing to use the restroom. instead, you escaped outside, the gentle breeze reestablishing your senses and reeling you back in.

he was also there.

“oh,” he exclaimed softly. his eyes drifted away from yours, the warmth of his cheeks illuminated by the dim lamp above. oh was the first word he had ever spoken to you since graduation. you nearly laughed.

“hello,” you offered quietly, still testing the waters of conversation. your gaze fell to his fingers, slim and cherry-kissed and blemished, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “um… i didn’t expect to see you here…?”

tsukishima laughed lightly at your tone, as if to conceal his own anxieties. “likewise.” he watched as you pulled out a cigarette, the stick meeting your lips like it were more than natural. “did you come all this way to stalk me? or to follow me? after all those years of silence?” he teased, although a tinge of bitterness dripped from his words.

you shook your head aggressively. “no, no, i just…” you bit at your lip for a moment before continuing. “i’m taking a break from my actual job. i needed to wind down before i return.”

tsukishima hummed at your response, evidently oblivious to your lie. he looked at you for a moment too long, his eyes grazing over each alteration and unfamiliar feature. he could not help but admire you in this light — the soft strings of moonlight in contrast with the neon signs glaring against your complexion painted an image he hadn’t seen in ages.

for the first time in a long time, tsukishima kei thought you were unbearably pretty.

what he didn’t catch wind of was your nervous shuffles and your incessant skin-picking as you stood beside him. he didn’t realize that the cigarette was a distractor, a tool to pull you back in. and he failed to acknowledge the stutter in your voice as you spoke to him, for it hadn’t crossed his mind once that you thought he disliked you. not that it would matter to him, anyways.

it’s too soon, he thought to himself. this is stupid, he argued. i’d mess it up if i did anything reckless, he reasoned. all of which were excuses to fight against the overwhelming reality of his vulnerability.

you turned your head away, the extended silence whittling away at whatever confidence you once bore. tsukishima watched with framed eyes and a calculative stare, as if scrutinizing each and every action you took. unbeknownst to you, it was the exact opposite of that.

the soft call of your name from inside the bar pulled your attention away, much to his dismay. he witnessed your frame disappear through the doors, your eyes flitting towards his so quickly he might’ve imagined it.

this was foolish. tsukishima decided that much. but despite his claims of how stupid it was, he was getting reeled in faster than he could pull out.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

despite how hard he tried to display his ignorance, tsukishima was caring at his core.

silent glances exchanged between shifts morphed into small conversations shared whenever possible, as if the tension that previously barred you from interaction had dissipated into nothingness.

at some point, he dropped off a neatly wrapped bento box to your desk, the fabric littered with small dinosaur doodles.

“what is this?” you questioned, an amused lilt to your voice. you failed to notice the way pink rose to his ears, too enamored by the intricate arrangement of veggies and rice.

“don’t think anything of it. i just had leftover food and didn’t want to waste it.” the excuse slipped through his lips as if it were truth, earning him a soft smile from you.

there were butterflies whipping their wings against his ribcage so aggressively they might have bulged out from his skin.

eventually, you invited him out for a walk to the convenience store nearby during your break. and after that, it became routine. with an umbrella in one hand and his wallet in another, tsukishima walked with you down the street to buy onigiri and sandwiches and sometimes a sweet treat nearly every day, and that shared hour became his favorite part of work.

it was silly.

you sat beside him in the booth, your blistered hands carefully unwrapping the plastic from your meal. to your left sat a can of soda. and to your right, he was there.

“i need to stop living off of these,” you complained while motioning towards the onigiri in your grasp.

tsukishima shook his head. “what else would you eat?”

“your bento boxes,” you commented absentmindedly, your bites becoming larger as you neared the center of the rice. “i liked it, when you gave it to me that one time. you should make it again.”

he looked away, his chin resting atop the sweat of his palm. slowly, he turned towards you. “it’s just a bento box. surely you can handle making one.”

“oh, shut up!” you laughed while shoving him lightly. “the fact that you can even make one is shocking. all you have in that head is volleyball and shit.”

“our old test scores say otherwise,” he quipped. the shift in your eyes left a bitter taste on his tongue.

“whatever,” you muttered before leaving to throw out your trash. a pit grew in tsukishima’s stomach.

the blonde mustered the last of his resolve and made an offer. “i’ll teach you how to make one.”

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

of all the things tsukishima was bracing himself to see, a thinly-walled apartment that was less than well-maintained was the last thing he was prepared for.

you came out from your bedroom in clothes that were far more casual than his, your hair disheveled and your steps uneven. “sorry for the mess,” you uttered while bending down to pick up a hoodie sprawled across the floor, alongside a plastic bag that looked empty. he could only watch in awe.

he placed his bag down on your counter before arranging the ingredients, each brought from his own home. the clatter of your rushed cleaning echoed behind him. and when you finally stood beside the man, he could not contain his grin.

tsukishima decided to hold his tongue. instead, he opted to gently guide your hands through each step, the perspiration collecting on his skin a stark contrast from the rough texture of yours. he realized how little you knew, despite your insistence that you were more than knowledgeable in what you were doing — it showed in your unstable cutting and your hesitance when preparing the pot for boiling — but he refrained from commenting, in fear of disrupting the peace he’d constructed.

on the other hand, you were horrified.

to admit that you were inferior to him in yet another aspect uprooted the envy you had burrowed deep within yourself, and you were terrified of letting it overspill. he was so calm — at least, that was what it looked like — and you’d be damned to ruin it.

mitski’s soft hums reverberated in the background, your shaky chopping filling in the rest of the noise. it was almost satirical — the solemn melodies coated your bare bones and rendered you silent, a strong juxtaposition to the warmth exuded from the closeness of your skin to his. neither of you did anything to interfere, save for an earlier comment from the man questioning your music taste.

(“then what do you listen to?”

“… radiohead.”

“wow. as if that’s any better than mitski.”)

tsukishima found himself smiling at your pride in your creation. messy, yes. but within each ingredient lay a remnant of him, and that was enough.

a stream of small talk emerged into you sitting on the couch together. the music dimmed down to white noise and an old romcom that had only two star ratings played on your TV, the poor quality adding to the humor. your legs leaned against his beneath the blanket. and there was peace.

tsukishima knew what it was. he knew what this would blossom into, and he could only hope and pray he didn’t mess it up in some way. your quiet yet crude commentary disappeared into the tender air, and he remained silent, as if absorbing each syllable that fell from your lips.

it was so quiet, and so vulnerable, and so delicate that he felt like he was going to explode.

he didn’t question it when your head fell onto his shoulder. he didn’t make fun of you when your colorful reviews on each scene turned into sleepy ramblings. and he didn’t say a word when you dozed off against him, your whole body against his.

instead, he looked around. he took note of the dust collecting on the cabinets, the water marks on the windows, the clothes and food and plastic scattered all over your living room, the dead plant on the shelf, and the half-empty pack of cigarettes sitting on the arm of the couch. it was all a far, far cry from the cleanliness and stability of his own home, and yet, he thought to himself, this is so like them. and he thought, i could live in here, if it were with them. and again, he thought, this could be a home.

tsukishima kei was of the belief that he did not have a type. but as he observed your house and reflected on its singular (?) inhabitant, he figured that this was his type. his type was your quiet laughs and your sharp remarks and your wrinkled clothes and the scent of cigarettes that always seemed to cling to you. his type was you.

he exchanged one last glance to your sleeping figure before getting up and leaving you to rest. not without wrapping up your lunch for tomorrow, and not without a small smile on his lips.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

hell came to you on a thursday morning — the day following whatever had happened between you and tsukishima. you hadn’t put on your uniform just yet, and your belongings sat outside of your locker.

your boss scrambled into the office, his brows furrowed and his larger hands closing the door as quickly as he could without slamming it. the sweat that collected between his wrinkles shined beneath the dim lights. his breaths were haggard and rushed and shallow.

for the first time in a long time, you felt fear.

“there’s people who want to talk to you outside,” he whispered. “they want to talk to you now.”

there was no one else in the building. no one other than you, your boss, and the people who were so adamant on speaking to you.

so why was it so loud as soon as you stepped out?

the eyes of your mother came into your vision first. then, the stare of your father. and finally, their faces blended into one large picture that made sense.

“what the fuck are you doing here?”

withered hands slammed against the table. you watched the papers and the dinosaur trinkets rattle. “that’s no way to speak to your parents.” you could feel it — the air seeping out of your lungs, depriving you of breath; the trembling in your palms; the cloudiness in your peripherals. you could hear them, but you couldn’t hear them. at some point, their vocabulary was solely financial, and at another point, it grew cruel and violent, akin to wild dogs gnawing away at your skin. you didn’t know where it was going. the hastened footsteps of an unidentifiable coworker neared, and the shaky breaths of your boss behind the door grew louder and louder.

you needed to leave.

your feet led you away before your mind could. the yelling softened, until finally, the only sound was the chirp of birds and the whirring of cars.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

tsukishima didn’t see you for a week. he didn’t hear any mention of your name, didn’t find your face in a crowd, didn’t feel the vibrations of your voice against his chest. you had disappeared, and no one told him why. it wasn’t until your name didn’t show up on the schedule that something clicked.

it was cruel. you were cruel, he decided.

tadashi sat on the couch while his roommate leaned against the counter. the hum of the air conditioning blinded the blonde’s senses.

“i don’t fucking know what i did,” tsukishima groaned into his palms for the twentieth time that night. “they just left. they quit and i can’t even contact them because i was stupid enough to not ask for their number or email or anything. i don’t- i don’t fucking know, ‘dashi, i don’t.”

“i’m sure they had some good reason,” his friend attempted. “i don’t think they’d do that if it weren’t within some sensible limit. it was fucked, yeah, but… i don’t know. i think they’ll come back when the time is right.”

it was tiring. it was tiring to be left alone not just once, but twice. and it was tiring to have it hurt so much more the second time.

tsukishima ran a hand through his hair. “it’s so stupid.” another groan spilled from his tongue. “i’m so fucking tired of this.”

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

this was just about the fourth job you had applied for.

the museum could no longer be a part of your routine — instead, it morphed into loud nights and bustling men and the clinking of glass; it emerged from quiet and gentle tours around dinosaur exhibits to noisy cheers and yelling and the more-than-occasional bottle thrown at your head; it turned into pure, devastating loneliness.

it was compact. it was suffocating. it was overwhelming. it was everything the museum was not. but you could not return there, no matter how much you ached for it.

you were avoiding him. avoiding everyone.

a gentle nudge from a blurred face reminded you that your shift was over for the night, coupled with an apology for the gash that formed on your head from another drunken man who had no outlet for his anger other than you. with heavy steps, you trudged back home, thankful for the week’s pay and the free food and drinks.

it was quiet.

the lights were off, and the LED numbers on the microwave read way past midnight. a dull pounding resided in your chest.

just the other day, it was so vibrant. you were alive, and so was he, and it was going well. but it was wrong. you realized that much when your parents came to remind you, and you realized it again as you quit the same day.

the thumping in your chest spread to your head, and your back met the wall with a force that was sure to upset your neighbors. carefully, daintily, you slid down, your body reaching the floor gently.

you missed him. but it was wrong.

that night, for the first time in a long while, you cried.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

tucked away in a small alley in sendai resided an establishment with only three tables and a bar that was worn down from years of use. and behind it, tsukishima found you.

he was only out for a walk. at least, that was what it was until his feet brought him elsewhere and he stood face-to-face with the most suspicious of buildings. and when he saw you, it felt as if all the anger and guilt and distress that riddled his bones and flesh and blood withered away, as if it hadn’t coalesced within his veins over the past month.

before you could hide, his hand snaked around your wrist, his touch light yet desperate. “can we talk?”

talking entailed bringing him back to your apartment. and by extension, it included him witnessing your house somehow being worse than before.

tsukishima found himself sitting on the floor with his back to the couch, and you found yourself sprawled across said couch. he picked at the blisters on his fingers before quietly asking, “why did you do that?”

he could hear your nervous habits — the shifting, the fidgeting, the harsh lip biting. “i don’t know.”

“bullshit,” he muttered under his breath.

you turned over onto your side to face his back. “my parents found me,” you explained meekly. improper guidance leads to destructive tendencies. tsukishima kei, in his high school years, was deemed your only obstacle to complete succession — always a few points ahead, a few questions ahead, a few steps ahead — and your poor influence from youth only fueled such a fire. and so, you felt that it was reasonable to loathe him. your judgement was clouded beyond repair.

tsukishima listened. he listened to every detail, every portion of your retelling of each segment of your childhood, and your teen years, and your silly hatred for him. he listened to you talk about what you did after graduation — how you got into a good university but dropped out and hopped between a multitude of jobs (thus proving your claim at the work party to be a lie), and how you were constantly escaping from both the stress and your parents.

he listened so intently that it was overbearing. you didn’t tell him that. instead, you talked and talked and talked until you sculpted him into someone who knew your entire life, as if he were there from the beginning.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered through stubborn tears. you hated it — how exposing it was, how you had practically dumped everything onto him in one go, how you couldn’t help but beg for forgiveness in the end. most of all, you hated how easily he gave you his forgiveness.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

tsukishima didn’t leave your house at all that week. you found no energy to complain.

in the morning, you’d find him cleaning whatever disaster you left behind, whether it was the pile of laundry on your bed or the collection of full trash bags next to the front door or the food (or rather, the lack thereof) in your fridge. he was silent all the while, and that hurt more than any berating he could have done.

“why are you still here?” you asked him one night. you had finally moved from the couch to the bed, and tsukishima couldn’t be any prouder. (any movement at all was enough to be proud of, he felt). “you shouldn’t want to be here.”

you watched him heave a heavy breath as his shoulders drooped. “because i want you,” he admitted, his voice unmistakably tender and soft and ridden with a youthfulness that he unearthed from deep within himself. “i want to be with you and i want you to be happy and i just want us to be happy together, for once.”

he spoke of his affections so fluently, as if he were born to share them with you. and still, every bone in your body was whispering otherwise.

even so, tsukishima promised that he would be willing to wait. even if it meant watching you down an unreasonable amount of beer at an unreasonable hour.

he promised to sit through it all with you, even if it meant listening to you call his name out in long, drawn-out tones. even if it meant hearing you confess your long-harbored affection for him. even if it meant hearing you say that you never told him, not even in high school, because you felt like you didn’t deserve to tell him.

tsukishima didn’t understand.

he failed to comprehend how you didn’t feel deserving, when his whole body, mind, and soul was bound to you; when, in the depths of the night, he’d burn pink in the night at the mere thought of you; when he was so uncharacteristically smitten for you. he didn’t get it. he didn’t think he ever would.

not that he said anything about it — at least, not in that moment. not when you were inexplicably drunk, to the point where you couldn’t move a limb without tumbling over.

but, without a doubt, he went to bed with a stupid grin and a berry-kissed face.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

it took another couple of weeks before tsukishima would see you at work again. you entered through the doors as if you never left, and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be excited or neutral or anything else, because his guts only knew tenderness with you at that point — all the fake ignorance and stubbornness and denial had been cast aside.

you basked in a shared silence in the locker room, until you finally admitted that you were, in fact, healing. to some degree, at least. you asked him to come over again under the pretense of seeing how clean your house was. you detailed every segment of your life, from when he last saw you to your entrance into the museum, including how you made yourself breakfast for the first time in forever and how you drank a cup of water almost every day. and he was so overwhelmingly proud, so much so that it spilled over and he couldn’t contain himself.

“i love you,” he blurted out, his rushed admission cutting off your rambling. you whipped your head towards him, but he was looking everywhere except for you.

“what?” you exclaimed.

“i said i love you. i’m in love with you. what don’t you get?”

your jaw hung open, just like that of a fish. “wait- what the fuck?” much to his amusement, you jumped up and began pacing around the room. “i like- well, i guess, love,” you paused, the vocabulary uncomfortable on your teeth. “you too, but like- what the fuck? who told you that?”

“you did.”

“what?”

tsukishima kei was laughing. he was laughing at you, and yet, you weren’t as angry as you expected to be. he was laughing, and all you could do was relish in the noise.

“so,” he hummed delightfully, an amused smirk on his lips. “am i still coming over?”

you (begrudgingly) agreed. again, he laughed — this time, at the heat rising to your face.

𝜗𝜚 ｡ ˚.

through the cracks between your blinds, silk strands of sunlight crawled through, a soft reminder of the morning. beside you, a mountain of warmth lay, with his glasses still on his face and his hoodie misshapen on his body.

tsukishima was always the first to rise. he would wait for your eyes to flit open gently before getting up and making breakfast, despite your protests that your food was probably better than his. he never listened.

the splatter of coffee into your cup served as the only noise in the room, save for the dull noise of the morning news on the TV and the cars passing by outside the window. you watched intently as the blonde set up the table, his lip drawn in a tight line but his eyes shimmering with contentment. “eat up,” he spoke quietly as he took a seat in front of you.

tsukishima kei was, by no means, a cruel person. he was just a little rough on the edges and occasionally didn’t quite know how to say things without being mean. but as he sat with you, eating breakfast made by him in your shared apartment; as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your forehead before leaving to change, ignoring your groans about the remnants of syrup on his lips; as he drove you to work as the sun settled in the sky; you realized he was simply a man in love.