#fly header

[eowynstwin]

Blackbird, Fly - One

Cowboy Gaz x mail order bride—only, not his. After exchanging letters for half a year with ranching man Hans König, you finally travel out west to marry him. You stand alone on a train platform, whole life in your hands, ready to promise yourself to a man you’ve yet to meet. masterlist ao3 next

You step off the train carrying every one of your earthly possessions clutched in both hands. In one a carpetbag, only half-full, and in the other, a stack of letters tied together with string. A paltry summary of a very small life, you thought months ago, but today you only see how much room is left over where happiness might take root.

It began with an ad in the paper—Widowed Ranch Owner Seeking Tender Companionship—and a mailing address to a livestock town out in the west. Hans König described himself as Austrian, unusually tall, and fair lonesome in a big ranch house with no woman to make it a home. He’d immigrated to the United States as a child, married very young, had no children, and was forced to watch his first wife perish to consumption.

After two years of mourning, he said in the paper, he finally accepted that she would not want him to live and die alone. And thus, if there were any kind-hearted ladies willing to give an old widower a chance, he would promise to take very good care of him.

You’d replied as fast as you could get your hands on paper and pen. The fourth child and only daughter of a tobacco farmer, you hadn’t much else to occupy yourself with. And truly, you hadn’t expected anything to come of it. Proficient in the written word though you were, there was not much else to recommend you. You brought a tiny dowry, skill with a sewing needle, a general knowledge of plants, and mediocre cooking to the bargaining table; he was horse man tried and tested by the challenges of the frontier.

You were under no illusions that you were the most attractive candidate.

Still, you wrote your letter. Described yourself to him as honestly as you could—neither especially pretty nor particularly accomplished, but told by friends and family to be of gentle demeanor and useful intelligence. Forgave him preemptively if he never responded, and wished him the best of luck in his search for a wife.

You’d nearly fainted dead away when his response had arrived as immediately as the next mail wagon. Hans König had addressed you by name, as intimately as if he’d known you for years, and said,

I was very pleased to receive your letter, Miss, and am terribly excited to correspond with you in the future. Although you write that you cannot imagine yourself an appropriate wife for a man of my experience, I myself cannot imagine what more you must need to be such. While I will not do you the discourtesy of making any promises with only my first letter to you, I will tell you truly that I was glad of your introduction, and hope you will grant me the pleasure of knowing you further.

Your whole family had been so excited for his response that Pa had broken out his fiddle after dinner that night, rejoicing already that his little girl’s future was secure.

What followed was a whirlwind half year of romance over letters sent back and forth so fast that you kept running out of ink for your pen. When you’d related this problem to Hans, he’d sent not only an entire box of lampblack ink, but a new steel pen, blotter, and lap desk on which to write.

There is no greater misfortune I can imagine now than to lose the pleasure of your correspondence, he’d written.

Pa had cried that day. Your mother had drawn you close and kissed your hair, whispering a thankful prayer that her baby was going to be alright.

In every letter, Hans demonstrated himself to be a kind man, thoughtful and patient, and as the relationship between the two of you blossomed, you started to believe it yourself. You had long given up on the possibility of marriage, thinking yourself too old and plain by now to offer much to any man worth marrying.

Now you stand alone on a train platform, whole life in your hands, ready to promise yourself to a man you’ve yet to meet.

There are only a few people milling about the station for you to survey. The surest way to pick Hans out from a crowd, he’d written, was by height. He towered over most people, and expressed hope in an early letter that he would not dwarf you too much.

But as you look around, no one stands out above the rest. In fact, the people here aren’t much different than what you’re used to; their simple dress and slight grubbiness prove them to be working folk, the kind you’d expect in a town like this, stockyards visible from the station. Your kind of people—at least normally.

Anticipating this meeting, you’d put on the best dress you own, a light frock with little printed flowers all over it. Your hair is braided and pinned up as fashionably as you could manage early this morning, and you’d even dabbed a little rouge on your lips for the occasion. As far as you can tell you are the cleanest, best-dressed person in the vicinity, and you notice not a few people openly staring.

The thought would usually make you blanch, but right now you hope it will only help your would-be husband to catch sight of you. You still can’t find him—

“Mrs. König!”

You whip your head in the direction of the call. Relief trickles through you, soothing an anxiety you hadn’t wanted to acknowledge yet, and then you see that stepping onto the platform is the handsomest man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Dark skin, warm as a summer’s day. Lips soft and full like a peach fresh-picked from the tree. A serious brow over serious eyes.

Strong and lean in build, with a loose, confident swagger in his step. He approaches, his large, long-fingered hands coming to rest on the buckle of his belt as comes to stand before you.

Tall, to be sure.

But not unusually tall.

This cowboy—profession evidenced by the worn state of his attire—is not your intended husband.

Something in you falls at that.

Swiftly you berate yourself for the betrayal. Your Hans is gentle, generous, kind. So what if this man before you is attractive? Marriages must be built on more, and Hans has already given you more. His looks shouldn’t—don’t—matter to you at all.

“Not as of yet,”you reply to the cowboy, “but soon. May I help you, sir?”

He fixes you with an intense gaze. Up close, you see thick, dark lashes framing even darker eyes—the color of which, you realize, is as black as fresh-turned soil.

The smell of humus fills your memory, powerfully earthy and fresh, such that you could be on your hands and knees with your face to the ground right now. You feel the phantom of it between your fingers; rich and cool, like at the start of the planting season before the rains. So dark and fine as to live between the grooves of your fingertips for days.

“I’m Kyle Garrick,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m a wrangler for Hans König, miss. He sent me to meet you.”

You blink. The fantasy you’d dreamed up on the train ride—of seeing Hans across the platform, recognizing him instantly, and running into his arms—finally crumbles into dust.

“Oh,” you say.

Kyle Garrick frowns. “You’re disappointed.”

“No!” you exclaim immediately. “No, he must be such a busy man, I couldn’t expect him to drop everything for me.”

The cowboy sucks his lips between his teeth, studying you for a heartbeat, then—“He is busy. Mr. König is finishing preparations for your wedding this evening. That’s why he couldn’t come.”

What disappointment had begun to sprout in your stomach immediately strangles down to the root. Joy surges in your chest like birds taking flight.

“A wedding!”

You didn’t need a wedding, you’d written to him—you were so happy merely to marry him, you couldn’t possibly ask for more. All you needed, you told him, were his hands in yours, promising before God to be your husband for the rest of your lives. You’d meant it, too.

But an actual wedding!

“Biggest the town’s seen in years,” says Kyle Garrick. “Folks haven’t talked about anything else for weeks.”

“Oh!” Then suddenly you despair. “Oh, I’m not dressed at all for a wedding. If I’d known, I would’ve worked on this dress more, I would’ve put my hair up better!”

Kyle surprises you with sudden passion. “You look perfect. You’re the prettiest thing that’s ever come into this train station, miss. This town, even.”

“Oh,” you say again. You flush hot up into the roots of your hair. Embarrassed, you avert your gaze, looking down at his worn roper boots. “I’m not, really. But it’s kind of you to say.”

His hand touches yours, the one holding onto your carpetbag. When you look back up at him, his expression is gentler.

“Mr. König will agree with me,” he says, “I promise.” He eases the handle from your grasp. Up close, he has a comforting smell. Leather, and sweet hay, and campfire smoke.

“You think so?” you ask, tightening your grasp on the letters in your other hand.

He nods. “I do. Now come on—I brought a cart. Let me take you home.”

-

[nemfrog]

A line of birds. Aunt May's bird talks. 1907.

Internet Archive

[dramapetit]

when i fly towards you headers

[jnnvstuff]

If only you knew . . .

what goes on in my mind. ✨

– like and reblog if you save :)

+ not my pictures/ib for moodboard on the next post <3

* cr to the owners

[ecnmatic]

FLY ME TO THE MOON (2024) dir. Greg Berlanti.

[yumiscellis]

when i fly towards you headers

like or reblog if you save.

[kulemiwrites]

𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐥.|𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐠𝐢

Genre: Angst, Romance, & Smut

Part: i of ii

Rating: 18+

Word count: 5.6 k

Character(s): Osamu Kashiwagi, fem!Reader

Author's Note: This is another that's been sitting in my drive for a while that I keep fiddling with on and off. I'm ready to post the first part at least. Part two not so much. I'm not sure how anyone feels about my Kashiwagi so.. I don't feel the need to rush and drop it all at once anyway. I'm not sure what the general fandom consensus is for him but like most things I write, his personality and story is based on something much bigger that I've been working on for a while.

Warning: Age gap is implied but unspecified (reader must be over 21+ for logic reasons- use your own discretion to fill in the blank)

Too long for tumblr? Read on AO3!

It’d been at least 11 years since he could say without a shadow of a doubt that he was in love.

It made him impatient. It made him irresponsible. And at his age, the embarrassment of that fact, kept him irritated but he’d always done what he could to ensure that since that night forward, you saw nothing but his good sides. You were much too out of his league, in his mind, and for that reason, he had no choice but to show you his very best. That was why he tried so hard.

The unlit cigarette dangled from his wet lips as he slipped on his sports coat, his worn reflection staring back at him in the dusty, old mirror. He tilted his head to the side as he sized himself up; a dark gray turtleneck, khaki pants, a black sportcoat and black oxfords. He’d asked his newest bartender Rika, a twenty-something for advice on a trendy outfit for a man of his age. He wasn’t expecting her to volunteer to shop with him but staring at himself all gussied up, he supposed she’d done the job. He just hoped that you would be pleased with it. He slid up the sleeve of his coat to check the time on his silver italian watch- a gift from you for his recent birthday- and saw that he still had an hour before he was supposed to meet with you.

“It was the same time when I last checked it.” he grumbled to himself, patting himself down as he searched for his lighter.

He supposed it was nerves that were making him so impatient. Those same nerves that badgered him every time you had plans to meet, even after all this time. They’d always gotten the better of him wherever you were concerned. He’d realized that the night he’d opened his eyes to you.

You were a bartender at a lowkey little bar he’d happened upon while on some business in the next town over. It was a little run down but it was quiet and had an excellent selection, almost on par with Survive (without the markups) which was questionable due to the overall ambience of the place- the college kids either hadn’t found it yet or it wasn’t inviting enough for the younger crowd these days but he appreciated the silence. He spent many nights drinking and reminiscing while reading bottles. It reminded him of his younger years, nights out with the men he once called brothers before anyone knew the name Osamu Kashiwagi.

He always took the same exact seat upon every visit as if it were assigned to him, a barstool slotted between the wall and the short end of the bartop. From there, he had a full view of the entire room and was able to keep an eye on both the bar and the door. Each time, he’d order the same drink with the same phrase, in the same gruff tone that gave the other bartenders the hint that he simply wanted liquor and not an ounce of additional conversation. No one ever managed to get further than that or rather, no one ever wanted to, that was, until you showed up.

There weren’t many things Kashiwagi cared for in a fellow bartender other than the ability to serve a good drink and to never keep him waiting long. You’d done well. However, over time, observing you and your coworkers he noticed something that stood out about you. Your effortless grace as you navigate your way behind the bar, your sweet smile as you serve your patrons and the candid concentration as you carefully crafted beverages that you were clearly proud of. He’d often get distracted from his studying of missing ceiling tiles just to observe you when you were in the zone. The sparse rushes were his favorite, watching the way you kept your cool as the orders kept pouring in, never once losing that subtle curve to your lips. 

You loved this. He could tell. Adored it.

You were radiant, much too radiant for a place like this and he often wondered why you were there in the first place until he remembered that smile. That answered his question every time. Some nights he wanted to whisk you away from Twilight and have you work at Survive instead but in order to suggest that, he’d need to know more about you. So, he let down his wall but only when you served him.

He found you to be a natural conversationalist and despite the obvious gap in your ages, you were certainly wise beyond your years. Never had there been a time where he felt at a loss about what to talk about with you. You were kind, quick-witted and courteous. He often wondered if you were capable of having bad days because you were always “on”. He enjoyed challenging your knowledge about the bottles you served and often found himself being schooled instead. He’d even picked up a couple of tips from you that he would later use at Survive. 

In the beginning, he’d only visit a couple times a month but the more he got to know you, the more he found himself drawn to the place. Eventually, it’d gotten to the point where he’d leave his place and suddenly find himself on the train as if he’d been teleported- never really making the conscious decision to go on his own but he’d wind up there, hoping it’d be you serving him. He wasn’t sure why but on days you weren’t there, he’d be met with a pang of disappointment and his drinks never tasted as good as when you were the one pouring them.

For a very long time, he’d denied that he’d seemingly developed a bit of a crush on you. Your occasional playful but lighthearted flirtations were never lost on him. He just downplayed it at first and told himself that you were like that with all your regulars- it was just your style; but he’d been observing you well enough to know better than that. Still, he couldn’t imagine that a sweet young thing like you would even give him a second glance let alone flirt with him so brazenly. It wasn’t until one particular night that he was forced to open his eyes to the fact that just as much as he’d been paying attention to you, you’d been doing the same to him.

He’d shown up at Twilight that night, taking his usual seat at the bar- that night, emptier than usual and before he could huff out his typical order, you’d already placed it in front of him. He met your eyes, so full of concern and grumbled a ‘thank you’. You took a look around the bar, likely aware that he would be one of your only customers that night and you placed your hand atop his. 

“You’re not looking like yourself tonight, Kashiwagi-san.” you said just low enough for him to hear. 

He stared at your hand, his heart doing somersaults in his chest as pangs of guilt filled his gut. The warmth of your touch felt almost like a cure for the dull pain he was feeling that night. Staring at your smooth, pretty hand, he felt ashamed. There he was mourning the loss of the one woman who had ever meant anything to him while simultaneously feeling at peace from the touch of another. 

“Is that so?” he said, balling his fist against the counter to hide that he’d begun to tremble to which you withdrew.

“What’s troubling you?” you asked, then gestured toward the empty bar. “As you can see, I’m all yours tonight.”

He opened his mouth and his bottom lip quivered but he said nothing. Osamu felt compelled to open up to you though he was never much for talking about his feelings. Only one other person had done that for him and the thought of that swelled his guilt. 

And so, he said nothing.

“Not in the mood to talk, huh? I know just the trick.” you winked, “How about I make you something special?”

“Special?”

“Very special!” You drummed on the counter and beamed, “I call it The Kashiwagi Sidecar. It’s a cocktail I crafted… with you in mind.”

His brow quirked, “Me?”

“Yes, you…” you said. “Now, I know that The Kashiwagi Sidecar doesn’t quite have a nice ring to it.”

He disagreed.

“But, I want the namesake to have a taste and tell me what you think. If you like it well enough, I’ll put it on the secret menu– after you help me rename it, of course. Oh, but close your eyes, you can’t see what I put in it.” 

“That sounds a little suspicious.”

“C’mon, don't you trust me? It’s just so that we can play a little guessing game.” you whined.

Playfully clicking his tongue and inhaling sharply, he rested his eyes shut. “Oh fine but know that I have a good nose. So no funny business.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

He couldn’t see a thing but he’d watched you make hundreds of drinks by now that he could practically picture you behind his shut lids, graciously gliding behind the bar, collecting what you needed and then putting them into the shaker before mixing it all. He could bet every yen in his wallet that you were sporting a sweet smile as you did so and he ached at the fact that he couldn’t see it.

“Alright, everything is put away. You can open your eyes.” you said, pouring the mixture into a martini glass and garnishing it with a citrus peel.

You placed the orange concoction in front of him and he smiled for the first time since he entered the bar, “The Kashiwagi Sidecar, huh?”

You gestured for him to try it and with your nudge, he swirled the cocktail a bit by his nose, taking in the notes of tangerine and bourbon. Finally, he placed his lips at the rim and took in a polite sip. He let it rest in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it down, tart when it first hit the tongue but mellowed into a subtle sweet but smoky finish. 

It was good... Delicious, even.

Closing his eyes, he titled back his head, Adam's apple bobbing as he swiped his tongue over his lips, “That’s certainly bourbon.”

“Which bourbon?” 

“Top shelf stuff for sure.” He swiped a thumb over his lip as he thought, “Stagg… That sweet smokiness is unmistakable.”

“Wow.” you whistled lowly, impressed. “Go on.”

“Liqueur…” he hummed, “Grand Marnier, maybe?”

“Damn, Kashiwagi-san, that’s right. Alright, what else?”

He opened his eyes to see yours sparkling back at him hopefully as he took another sip. He pinched the stem of the glass as he twisted it around, “And… orange juice?”

You cheesed, seemingly happy to have stumped him. “What makes you think that?”

“The orange peel.” 

“That’s a tangerine peel.”

“Ah, damn it… Tangerine. What else did I miss?”

“Just a splash of lemon juice.” you said with a pinching motion.

He clapped, “It was right there on the tip of my tongue. I could’ve guessed that.”

“Ah ha, but you didn’t.” you said, wagging your finger teasingly.

“You win this round.”

“I know I do. Now, drink up, we’ve got some brainstorming to do.”

“I’m not sure I can name your drink.”

“Sure, you can. We’ve got all night.” you said, leaning onto the bar. “And while you think, maybe that little cocktail will loosen your lips enough for you to tell me what’s going on.”

He was just about to take another sip until you said that. His dark eyes studied your expression, so genuinely curious about the man before you. Osamu’s head dipped toward his lap as he let out a small shudder, barely noticeable but he wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d caught it anyway.

“Today’s the anniversary…” he managed, staring at the counter as he pictured her face. “Eleven years now, she’s been gone… My wife.”

“I see.” you said thoughtfully. “I’m sorry to hear that, Kashiwagi-san.”

“Don’t be… It’s… Well, it’s been over a decade now. It’s time I move on.”

“They say that time heals all wounds but I can see the pain that you’re in. A decade or not, you can’t tell your hurt when to go away. Even if it takes you another decade, you will conquer this. There’s nothing wrong with taking all the time that you need. You loved her, didn’t you?”

He wanted to joke that he wasn’t sure if he even had a decade left but he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he nodded, smiling softly at the thought of his beloved. “More than anything.”

“Then, don’t force your heart to part with her when it’s not ready. No one is rushing you. So, don’t rush yourself.” you gripped his balled hand and smiled. “If it helps, you can talk to me about her. I don’t mind lending you an ear. I’d rather you do that than keep it all bottled up. After all, what are friends for?”

He wasn’t sure what brought it on but a single tear rolled down his cheek. He felt it but he was too stunned by you to react. The timing wasn’t exactly ideal but at that moment, he recognized you. Truly recognized you. And goodness did he find you beautiful. 

He swiped at the tear dangling from his chin and chuckled lightly, “I suppose you're right.”

Your nose scrunched at him and his heart flipped, causing him to blink away from you. It was such a cute expression and his cheeks burned when he realized that he felt that way. Guilt consumed him once more. And just after he’d opened up about his wife, what had gotten into him?

“So,” you said, smacking the counter playfully. “Have you got a name for me?”

He lifted the glass to his lips as they curled softly at the rim, “How about ‘The Usual’?”

“The Usual?”

“I’m going to need you to start making these for me from now on. I don’t think I’ll have anything else. After all, you did make this with me in mind, right?”

“I like it!” Clasping your hands together excitedly as you bounced on your toes. “Sounds casual enough.”

The corners of his eyes wrinkled as he watched you clean the counter behind you. He wasn’t sure what came over him but he didn’t realize what he’d done until after he’d already opened his mouth to invite you for a round of drinks at Survive someday. With a smile, one that told him you hadn’t been expecting the sudden invitation, you agreed. 

It wasn’t necessarily a promise but he did look forward to the day that you walked through that door. 

Night after night. 

He told himself that if you showed up, he would invite you out for dinner just to explore his curiosity in you, nothing more. A single dinner couldn’t hurt, right?

The night you entered the bar, he nearly lost his breath. Perhaps even had a heart attack. He’d never seen you in casual clothes before but he was stunned. This was the true you and you overwhelmed him without realizing. He served you that night with his mission in mind but he could never bring himself to say the words he needed to say. When you left that night, eyes glossy from the alcohol, he felt an ache in his chest, disappointed in himself for missing his chance. 

A couple weeks had passed without him going to Twilight, he couldn’t bring himself to face you. That was until you opened the door to Survive once more, in all your radiance. Fate was giving him a second chance. With his nerves steeled, he told himself that tonight would be the night. 

No excuses. 

That was until one of his regulars, young– closer to your age, perhaps, handsome and charismatic approached you with the intentions of wooing you enough to convince you to hit a love hotel with him. Osamu watched him do this every Friday night and he was almost always successful. He just hoped and prayed to whoever was listening, that tonight would be the night the young man failed. When he heard you reject him, he hoped no one noticed his sign of relief after having eavesdropped on your conversation with bated breath. 

When you asked to close your tab, he covered it for you and exited the back of the bar to walk you to the door. This wasn’t something he’d usually do when a guest was leaving but he was on a mission and he didn’t want to be standing behind the bar if you found it in yourself to reject him as well. This was a very real possibility that he was painfully aware of but he didn’t let the fear dissuade him. 

You looked over your shoulder at him, obviously curious as to why he’d followed you outside.

“Thank you for covering my tab again tonight, Kashiwagi-san but you don’t have to do that every time I visit.”

“It’s no issue. I want to make sure you’re well taken care of. After all, it means alot to me that you chose Survive to spend your evening…”

There was a lengthy silence as he stared at you before he cleared his throat and spoke up again. 

“I… I’m sorry if this is too forward but, I want to get to know you more.” he said, his body felt like it was on fire and he hoped he hadn’t begun to sweat. “I was hoping that you would allow me to treat you to dinner sometime?”

Your eyes widened for a moment and he couldn’t read your expression. So he braced himself for rejection. That was until you smiled brightly at him and nodded. 

“Are you asking me out on a date, Kashiwagi-san?”

“I… suppose I am?” he nodded. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“And here I thought I was gonna have to ask you myself.” you chuckled lightly, rummaging through your bag for a pen and something to write on. “I’d be more than happy to go out to dinner with you. Here’s my number.”

“I’ll– I’ll give you a call soon and we can make plans then.”

With a light grip on his forearm you smiled, “Don’t keep me waiting long. I’ll die from the anticipation.”

And he didn’t. He’d given you a call the next day to set up something for your next day off– a dinner date at the best sushi place in town. He would spare no expense that night. He made sure you had more than enough to eat and drink. He took care of your taxi. He even brought you a small gift of appreciation, nothing elaborate, just a gift box of candies he’d heard you mention once or twice before. 

Despite how nervous he’d been that night, the date went off without a hitch. He had learned so much about you and he was already dying to learn more. He’d even found himself telling you about himself, namely how long it’d been since he’d last attempted to take someone out on a proper date. Hence his nervousness. 6 years. He’d only attempted to date someone once since his wife’s passing and he realized back then that he wasn’t ready to move on yet. Everything the other woman did, reminded him of his wife which was likely why he was drawn to her in the first place.

It’d been a lonely 11 years. He’d gone from being reminded of how much he was loved every single day, even when he didn’t deserve it to suddenly forgetting what being in love felt like. 

He did feel guilt when he first took you out, wondering if it had been too soon still- if he was even ready but when he noticed the emptiness he felt when you were away from him, he couldn’t help but call for you again and again. Between regular dates or visiting each other’s bars, there was hardly enough time in between for him to miss you. He couldn’t stand the feeling. He was always wanting to hear your voice, smell your scent, be near your warmth but even so, after months at this, your relationship didn’t progress past a meager kiss at the beginning and end of each meeting.

He liked you more than words could explain and he knew that the feeling was mutual but he couldn’t bring himself to make any moves on you beyond that. The kiss was more than enough for him for a while. However, he could tell that you were past desiring more than that. It was clear from your heavy eyes and lingering touches. 

He held your hand when he walked you home and he embraced you tightly when you reached the door but each time your tongue attempted to slip past his lips, he’d break away from you with a soothing rub of your shoulders and bid you goodnight before you could attempt to invite him inside. He wasn’t sure what you thought of this. He wasn’t sure how to broach the topic but he was certain that you would say something soon enough. Everything had been going so smoothly between you two but this was the one part that he was dreading.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to go further with you. The heavens knew that he did. These past weeks have been especially painful as he’d found himself thinking of you in ways he hadn’t thought of another woman in years. It brought him shame when the nights came to an end and he sat on the rim of the tub stroking his half hard cock to the thought of placing you in various positions and the sounds and faces you’d make. He’d bury those thoughts after he came so that he could face you once again. 

The desire to make love to you wasn’t the issue. It was truly alive and well but on the nights when he’d attempt to convince himself to accept when that invitation back to your place for some ‘tea’ was extended, memories came rushing back that made the longing in his loins dissolve with a quickness. And everytime, he’d go home leaving you wanting. 

You weren’t the first woman Kashiwagi had been in the position to have sex with since his wife’s passing. Nor were you the first since he’d attempted to date 6 years ago. Getting there wasn’t necessarily the issue, making it happen was and that was where he’d been stumped multiple times. 

He could still remember the first time it happened. It’d been a few years since his first and last attempt to date and he had no interest in trying again but he’d been encouraged by Kanda, a friend and fellow widower, to visit a parlor that he recommended. He’d been given a huge pep talk beforehand about how it didn’t mean anything. It was just an outlet for all his pent up frustration, a haven for release but once he’d gotten into the room, he was met with more frustration than he’d initially entered with. 

The woman, beautiful and superficially talented, put her everything into trying to get a rise out of him- a literal rise and nothing. It horrified him like nothing has ever horrified him before. He apologized as he hastily threw his clothes back on and was out of the door with more than 30 minutes left in his session. 

He went home that night and stared himself down, furious that his dick had betrayed him like that. Eventually, he relaxed and told himself that it was only because he’d pressured himself too much. 

Everything was fine. 

It’d only happened once. 

Everything would be fine.

But that night haunted him and he couldn’t just leave it there. So, he told himself that he’d give it a bit of time but he’d try it again- someplace different. 

And it happened again.

It dinged his confidence in a way that nothing else ever had. He couldn’t wrap his mind around having this sort of problem. Back then, all he had to do was see his wife remove her bra from under her shirt and he was up and raring to go. Sure, he’d been an older man, but did that sort of dysfunction begin so soon? He hoped that he still had time left. 

One night, he’d been walking through town when he was accosted by a barker, advertising a parlor that acts as a hostess club on the surface. He’d heard all about it before in his bar. These sorts of things weren’t his scene but his ego was shattered and he was desperate to prove himself. So, he went. He spent more money than he should have and he was invited for an ‘after hours date’ which was just code for a hookup with the sweet girl he’d been wasting his yen on all night. 

She was younger, perhaps in her early 30s and she was perky, enthusiastic… She reminded him of his wife when they were younger. Just… boobier. That realization helped him get hard but it’d been so long since he’d been inside someone that he’d lasted all of two minutes and that was being generous. The woman was nice enough to offer to spend more time with him but once the clarity washed over him, the amount of money for less than 3 minutes of sex, he was so embarrassed with himself that all he wanted was to get far, far away from the place and never, ever look back. 

The third time was not the charm; twice he couldn’t get it up and once he finished much too soon. He was convinced that anything beyond that would be cursed to end in heartache and disappointment too. His ego couldn’t take it anymore. So, he didn’t even try no matter how much he thought about it.

Some time later, he’d been over at Kanda’s for a night of drinking as they often did. He couldn’t quite remember how it’d happened, likely due to his whiskey intake but he’d confided in him about his problem and Kanda– ever the solutionist, left the low table for a few minutes, only to return with a solemn expression on his usually goofy face.

“Show me yer hand there, Kash.” he said, his words almost slurring.

Kashiwagi blinked slowly, so inebriated that his audio processing was slightly delayed. Narrowing his eyes at the man, he carefully extended his palm. Kanda’s eye contact was intense, almost uncomfortable to keep but Kashiwagi could tell that he was trying to communicate a lot to him without a word. He was just too drunk to decipher it.

“Here…” he muttered and from his fist a soft clacking fell into the other man’s palm.

When he removed his hand, Kashiwagi’s eyes widened cartoonishly. He felt as if they were going to pop out of his head. His eyes darted from his palm to Kanda from Kanda then back to his palm.

“The hell is this?” he growled, his upper lip in a snarl.

Except, Osamu knew precisely what he’d been holding in his hand. He was sure that not one man his age couldn’t identify that cool, blue, diamond-shaped pill from anywhere.

“Call it a little pick-me-up.” Kanda started, “It’ll help ya out.”

He dropped the pills, Kanda must have given him at least six or seven, and they scattered across the table. The other man looked at him but didn’t say a word. He was sure that he’d known he was embarrassed. They’d known each other like the backs of their hands by now.

“I don’t need any– I’m not taking something like that.” Kashiwagi said, his tone harsh as he looked off to the side of the room. “I don’t want it.”

“Kash, listen to me… Ain’t nothing wrong with gettin’ a little help every now and then,” he said, picking up the scattered pills. “It’s been a big help for me… Hell, I– I’ve been takin’ these since before I lost Yuzuru.”

Kashiwagi’s ears perked up at the mention of the other man’s late wife. And finally, he looked back at his friend.

“This has been a problem for me for… a while. Ya ain’t alone in this. And that’s why I’m tellin’ ya. Ain’t nothing wrong with ya if ya take it. Y’ain’t less a’ man…” he said, suddenly sounding far away despite sitting in the same spot. “If you get embarrassed over this, well, that’s your pride doin’ the talkin’... It happens to the best of us sometimes and when it does…”

Kanda neatly placed the pills that he gathered as close to Kashiwagi’s side of the table as he could reach.

“You prove it wrong.”

On the walk home that night, he remembered feeling them rattling around in his pocket. Again, the whiskey he’d had prevented him from even remembering when he’d put them there– if he’d been the one to put them there at all. He thought about them the whole stumble to the corner, the entire taxi ride home and a majority of his shower before he decided that maybe Kanda was right.

He would give them a try.

He made sure to do it on a night when he was sober with no other obligations, just in case something went wrong. He’d heard horror stories before. So, he was extra special careful and treated it almost like a ritual.

He placed the diamond on his tongue and downed as much water as he could to ensure he’d flushed it down. He rummaged through an old box where he’d hid his old dirty movies from his wife and he popped it into the DVD player. His flesh began to feel hot, so he stripped himself bare and stretched out onto his futon. The opening scene in the movie was a particularly steamy one with an actress that Osamu had always been fond of. When he saw her undress, he felt himself twitch alive. His heart pounded against his chest and his mouth went dry. 

It was happening. 

He usually cringed to himself at the corny lines the actors spouted out toward each other to build the sexual tension but even that was enough to make his cock jump with excitement. He lifted himself slightly upright to admire himself, standing at full attention, precum leaking onto his slightly hairy stomach. A soft smile found its way upon his lips as if he’d just run across an old friend and was thrilled to catch up. 

Osamu gathered as much saliva as he could in his mouth before spitting onto his cockhead, eyes batting at the warmth. He wrapped his own rough hand around his shaft to spread it from base to tip, easing the glide of his palm. He thumbed the prominent vein on the side of his thick cock, sensitive to the touch and he let out a soft moan, gripping the sheets beneath him with his freehand. 

His mouth fell open as sighs of relief slipped out of him. His brown eyes bore into the screen ahead of him once more. He watched the man’s pixelated cock slam into her matching pixelated pussy. His stare was intense as he tried to imagine what the star looked like beyond the pixelation- all he could make out was that she was hairy, one of his favorite qualities about her and imagined that it was his cock that she’d been whining over instead. 

“Please! Do it harder!” she cried, reaching down to stimulate herself in time with the actor’s thrusts and he did try in earnest to match them himself.

He tossed his head back and groaned. His cock was rock hard. He couldn’t remember the last time he stood so solidly and the thought made him chuckle for the briefest of moments until he’d cut himself off to let out a sound of pleasure- a deep, guttural moan. The sound of his fist pounding against himself filled the room until it was all he could hear. As if he’d forgotten about the porn he’d been watching. He shut his eyes and reminisced of the best sex he’s ever had… So long ago.

God, he missed her. 

He silenced that thought. This moment was for science. He was conducting an experiment. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted with negative thoughts. He’d spent enough days forcing himself through sad masturbation sessions; his erection coming and going, his heart and mind half in it. He hadn’t made himself feel this good in years. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like, how great it could be. Even so, he sucked his pink lip, glossy with spit, into his mouth at the thought of how he’d gladly trade this moment for the touch of a woman instead.

“Ah,” he sighed, gripping the base of his cock tight as he threw himself back onto the futon. “Fuck… Fuck.”

He tuned back into the pretty moaning on the TV. It was such a long scene and he was nearing the end of it. He’d been masturbating for at least twenty minutes and he really felt like he could keep going but he wanted to cum with the woman moaning on the screen. It’d been so long since he’d gotten to make a woman cum. It was always an honor. He wanted to simulate that experience at this moment.

He wrapped his strong fingers around himself even tighter, quickening his stroke to bring himself closer. 

“I’m gonna cuuuum!” the woman whined.

He lifted himself just enough to see the screen and muttered in the smallest of voices, his ears hot with embarrassment but he pushed through it. “Let’s cum together, sweetheart.”

This was his favorite part of the scene and his dick remembered this. The woman moaned and flailed dramatically for the camera while Osamu’s toes curled as he gripped his tightening balls. 

“Ah, ah, AgH!” he groaned, over the video. Ropes of hot, white seed shot out onto his abdomen, as he panted and twitched through his orgasm. He continued to stroke himself until he could no longer. 

Finally, his hand fell from his throbbing cock, still half hard even after all that. It took him a while to catch his breath and as he did, he extended his hand, admiring the amount of cum he’d spilled onto himself and its reach. His hand, his stomach and chest. He chuckled to himself and shook his head. 

“Fucking Kanda…” he sighed.

He’d have to thank him later, in his own little way.

Part 2 coming soon...

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[hesitateicons]

speak now (taylor's version) headers

like if you save.

[labyrinthaze]

The way you move is like a full on a rainstorm

[moon-zazai]

zhou yiran (ator) lockscreens !

Ser for salvar, segue e curta !

[ihrtyoon]

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[evermorre]

eras tour folklore green dresses headers!

plus two bonus purple-y speak now tour headers, since I made these for @jaycee-speaks-now for my 1k follower celebration and giveaway! Requests are still open!

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[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF ATTICAN TRAVERSE: KROGAN TEAM

Featuring: Cmdr. Sophie Shepard, Lt. James Vega, EDI, and Urdnot Grunt With: Urdnot Wrex, Dr. Mordin Solus, Primarch Adrien Victus and The Rachni Queen I don't need luck- I have ammo. Mass Effect 3: Legendary Edition (2021)

[rumorsfromine]

Could I request speak now layout? Pls and thank you <3

hi ofc!!

[mercless]

🗡 struggling to sleep but i will play around w odyssey talon later, mostly hair and outfit... gotta be 1. cooler 2. more easily recognisable 3. need to think of how they can interact w lots of others in the verse. like needing to prove theyre a valuable asset to the empire to keep around, watch some gladiator rings to chill out, being undercover by catching rides w ships so they arent seen as suspect, recon work or checking out wrecks for valuable info, removing important space political figures...

and of course catching up on the latest hit that is this 'bachelor' show that is apparently everywhere?

i want to play talon as the straight man trope, watching any of the hijinks in the galaxy playing out and be like 'damn thats crazy. for real?'

[yumiscellis]

when i fly towards you headers

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