#Tempered Glass Top coffee table

[tejuskumar13]

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[sumuraj]

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[snehalpatel]

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[thoughtfulfiction]

Carpe Diem

Author’s Note: We all miss him. So I wrote the most romantic thing I��ve ever written.

A glass of chilled Savasana California Rosé sat in front of you, its diluted pink hue a stark contrast to the sweet yet crisp taste. With a fork in hand you begin to dig into the chicken parmesan with strozzapreti pasta, the chunky tomato sauce brings a rich and comforting smell that shifts your attention from the constant hum of the plane's engine. Eating dinner on a plane like this—silverware instead of plastic cutlery, wine served in real glass—felt oddly surreal. This whole trip did, like you’d stumbled into someone else’s life.

You hadn’t always pictured yourself in this life—a corner office in Berkeley, managing accounts worth millions and rubbing elbows with executives. The internship you’d applied for during your junior year of college was meant to be a stepping stone, a way to pad your resume and have something cool to look back on the future. You hadn’t expected it to become the foundation of a career at a place ranked 7th among the largest biomedical companies by revenue in the world. And here you were sipping rosé in first class on your way to a solo vacation in Greece. Somehow, it had all come together. Your first year making six figures was surreal enough, but now the freedom to spend it on something like this felt even more unbelievable.

The hotel room you would be calling home for the next few days was stretched out like it came straight out of a travel magazine. Everything about it screamed neutral paradise, highlighting the warmth of the space. Plush pillows stacked neatly atop the Temper-Pedic king sized bed that earned the hotel all five of its stars with just one glance. The open layout gave the impression of a private condo, complete with a sleek mini bar and an espresso machine that practically begged to be used. The view from the top floor was breathtaking, floor-to-ceiling glass windows that made way for the vibrant blue skies that allowed the sun to shine at it's greatest capacity, reflecting off the marble from the streets of southern Athens below. And the colors were so dynamic; olive groves, fields of breathtaking wildflowers and citrus trees brought the city to life. Everything reminded you of a landscape painting, it was all so perfect you almost had to pinch yourself to make sure you were really here.

But before your Athens takeover could really commence, you needed a nap. Or three.

Day one passed in a blissful haze of recovery. After a nap that could have doubled as a small coma, you walked by the hotel’s pool, taking in the sparkling water and the soft chatter of other guests lounging under striped umbrellas. Breakfast that morning was a feast fit for royalty, an omelet folded to perfection, fresh fruit that tasted like sunshine, and Moustokouloura, a pastry so rich and sweet it felt like dessert at dawn. The concierge insisted you try Greek coffee, and when the steaming cup arrived at your door, its strong, earthy aroma greeted you like a wake-up call from the gods. You took it to the patio, sipping as you let the city below slowly introduce itself. This is exactly where you're supposed to be. Athens was filled with color, sound, and possibility. This was freedom, pure and simple.

Feeling refreshed on your second morning after some extensive Tik Tok research about things to do in Athens, you walked around the streets of Plaka, by far the most recommended place on the site. And it didn't take long for you to understand why. The neighborhood was a collection of some of the most beautiful brick buildings, an array of restaurants with uniquely placed outdoor seating. The air carried the mingling scents of fresh pita, grilling souvlaki, and blooming jasmine. Laughter and snippets of conversation floated from café tables spilling onto the sidewalks, where diners lingered over plates of mezes and glasses of ouzo. You walked slowly, admiring every square inch of the place like you were going to commit every detail to memory, stumbling upon a store with random trinkets you figured you could take home to your friends and tell them what they were getting themselves into when you all would be in Greece together eventually. Now that you'd experienced this on your own, you couldn't wait to share this experience with them next time. The first person you spotted when you walked in was a tall man, well over six feet, broad shoulders with his back facing the door. He was sexy from the back which meant...no. You shook yourself out of the daydream about what this man could possibly look like because of course men in Greece looked better. That was some sort of law or something based on every movie you'd ever seen. The book shelf at the front of the store caught your eye first, a Greek guide book with common phrases for tourists to know, things that maybe Duolingo wouldn't think of so you grabbed it, scanning the pages for useful information. You tried to focus on the guidebook in your hands, but your nerves betrayed you. An older man’s gaze prickled at your skin, a quiet warning sounding in your mind. Maybe it was nothing, you told yourself. He could just be a curious local. But by the third lap around the shop and you could still feel his eyes in you, the goosebumps on your arms had turned into a full-blown alarm.

The man was closer now, his steps too deliberate to be a coincidence. By the time he spoke, his voice was low and overly familiar, the kind of tone that made your stomach twist. “Hi. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I just... couldn’t help noticing you.”

You swallowed thickly, hoping to keep the conversation short, sweet and with as little personal information exchanged as humanly possible. "Yes. Just visiting," you force out a smile.

"Ah I see, those are pretty," he gestures toward the necklaces in your hand, "pretty necklaces for a pretty lady. Does the pretty lady have a name?"

"Um," you wanted to take a step back, you wanted to walk away, but there was literally no way out of this situation because he was standing in between you and the exit. And for some reason you couldn't think of a fake name off the top of your head to give him. "It's—”

“Oh hey, babe. There you are,” a deep voice interrupted. Your head whipped around, and there he was—broad shoulders, a jawline sharp enough to rival a Greek statue. He had the kind of easy confidence that made your heart skip a beat. Mr. Broad Shoulders slid his arm around you, his touch casual but protective, the warmth of his hand anchoring you in place but doubling your pulse rate for a different reason. “Thought you wanted those charm bracelets, but you disappeared on me.”

“I got distracted.” Your gaze flickered upward, caught on the sun-kissed curl falling across his forehead. He smelled faintly of cinnamon, like he’d been leaning over a freshly lit candle moments before swooping in to save you.

The man takes a look at the two of you and apologizes, walking away without a second glance. You let out a sigh of relief, "thanks for the save, I really didn't know what to do and you just-I really appreciate it."

"No worries, I saw him following you around and thought it was weird. Glad I could help."

You look around to make sure the man from before, spotting him circling the back area with the pasties. "It's...very weird. He didn’t seem like he’d back down that easily."

“I’m Joe, by the way. Since I’m your boyfriend now, that seems like something you should know.”

You laughed, the tension in your chest finally easing. “Yeah, probably. Nice to meet you, Joe. I’m Y/N, your very grateful girlfriend.”

Joe leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper meant just for you. “He’s still watching us. Mind if I sell this a little more?” Without waiting for an answer, he adjusted his grip, his arm tightening around your shoulders like he’d been holding you this way forever. It was seamless, effortless, entirely too convincing. And it left you speechless. All you could do was nod, looking up at him, thinking about how this guy might be the most gorgeous person you've ever seen.

The two of you moved around the store aimlessly, the conversation flowing like you’d known each other for longer than half an hour. Joe explained he’d been in Greece for a few days, taking time to decompress after a grueling work season. “Sometimes, I just need to step away,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity that struck a chord.

“I get that,” you replied, sharing your own story of navigating your career and this newfound independence. You admitted, almost sheepishly, that sometimes your job didn’t feel like work because it aligned with your passions so perfectly. Joe nodded, his expression softening. “That’s how I feel,” he said. “I mean, this year it really magnified that for me. But sometimes when things don't go the way you hoped or planned, it makes the sacrifices worth more. Like not having as much free time when I'm working. Now, I have endless free time."

There was something magnetic about him—not just the broad shoulders and effortless charm, but the way he seemed so present. Every touch felt intentional, whether it was his hand on your back as you navigated tight spaces or his offer to buy the travel book you’d been thumbing through. You felt a strange sense of familiarity, like you’d seen him somewhere before but couldn’t quite place it.

After carefully deliberating over the trinkets, you settled on matching necklaces for your friends. On your way to the register, a woman approached, her expression warm and animated.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she began, “but I just had to tell you—you two make the most stunning couple. The way you look at each other, it’s just... beautiful. Are you here on an anniversary trip?”

“One year,” Joe answered without hesitation, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he squeezed your hand.

“That’s incredible! Congratulations!” the woman gushed. “Athens is the perfect place to explore as a couple. Do you have plans yet?”

You chimed in, “Not really. We were just going to see where the day takes us.”

The woman nodded enthusiastically and rattled off recommendations, from must-visit landmarks to hidden culinary gems. You took notes on your phone, her suggestions igniting your excitement for the day ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, Joe watched you with a kind of awe. The way your face lit up when you talked about exploring the city tugged at something deep inside him.

He’d spent the last four days locked away in his room, trying to process a season that had been equal parts triumph and heartbreak. It wasn’t just the physical toll of the game—it was the sting of being so close to the pinnacle and falling short. They had gone from 4-8 to 9-8 in what felt like the blink of an eye. The unmet expectations that he had for the team dulled his personal success a bit and he needed to escape after watching other teams prepare for their playoff runs while he cleaned out his locker. He just wanted to recharge and regroup…alone. And here you were, an unexpected spark in the midst of his self-imposed solitude.

When the woman finally bid you goodbye, you hesitated. Should you ask him to join you? The idea of spending the day with a stranger—no matter how kind and gorgeous—felt bold, maybe too bold. But being alone again felt... unbearable. You decided against asking because the thought of rejection was a step above unbearable, if at all possible.

“Well,” you began, your voice faltering slightly, “I guess this is it. I should probably head to my next stop now that I have a to-do list.” You forced a small laugh, keeping your gaze on the floor.

Joe nodded, his smile tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I hope you check off everything on your list.”

He watched you walk away, his chest tightening with each step. He wanted to stop you, to ask you to stay, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was stand there, frozen, as the door swung open.

You paused just before stepping outside. Something tugged at you—a feeling that walking away now would be a mistake.

Turning back, you smiled shyly. “I just realized... how am I supposed to experience Athens to its full potential without my boyfriend? On our anniversary trip, no less?”

Joe’s laugh was warm, easy. “No idea. Luckily, I think I know someone who can help.”

“You’re always so helpful. I feel like I won the dating lottery.”

“Can’t disagree,” he teased, his grin widening.

“Alright,” you said, nudging him playfully, “let’s get out of here before your head gets so big it doesn’t fit through the door.”

He walked out with you, allowing you to lead the way to your first stop.

Fairytale Athens looked like an intense mix between the Garden of Eden and Alice in Wonderland. "This is...wow," Joe quips, the vast array of flowers on the ceiling, the pink bar area and the flamingos. So many flamingos.

You could tell by his tight expression that this place isn't really his scene. "We're not here for two hours of afternoon tea or anything," you reassure him with a smile, "Dimitra said that we should grab drinks before walking around Acropolis and that..." you glance at the menu in front of you, "...strawberry ginger lemonade? That might be calling my name." He shakes his head and orders a mint and cucumber lemonade for himself, your lemonade and two waters as you walk around the princess castle, taking as many pictures as possible before Joe walked back over with all four drinks in hand before heading to the incredibly famous tourist attraction.

The package you paid for allowed you to skip the line and head through a side entrance, your tour guide walking you through the history of the ancient sights along with details about the architectural styles, construction techniques, and the symbolism of the monuments. The faint echo of the voices highlighted the rich history of the place you were standing in, the warm air a stark contrast to the cool lemonade in your hand. It seemed like Joe was hanging onto every word as he helped you up some steep ancient steps, his eyes lighting up as the guide drove you over to the museum, going into depth about the Gods.

"This exhibit is Gods, Worship and Magic, one of the most popular sites this year. You guys can walk around and read about the different deities featured." Artemis' exhibit, caught your eye first.

Glancing down at the steel plaque, "goddess of the hunt, devoted to nature. Were you ever a Percy Jackson fan growing up?"

"I was more of a SpongeBob guy. And Star Wars. Definitely had a dinosaur phase that lasted a lot longer than I care to share," he looks up, wondering why in the hell he just told you that. "Do—do you have any humiliating stories you'd like to share with the class?"

He nudged you as you walked alongside him, his hand so dangerously close to yours. You had the biggest urge to reach out and touch him. So you did. Reaching out maybe an inch, you interlocked your pinky with his, making his heart take a leap in his chest, swinging your hands happily towards the Eros exhibit. "The god of—”

"Love and desire," he finishes for you. Just because he wasn’t a Percy Jackson fanatic, doesn’t mean he didn’t pay close attention to the Greek mythology unit in school.

"Look at the hands," you said softly, leaning in closer. "It's like they're...perfectly fit for each other, you know?"

Joe's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. He was standing so close now, the faint scent of mint and cucumber from his lemonade mingling with the earthy air of the exhibit. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice warm and low, "I know what you mean."

Your pinkies were still hooked, but now the little space between you felt electrified. You didn't dare turn to meet his eyes, afraid of what you might see—or what he might see in yours.

"I do have an embarrassing thing to share with the class," you turn to face him and admire the excited look on his face, like what you're about to say is the most important thing in the world. "When I was little I was obsessed with Mama Mia." He gives you a puzzled look. "It's a musical that they turned into a movie. Anyway...it's about a girl that's getting married in a small town in Greece and the views just..." you pause, smiling at the memory, "...changed my life. I've always wanted that magical movie moment feeling. The music, the views, the…”

"Romance?" he finishes softly, a knowing look in his eyes.

You exhale, your cheeks warming as you nod. "Yeah...the romance. It was nice too." You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. "Doesn’t really compare to the real thing, though," you add, barely above a whisper.

The weight of the moment lingers between you. His gaze searches yours, his expression softening like he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. Your heart stumbles, and suddenly you feel too seen. You clear your throat, breaking the spell. "I'm, uh, getting kind of hungry. We should grab lunch and head to the next spot."

Joe blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, like he wasn't ready for the shift. "Yeah, sure," he says, his voice gentler now. He watches you for a second longer than you'd expect, then nods. As you walk back to meet the tour guide, Joe finds himself wondering how you’ve managed to unravel him so quickly, leaving him wondering why he already feels so invested in figuring you out.

When you get into the Uber it's like a weight has been lifted off your chest. The museum, which was supposed to be a calm and educational experience was too stuffy and intimate by the end of the visit. In the car, you could have your own space, sitting as close to the door as you could to gather yourself and your thoughts. The driver was nice enough, he had chargers in the car and gave you water bottles, noting that the heat would steadily increase throughout the day. You noticed him stealing glances at Joe in the rearview mirror, his hands tightening on the wheel like he was holding back words. The silence stretched until finally—“I’m sorry, man. I just gotta say…” he finally utters out, "I've been a Bengals fan since I was 8. And I woke up at ungodly hours to watch you play every week. Huge, huge fan."

You laughed at yourself in your seat, the pieces of the puzzle being put together. All of your focus had been on the day, spending every waking minute together and you didn't even fully process why he looked so familiar because the odds of that just sounded too insane to be real. Joe managed a polite smile, his usual ease replaced with a flicker of discomfort. You glanced at him, watching his jaw tighten just slightly as he signed the hat, the faintest blush creeping up his neck. Did he worry you’d see him differently now?

The car stopped near a bustling square lined with food trucks and small cafes. The aroma of grilled meat and spices wafted through the air as you wandered, your eyes drawn to colorful menus. It didn’t take long for the debate to begin.

"Joseph, the mini burgers are definitely better than the souvlaki cones. Be serious."

"No they aren't!" He argues, "you just need to try another one, here."

The souvlaki cone was tender and smoky, the tzatziki tangy and cool against the heat of the pork. But the burger—crispy bacon, the creamy richness of the mayo—felt indulgent, almost sinful. You savored every bite, laughing at Joe’s mock-offended gasp when you declared it the winner. "I hear you and I respect your wrong opinion. But the burger is just better I'm sorry. Do you want another bite?"

He shakes his head slowly, admiring you while you did such a mundane task, silently cursing himself at the fact that he chartered a plane to leave early the next morning. The two of you needed more time together. One day just wasn't going to be enough and the more time he spent with you the more apparent that fact became.

And then you took him on a boat.

It rocked gently, but Joe’s hands gripped the edge of the seat like the waves were threatening to tip them over. His gaze darted toward the horizon, avoiding the churning water below. “You’re really not a boat guy, huh?” you teased, your voice softening when his fingers tightened further. "I'm so sorry I had no idea. But Joe? We're literally in Greece, it's like, treason not to get on a boat here."

"Exactly, so I'm abiding by the law. Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it."

Your hand found his thigh in a quiet attempt to reassure him, and you felt the tension slowly drain from his muscles. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but the way his leg leaned ever so slightly into your touch sent a warmth through you that lingered long after. Aegina’s coastline unfolded before you, the white-washed buildings glowing under the sun, expansive trees swaying in the breeze. Joe stepped out first, offering his hand. His grip was firm, steadying you until your feet found the solid ground. You smiled up at him, the unspoken connection between you stronger than ever.

Just as Dimitra had described to you before, the pottery studio was tucked in a quiet corner of the island. Inside, the walls were lined with vibrant pottery, each bowl and vase a testament to countless hands shaping their stories, their glazes gleaming softly in the sunlight as you and Joe grabbed seats toward the back of the room. The instructor's notes were simple, to mold an item of your choice to keep at the end of the session, giving everyone creative freedom to produce a piece of their heart's desire. The clay felt cool to the touch, it's sticky and wet texture balanced wonderfully with the earthy smell that made your experience all the more relaxing and fun. Joe on the other hand, was creating a bowl with a lopsided shape, "it's supposed to look like this," he said firmly, biting back a laugh as you tried (and failed) to keep a straight face.

"Abstract art is still art. I just thought maybe...a quarterback would be better with his hands," you teased.

"Oh yeah? Let's see your work, Picasso." He took a break from his work station to scoot closer to yours, "shit, that actually looks pretty good."

You clean your hands off and move over to his station when he sets his chair back down. "I worked at my uncle's ceramic shop when I was little. It was his passion project so we all had to pitch in as a family and take turns," you helped guide his hand along the bowl, allowing him to smooth over the ridges efficiently evening out some of the misshapen parts. "I'm not saying I’m an expert by any means but I can get you to a point where your bowl can sit up by itself." Your fingers brushed his as you guided his hand, the soft pressure of your touch steadying his movements. Together, the ridges of the bowl began to smooth, though neither of you seemed in a hurry to let go. By the end of the session both bowls were done to the best of your ability, sort of bowl shaped, sort of not and full of personality.

"You’re good at this," Joe says, watching as continued to shape your bowl.

"Good at pottery?" you ask, laughing.

"Good at making things feel...easier," he replies softly. The pottery, he thought to himself, sort of mirrored your time together-unpolished, imperfect, but full of potential and that was both exciting and daunting. After your hands were clean, he grabbed your phone and snapped a picture of the two of you showing off your bowls.

"I was scared when you mentioned doing this at first, but I actually really enjoyed that. This," he gestures to his masterpiece, "is going up somewhere, maybe next to the trophy case at my parent's house. Funny enough, they also live in Athens. Ohio, not Greece," he clarifies.

"You might've missed your true calling," you tell him with a laugh, "here you are wasting your talents on football when the art community needs you."

"Yeah...sure," he laughs, holding onto the bags with your now fully dry bowls in them. "Unfortunately, I don't think I'm ready to quit my day job. Quite frankly, I don't think the art world is ready for me yet. Although working that clay could have been really good wrist rehab."

There it was, that can of worms you'd been trying to navigate. You didn't want to push him to talk about the season or his job if he didn't want to. And now the door was open for you to ask. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to but...was it scary? You know, putting your entire life, all of your free time, your dedication to this one thing that you're obviously really good at. Putting in all that work and then one day it's all just...taken away from you?"

He stops walking for a bit and your breath hitches in your throat, fearing that you've pushed him too far. At the end of the day you were still a stranger to him and maybe that was too personal?

You could tell the question was kind of eating at him, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—”

"No it's fine. I just…yeah. I was terrified for a little bit. No one had been through this before—not at my position, not at this level. I had no blueprint, no one to turn to for advice. It felt like— walking on a tightrope in the dark, hoping I wouldn’t fall.

“The scariest part wasn’t the pain or the rehab," Joe admits. "It was not knowing if I’d still be...me when it was all over."

You tilt your head, searching his face. "You mean, the quarterback?"

He hesitates, then shakes his head. "No. Just...me. Without football, I really didn’t know who that was, how I was going to navigate fame and my private life and everything in between that comes with being me. Whatever that means. And I had an uncomfortably long amount of time to figure it out. Now that the wrist and my health is not an issue anymore and with everything that happened during the season I just felt drained afterwards. Exhausted honestly. And today's been exactly what I needed.”

"Today's been a breath a fresh air for me too. Obviously I didn't have 500 pounds of man laying on top of me but I get it on a smaller scale. Feeling like work is drowning you and nothing you do is good enough so you need to escape. This trip isn’t just a celebration," you confess. "It’s a reminder that I’m more than my deadlines and titles. My boss once called me at 11 p.m. on a Sunday, and I didn’t even blink before picking up. I guess I forgot what it felt like to just...be. I really needed a—”

"Reset," the two of you say at the same time, a comfortable silence washing over you as you continue to walk. "That’s kind of why I came here," you confess. "Not to figure out who I am, but...to remind myself I’m more than my job. More than what other people expect of me."

"Feels like everyone’s always watching, doesn’t it?" Joe says, his voice quieter. "Waiting for you to fail or...prove them right."

"Yeah. But I think we deserve more than that."

Joe sighs, nodding quietly, "We do," Joe says with a small smile. "And one day, when we get it, we’ll look back on this trip as the start of something different." He didn’t say everything he was thinking—some things needed more time to come to the surface.

"Sounds perfect, lead the way."

After you shared the world's greatest chicken gyro, you walked around Aegina a little more, realizing that you had no time to change before dinner and you'd been wearing the same clothes all day long. You walked into a small store, grabbing things off the shelf to try on. Joe was easy, settling for gray cargo pants and a blue striped knit top. Rummaging through clothes and anything that wasn't instant online shopping had become a bit of a chore and you were on a time crunch which made you feel even more rushed. You grabbed three or four dresses and had Joe sit outside the fitting room while you tried the stuff on, only stepping out to show him your favorite.

"What do you think about this?”

The baby blue square neck A-line dress hugged your body like it was created just for you to wear, it's length accentuating your curves in a way that almost had him physically picking his jaw up off the floor. He didn't think you could look any better before but you'd just shattered his expectations. "You look absolutely amazing," he says sincerely, his mouth feeling dry.

You glance at him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Compliments weren’t new, but the way he said it—like it was the only thing in the world that mattered—left you speechless. You managed a soft laugh, pretending to study your reflection. "Thanks." After heading back to the fitting room to change, you grabbed all of your items and headed to the front to pay with Joe standing behind you in line. The cashier rung up your items and was getting ready to bag it when Joe added his clothes to the mix.

"Joe what are you doing? You're not paying for my clothes."

He handed over his card without hesitation, ignoring your protests. "I’ve got this," he said, his voice casual but his eyes portraying something deeper, like this was the most natural thing in the world to him. "Boyfriends are supposed to buy things. I think it’s in the constitution.”

"It's definitely not. And seriously, you don't have to do this."

"I got it, don't worry babe." The word slipped out so effortlessly that for a second, you wondered if you’d misheard him. But the way his eyes flicked to yours, briefly widening, told you everything. He realized it too—and yet, he didn’t take it back.You thanked him the entire walk back to the boat, his soft laugh sending warm and fuzzy feelings in your chest.

You were starting to acknowledge the growing warmth between you two, the way Joe’s presence seemed to make every moment feel right. The idea of saying goodbye felt heavier than it should after just one day, but somehow, it seemed inevitable. The next spot was inside a resort, they allowed you to change your clothes and head upstairs to the rooftop bar to watch the sunset. The drinks and the view had nothing on you, he quickly realized, finding himself unable to tear his eyes away. Everything just made sense today, the museum walk, the easy conversation, the boat ride. He didn't want to leave before but now the mere thought of packing his suitcase tonight made him upset.

"What are you thinking about over there?" Your words snap him out of his thoughts.

"Nothing, just how much I'm going to miss it here. The peace, the incredible sunset..."

You. The word hung in the air for a while before he pushed it down and tried to move on.

"We should head over to there and get closer to the view, you can literally see the entire city from glass railing." You stood up first and grabbed his hand, practically dragging him over there. Luckily there wasn't anyone else in the area. "This is the most insane scenery. I don't get how anyone could get tired of seeing this everyday, I'd never be inside. I feel like we’ve been the physical representation of carpe diem."

He looks at you confused, "what does that even mean?"

"Carpe diem? It’s Latin for 'seize the day.' Basically saying not to focus too much on the future and live in the present to the fullest capacity.”

"I like that," he chuckles.

Long after the sun went down and most of your dishes were cleared from the table, the lingering sweetness of caramel on your lips was all you could think about, a fleeting pleasure that only made the impending goodbye sting even more.

"Joe I have to tell you something," he looks at you as you head over to stand in one of the private lounge areas, giving you his undivided attention. "I saw you this morning in the store. Your back was facing me but I don't know, you caught my eye. And I told myself I wouldn't say anything, I wouldn't go up to you and make small talk because I'm here on a solo vacation to be one with myself and-now I'm really glad that I know you."

A smile forms on the corner of his mouth, "I've been telling myself all day that this isn't real. That I could just let my guard down because in Greece, I don't have to be Joe Burrow. I can just be...Joe. You let me be exactly who I am, nothing more, nothing less. And honestly? This might've been the single greatest day of my life. I've had good ones, really good ones. But today is up there for sure." You hadn’t realized how close you’d gotten until you could feel his arm against yours, his breath soft and warm on your cheek. His eyes dropped to your lips again, this time lingering a moment longer, as if the air between you had thickened. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his breath just a whisper away, as his hand hovered near your cheek. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a spark through you, and for a moment, you thought he might pull you in.

You couldn't allow yourself to go there. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not now, not like this—but the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, made it hard to think clearly. As much as you wanted this, to feel him close, to taste the sweetness of that kiss, the weight of knowing how fleeting it all was crushed down on you. This wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything you were afraid to want, a piece of yourself that you couldn’t let slip away so easily. If you already felt this strongly about him after a day, how were you going to make it through the rest of the vacation without him knowing how his lips tasted and how his strong hands pulled you in close, holding onto you like he'd rather lose everything than let you go. There was no way in the world you'd recover.

"We can't," you whisper, watching him drop his hand that had just been lightly caressing your cheek. "You're gonna leave tomorrow and I'm gonna be thinking about this kiss for a long time. And I can't," your voice trembles. "I don't want you to go, so I can't kiss you. I'm sorry."

"No don't—don't apologize. I get it." He still hadn't taken a step back, biting his lip to keep his emotions in check. "I can walk you back to your hotel? I haven't packed yet and I need to.”

"Sure, yeah that's fine."

The 15 minute walk felt like three seconds. You didn't want him to go. He no longer wanted to leave. "Y/N I—”

You wrapped him up in a bone crushing hug, silently begging him to stay, just for a few more days. His grip on you was just as strong, his heartbeat thumping rapidly against your body. There weren't enough words in the English, or Greek dictionary to describe how much you were going to miss him. To miss this day. "Bye Joe." That was it. That was all you could manage. The moment you let go of him felt like a piece of your heart stayed in his arms. There was no way to explain the ache in your chest as you watched him turn away, the pull to stay stronger than any rational thought.

Going to sleep that night sounded impossible. The day had started out so innocent and special and the adventure and emotional rollercoaster you'd been on during the day made it feel like you'd experienced a series of days all wrapped into one. You set your bags down on the ground when you got to your room, too tired to change out of your clothes and falling asleep on top of the covers as soon as you laid down.

The next morning you checked the time on your phone, it was 8am. Joe had told you yesterday he was leaving at 10. That meek little goodbye wasn't going to cut it. You didn't even have his number. After your teeth were brushed and your clothes were changed, you rushed out of your hotel and got in an Uber, on your way to Joe's resort. The 46 minute ride allowed you to come up with everything you wanted to say, how this was only meant to be for a day but maybe it could be more? Maybe you could come see him in Cincinnati or he could come to Berkeley or someway somehow you could figure out a way to make it work.

You thanked your driver, opting to speed walk into the lobby. The person at the front desk couldn't give you access to the room without a reason, even when you gave them the name Joe used for his reservation. Pulling out your phone, you showed her the picture of you and Joe that he took at the pottery place and she finally believed you.

"I'm sorry ma'am, he actually left this morning a bit earlier than planned. He checked out at 7am to get on the plane."

Your chest tightened as the words settled in—he was gone. Just like that, in the span of a few hours, everything had shifted. The chance to say what was left unsaid, the connection you had just begun to explore, all slipped away before you could even hold onto it.

It felt like a dark cloud loomed over you throughout the rest of the day. The sun, once so warm on your skin, now felt distant and cold. The flowers that had seemed so alive that morning now appeared dull, their colors muted, as though even nature understood the weight on your heart. While you ate lunch, you tried to people watch, although you quickly discovered that there were only couples surrounding you, sharing meals and laughing at each other's jokes which made you miss him even more. The only real bright spot of the day was your flower garden excursion, taking pictures of the newly bloomed bulbs and taking in their fresh scent. As the hours passed, you allowed yourself to breathe a little deeper, letting the moments of regret slip away as you focused on the simple joys of your surroundings. The beauty of the flowers, the calm of the gardens, it all reminded you that there was still peace to be found in this unexpected chapter of your life.

You were just beginning to let go of the weight on your chest, convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, this was how things were meant to be. But as you laid your phone down beside you, the familiar ping of a message broke the stillness.

It was an DM request on Instagram. The message had two simple words.

Carpe diem.

For a second, your heart skipped, and you couldn’t help but smile. That phrase, so simple and yet so loaded with meaning, sent a wave of warmth through you. It was him. In a way, he had left his mark on you after all, even if he wasn’t here to say the words aloud. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end. And though you didn’t know what tomorrow would bring or if this connection would ever evolve beyond this brief encounter, in that moment, with his words glowing on your screen, you allowed yourself one final thought: Maybe this was only the beginning.

[goatskickin]

On the first day of GOATmas, my true love sent to me...

...coffeetables! Wood recolors of coffeetables!

I've recolored every coffeetable that EA has created in a pack or expansion that:

1) already had wood recolors

2) didn't have wood recolors, but I felt that wood recolors suited them

For the colors: I am using Dynamite, Depth Charge, Shrapnel, Safety Fuse and Time Bomb by @pooklet, and Nesert and Honey by Io aka @serabiet.

Please check out the Add-On's I've recommended! They are meshes made by community members that will use these textures too. Or, they are bits of CC that go along with these nicely!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ada Quaint Coffee Table - tablecoffeequaint

notes: same texture! removed the shine though.

Centerpieces Coffee Table - tablecoffeeartnouveau

notes: not the original texture! This uses a texture from Seasons.

Chabadii Yet Another Coffee Table - tablecoffeechabudai

Notes: brand new texture! The legs are mostly the same but the top and square parts are that Seasons texture I like.

Recommended Add-on: #1

Club Distress Avigno nRectangular Coffee Table - tablecoffeeclubrectangle

notes: mostly the same texture but I messed with the edges of the top just a little.

Club Distress Square Coffee Table - tablecoffee1x1

notes: texture is unchanged but boy was this one shiny! Shininess was removed.

Recommended Add-ons: #1 #2

Coffee For Four - tablecoffeeluxury1x2

notes: uses a texture from (I think) a BG wall. Shininess removed and just the one glass recolor.

Recommended add-on: #1

Cozy Colonial End Table - tablecoffeeendcolonial1

notes: mostly the same texture! Also had the shine removed.

End To End Table - tablecoffeeenddesigner

notes: another BG table that was hugely improved by having the shine removed from the TMXT. This one has no white recolor, as the base game already had one.

Recommended Add-on: #1

Eye Of The Brain Trust - tablecoffeecomfy

notes: this is one of my very favorite coffee tables! This one uses that Seasons wood again on the top, but the legs are unchanged.

Recommended Add-on: #1

Fair Square Surface - tablecoffeejock

notes: a coffee table that I never use! But it's cute. Same texture.

Recommended Add-on: #1

Full Of It Coffee Table - tablecoffeesocialite

notes: the top is a new texture, but the bottom is the same. This table has 2 subsets, so you can mix and match the wood of the table and the decorative curlicues.

Recommended Add-on: #1

Mission Coffee Table - tablecoffeemission + tablecoffeemission1x1

notes: EA didn't repository these even though they share the exact same texture? 🤔 Texture is not changed.

Recommended Add-on: #1

Psychadelic SimAtri Coffee Table - tablecoffeegroovy

notes: this is another one of my very favorite coffee tables! I think it's got a very cool atomic age/midmod design, so I was happy to put some brand new wood textures on it. The base and top are also 2 separate subsets, so you can mix and match the woods I've made, or any other RC's you have for it.

Queen Anne Coffee Table - tablecoffeecolonial

notes: new texture! removed some shine too

Recommended Add-on: #1

Scraps Ranch Cafe Mate Coffee - tabletablecoffeepine

notes: uses a blend of 2 textures of this to make one. So cute, really.

Recommended Add-on: #1

Simple Structure End Table - tablecoffeeendvalue

notes: no need to improve on a classic! Contains no white RC as the base game already had one.

Spindle Table Recolor - tablecoffeespindle

notes: I got to be creative with this one! Uses some of the base texture, but also a few textures from the pirate ship from Bon Voyage.

Tempered Tea Table - tablecoffeecentralasian

notes: I know that not a single one of you uses this mesh regularly (me included) so this has a BRAND NEW texture. And the top and bottom are 2 separate subsets.

AND 4 different options for tops! They use the grass mat for the fire dancers from Bon Voyage, and some textures from some paneling walls.

Download - Sims 2 Coffeetable - Wood Recolors

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Recommended downloads: ariffrazalin's "One More" Slot Package For coffee tables

[littlelamy]

FIRST!! i want to say your writing is actually what i strive to be able to create, its just sooo mmmm perfect. next, this is gonna be a long requesttt bewareee...

okay so basically , s3 rafe yknow he’s a bit more mature, and he meets reader. rafe immediately just falls over heels for her while reader is just like over men and stuff because she wants to party through her early 20s and shit. whilst doing so rafe is like doing everything he can to get in close proximity with her and she thinks its just weird how he keeps showing up everywhere she goes. this goes on for a few months, and theyve had their fair share of conversations together— and shes not gonna lie. rafe isnt as bad as he seems, but she’s too scared to have to possibly deal with all the same bullshit she’s delt with in the past when it comes to relationships. so she still sticks with her party and get fucked mindset. it isnt until reader ends up going to a party she has no knowledge about with one of her friends to some ‘big ass mansion’ and SUPRISE it ends up being rafes party. the party is starting to wind down, and its near midnight, so reader just says ‘fuck it’ and HAS THE NASTIEST FUCK with rafe.

the morning following she wakes up and is just like “o”. her mind sets on sneaking out of the bed but he catches her in the act, he’s all like noo donnt gooo but reader still ends up leaving with a confused mind and no clue what to do 🙃

i apologize if this is a lot to ask for but if you take this up, thank you SO MUCH!!

notes: not too much!! i enjoyed writing it, so i hope you like it 🤍

you first meet him at the bar. not an unusual thing for a guy like him, all tailored button-ups and slicked-back hair, expensive watch flashing every time he lifts his glass. he's got this energy, like he owns the whole damn room, but the way he looks at you? like you're the only thing in it.

you don’t pay him much mind. you’re here to have fun, to drink, to dance, to forget the bullshit men have put you through. you and your friends are deep into shots and wild laughter when you feel his gaze again—burning, persistent. rafe fucking cameron. you'd heard of him. pogues had stories, kooks had whispers. rich boy, trouble, something about his dad, something about his temper. none of it concerned you. you weren’t looking for trouble, but somehow, trouble was looking for you.

he shows up everywhere after that. not in a creepy way, not exactly. just… coincidental. you hit a club with your girls, and there he is, leaning against the VIP booth like he’s been expecting you. you go to a late-night beach party, and he’s by the bonfire, drink in hand, talking to some people you vaguely know. you go to get coffee, and he’s in line before you, smirking when he catches your eye like he knows something you don’t.

months of this. conversations that start short but stretch longer each time. he’s charming, surprisingly so. not as much of an asshole as you thought, but still, there’s that edge to him, that undercurrent of something dangerous. and yet, you keep your distance. you’ve played this game before, and you’re not interested in losing again.

but then there’s the party. some ridiculous, over-the-top mansion event your friend drags you to, and you don’t even realize until you step inside that it’s his house. the music thrums through the walls, bass-heavy and intoxicating. the smell of weed and expensive cologne lingers in the air. you tell yourself you’re just here to have a good time, that it doesn’t matter that it’s his place, but when you lock eyes with him across the room, something in your chest tightens.

it’s late when you find yourself alone with him. the party has started to dwindle, people slipping away in drunken pairs or passing out on expensive furniture. he’s leaning against the pool table, watching you with that same look that’s been following you for months.

“so,” he says, voice smooth, teasing. “you finally made it to my house.”

“wasn’t on purpose,” you shoot back, but the corner of your lips betrays you, quirking up just slightly.

he grins. “sure.”

you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s him, maybe it’s you. maybe it doesn’t matter. what matters is that one second you’re trading sharp remarks, and the next his hands are on your waist, lips crashing against yours. it’s messy, desperate, months of tension snapping all at once.

his hands are everywhere, fingers digging into your waist, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair as he pulls you against him. his breath is hot against your skin, lips tracing down your jaw, your neck, lower. he doesn’t just kiss you—he devours you, teeth scraping, tongue soothing. your back hits something solid, a wall, a counter, maybe the pool table. it doesn’t matter. all that matters is the way he presses into you, heat radiating off him, his hard cock already straining against his jeans.

he doesn’t ask, doesn’t hesitate. he yanks your dress up, pushes your panties aside, and sinks to his knees like a man starving. his mouth is hot and relentless, tongue flicking against your clit, lips sealing around you, sucking hard until you’re gasping, hands fisting in his hair. he moans against you, like he’s the one getting off on this, like he’s wanted to taste you for months and now he’s finally getting his fix. you grind against his face, pleasure winding tight in your belly, and when you come, it’s with his name tumbling from your lips, breathless, desperate.

he’s not done yet. he stands, eyes dark, pupils blown, and flips you around. his hand presses between your shoulder blades, arching your back, positioning you just how he wants. his belt clinks, jeans drop, and then he’s there, the thick head of his cock nudging at your dripping entrance before he thrusts in, hard and deep. you cry out, fingers scrambling for purchase on the slick surface beneath you. he groans, low and filthy, hands gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll bruise.

he fucks you like he owns you, like he’s been waiting too long for this and has no intention of taking it slow. each thrust is deep, punishing, his hips slamming against yours. his fingers slip down, circling your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that make your knees weak.

"so fucking tight," he groans, voice rough. "been dreaming about this, baby. you feel even better than I imagined."

it’s too much. the stretch, the pressure, the way he takes and takes like he can’t get enough. you’re unraveling, coming again, and he’s right behind you, hips stuttering, a growl tearing from his throat as he spills deep inside you. he stays there for a moment, breathing hard, before pulling out, fingers dipping between your legs to push his cum back inside.

"not wasting a drop," he mutters, smirking against your shoulder. you’re wrecked, ruined, shaking—but God, you want more.

you wake up in his bed, tangled in silk sheets that smell like him. your head is a little hazy, your body sore in the best way. reality creeps in slow and unwelcome. you’re not the kind of girl who does this. not anymore.

you move carefully, slipping out of bed, searching for your clothes in the dim morning light. you don’t even make it two steps before his voice, thick with sleep, stops you.

“wait, why are you leaving?”

you freeze. he’s watching you, eyes heavy-lidded but sharp, like he knew you’d try to run.

“oop,” you jump, surprised and already on edge. “this was just—” you gesture vaguely, trying to make it seem casual, insignificant. “fun.”

his jaw ticks. “right.”

but he doesn’t argue, doesn’t stop you; the look in his eyes says this isn’t over.

not even close.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @drewsephrry

[rhiannonsknife]

I'm sick :( I need Rhiannon to comfort me fr

oh no, get well soon anon!! here are some rhiannon hcs for you <3

rhiannon who becomes your personal nurse and care taker.

if you thought she was protective before, you wouldn’t believe how she gets when you’re getting sick. rhiannon might not seem like the nurturing type at first glance but that whole facade cracks the moment she notices you’re coming down with something. suddenly, her focus narrows entirely on you, her usual edge softened by concern. turns out she’s almost oddly skilled at taking care of you, probably because of all the years spent cleaning up her own messes (or other people’s…) she knows exactly where to find the thermometer, has a bottle of cough syrup in her cupboard that she swears isn’t expired, and somehow remembers all the proper doses of medicine off the top of her head. “here, take this” and with that she’ll press the pills into your hand, a glass of water already in the other. when you raise an eyebrow at her efficiency, rhiannon shrugs. “what, you think this is my first time playing nurse?”

rhiannon who works from home whenever you’re sick so that she can be there for you.

she stays with you all day, restocks your tissues, binge watches all your favorite shows with you on the couch, or goes on a pharmacy run without being asked, returning with a bag full of remedies. “alright, i got cold medicine, cough drops, and this weird herbal tea…pick your poison,” she says, dumping the haul on the coffee table. later, when you start to drift off, your head heavy against her shoulder, she goes quiet as she adjusts the blanket over you. “you’re lucky you’re sick,” she murmurs, almost too quiet for you to hear. “otherwise, i’d never let you get away with this” she pretends to be annoyed by all the caregiving, but she’s secretly touched when you lean on her.

rhiannon, who’s surprisingly patient with you. 

she’s usually the type to lose her temper quickly. rhiannon’s the type to lose her shit over the smallest things (a lost phone charger, slow wi-fi, an overcooked meal…) but now, even when you’re grumbling or too exhausted to answer her properly, she doesn’t snap. no one else but you would ever get away with that. instead, she surprises even herself by being uncharacteristically calm. she doesn’t push you to eat or drink more than you can manage, but she’ll gently remind you to take your medicine on time and always has an eye on you from across the room. “think you can handle some tea?” she’ll ask gently as she sits down on the couch beside you. “or maybe just a sip of water? here, i’ll help”

rhiannon, who’s more affectionate with you than she’d ever admit around anyone else.

when it’s just the two of you, her carefully practiced guard drops completely. it’s always like this, but she enjoys it even more when she gets to care for you simultaneously. she’ll brush your hair out of your face, tuck the blankets around you, and sit by your side quietly. “your hair’s a mess,” she murmurs, her fingers ghosting over your forehead. “want me to run you a bath?” when you hum a quiet yes, her hand lingers for a moment before she stands. “alright,” she says softly, glancing at you like she’s making sure you’re still comfortable before she heads toward the bathroom. “you stay put. don’t even think about moving until i come get you!”

rhiannon, who’s even more protective over you when you’re sick.

if anyone tries to disturb you or suggest you should “power through” your illness, rhiannon will shut them down if given the chance. “she’s resting” she’ll say if someone makes a comment like: “oh, it’s just a little cold! she’ll be fine,” “unless you’re a doctor or a pharmacist, kindly mind your own business!” then she’ll turn back to you, all soft concern again. “you’re not moving an inch! don’t let anyone tell you otherwise” even when you start feeling better, she’s still overly cautious. the first time you try to suggest going out or doing something mildly active, she immediately talks you out of it: “no. you’re staying in. i didn’t spend all week playing nurse just for you to keel over the second you step outside!” “but i feel fine,” you protest weakly. “right” she deadpans, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “face it, you’re stuck with me, and i’m not letting you undo all my hard work!”

rhiannon, who will absolutely guilt trip you once you’re feeling better.

once you’re fully recovered, she milks her role as the “long-suffering girlfriend” for all it’s worth, sighing dramatically every time you ask her for even the smallest favor. “oh, you need me to grab the remote for you now?” sure, because i didn’t just spend days making sure you didn’t die of the plague” you can’t help but chuckle a little. but if you dare roll your eyes, she’ll double down with an exaggerated groan. “oh, you’re denying it now? fine, i’ll keep a list next time you’re sick. medicine at 3am? check. homemade soup? check. listening to you snore like a bloody chainsaw? double check” but, as much as she’s pretending like it was such an inconvenience, you both know rhiannon loves to take care of you!! <3

[babiedemon]

MISERABLE MAN . . . haymitch abernathy / reader

genre . . . fluff, post-war

warnings . . . age gap, mentions of war, swearing, sexual themes

inspired by miserable man — david kushner

haymitch was a drunk. he was a miserable old man with a bad temper and a lifetime worth of pent up trauma. even with the newfound peace, the end of the rebellion, the birth of a fair nation. you knew no matter the time, the level of freedom, he’d forever be a miserable old man.

you mulled over this as you approached his home, a looming tower of a house in the shambles of district twelve. you’d taken the train there, what was once a capitol luxury now a simple means of transportation. the gravel of the deserted district crunched beneath your designer boots, ricocheting off empty buildings of the desecrated town.

there was no response to the heavy knock you left on his door, or one of the side windows, or the back door. you’d almost given up hope, prepared to break the door off the hinges, muttering angry words to yourself as you rounded the side of the house, when you caught sight of a moving figure in the distance. you couldn’t mistake that mop of black hair for anything else in the world, the long hair of the former face of rebellion.

“hey, katniss!” you called over the wind rushing in the space between you. she brought her hand up to wave, a pair of squirrels dangling from her fingers, a slight smile on her softened face.

“hey, eagle eye!” she shouted in response, an echoing reminisce of your rebel nickname. “what brings you to twelve?” she was closer now, close enough for you to pinpoint where her eyes sat over her nose, the once hardened stone color softened to a plush storm cloud. she stopped a few feet before you, eyes giving you a onceover.

“here to see the drunk. any idea if he’s home?” you inquired, lifting your eyebrows. katniss tilted her head to the side, squinted against the piercing rays of the setting sun.

“knowing haymitch, he’s probably drunk off his ass right about now. he usually leaves a window cracked in the front if you wanna try getting in that way,” she suggested, switching the tails of the squirrels from one hand to the other in favor of scratching her eyebrow.

“thanks a bunch, kat. i’ll be sure to pay you a visit sometime before the week ends. lord knows i’ll have my hands full with mitch,” you hummed, slowly backing away as you spoke. she bid her silent goodbye the same way she’d bid her welcome, lifting a single hand as she parted ways toward her towering home.

you found the crack in the window almost as soon as you’d reached the top of haymitch’s stairs and pried it open, the metal frame squealing in protest as you forced the pane of glass wide enough for your body to fit through.

getting in was much harder, your body falling on the floor and taking out half the items displayed crudely on his windowsill. you were certain that you’d gained at least a few bruises from the tumble it took for you to reach the hardwood floor, a grimace on your face as you inspected your exposed, aching elbows.

“what the hell are you doing here?” haymitch sighed, his voice carrying over to the foyer from his place on the living room sofa. you couldn’t see him, and you doubted he could see you, but you guaranteed from your loud entrance he could deduce it wasn’t his usual visitor.

“is that how you greet all of your long distance girlfriends?” you asked dryly, pushing yourself up from the floor with a few grunts. you rounded the foyer into the living room, spotting haymitch’s salt and pepper curls from the entryway.

“‘s how i greet everyone, sweetheart. get used to it,” he muttered, making quick work of pouring himself another glass of liquor. his hands trembled violently, likely due to the withdrawal contorting his face, liquor splashing over the edge of his glass and pooling on the mahogany coffee table. you sighed as you seated yourself beside him, took the bottle from his hands, and shot him an unimpressed look out of the corner of your eye.

“how many have you had?” you asked, studying the hazy sheen over his stormy eyes. he tutted, lazily rolling his eyes, his body sinking into the cushions.

“only three today. woke up about six hours ago, so i’d say that’s pretty tame,” he remarked. you suppressed the agitated sigh and tipped the bottle, pouring a hefty amount of whiskey into his chosen cup.

“i thought for sure when you didn’t answer the door you were passed out in your own piss and vomit again,” you murmured, voice softened as you regarded him. he was aging, his stubble shining with a number of grey strands, the curls atop his head beginning to gain more of his eye color with every visit. he’d gained back a bit of weight in his cheeks and stomach since you’d last seen him, his face and gut now rounded out a bit more.

“i figured if it was important, whoever it was would find their way in,” he spoke, voice gruff, a pause interrupting his sentence. “i was right about both. it was important, and you did find your way. besides, i’ll have you know i happen to have cut back on my substance abuse, thank you.”

“you know i’ll always find a way to come pester you,” you mused, reclining next to him. you felt a bit of pride swelling in your chest, a smile growing on your lips as you processed his minor recovery from years of raging alcoholism. haymitch’s arm slid easily over your shoulders, an almost inaudible chuckle leaving his lips, the rim of his glass snuffing it at the source.

“you definitely are a pest,” he hummed, tongue lapping up the remnants of whiskey on his lips. “what brings you here anyways?”

“i was hoping we could spend some time together. i’ve missed you,” you spoke softly, your cheeks heating up with your admission. haymitch hummed, his nose brushing the top of your head, the smell of alcohol wafting off of him. you’d come to enjoy the bitter scent, associating it with the man you’d fallen for over the course of your teens and now early twenties.

“missed you too, doll face,” he muttered, letting his head loll against the back of the sofa. his fingertips, ever as tremorous, came to scratch at the itchy stubble spotting his chin. “got some geese around back if you wanna check ‘em out.”

“when the hell did you get geese?” you inquired, face lifted in amusement as your eyes traveled haymitch’s exposed windpipe. the skin there was red, flushed from his consistent substance abuse, and a few scratches laid about from his incessant scratching. your fingers reached to trace the raised lines, smoothing them over with your thumb.

“not that long ago. decided i needed a hobby. shit’s boring around here,” he grumbled, watching you curiously. he realized the source of your focus after a few seconds, clearing his throat embarrassedly. “my hands shake too much to shave now. can’t cut my hair either.” he gestured to the top of his head, where his curls fell unkempt to his chin. you tilted your head to the side, running your fingers through the knotted ends of his dark locks, a smile on your lips.

“i could always trim you up, mitch,” you muttered, picturing different cuts and styles framing his face. if only one thing benefited you from your days as a capitol stylist, it was the cosmetic knowledge. you got free cuts, free colors, free hemming. “i think you’d look pretty good with a shag. your curls would suit it nicely.”

“do whatever gets it out of my goddamned eyes,” he gruffed, grumpy as ever, prompting you to begin your search for his razors and scissors. for a reason you couldn’t place, you’d begun cleaning as you searched as well. you’d washed his clothes, polished the kitchen, dusted the paintings and tables, all whilst he lingered in every doorway with a bottle and glass in hand, eyes watching you with burning intensity.

“you look good cleaning,” he remarked, the devious smirk on his lips hardly hidden by his whiskey glass. he slunk towards you, footsteps slow and wobbly against the hardwood floor.

“you’re only saying that because i’m bent over scrubbing your toilet,” you muttered, standing straight up upon feeling his hips meet yours. he looped an arm around your middle, your heart beating out of your chest as you turned your face to let your gazes meet. his eyes, grey and clouded, held a heady desire you hadn’t seen in months. his body pushed yours partially forward as he leaned, settling his drink on the toilet lid in favor of taking full hold of both your hip bones.

you gulped, face red as you turned in his loose grasp, letting him back you until your hips met the bathroom counter. his hand settled beneath your chin, guiding your head up until your eyes settled back on his, his other palm settling on the marble beside your blushing body. his gaze was honed in on your parted lips, eyebrows furrowed and concentration painting his flushed face.

“haven’t seen you in ages,” he mumbled, voice breathy and depraved as a slight smirk quirked the corner of his lips. you let out a shaky laugh, looping your arms around his neck, toying with the greying curls jutting from the nape of his neck.

“i’m starting to think you missed me more than you let on,” you breathed, pupils dancing over the space between his eyes and mouth. his fingers slid, igniting a fire beneath your skin, thumb caressing your jaw and palm cupping the side of your neck. he let out a soft chuckle, leaning in just barely close enough for his chapped lips to brush the gloss from yours.

“that is the understatement of the century.” his eyes fluttered shut as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your buzzing lips, pulling away much too soon for your eager impatience. you sighed, breath fanning over his scruffy face, eyes squeezing shut as the smell of his musky body soap twisted with the stench of his preferred beverage.

“i’m supposed to be cutting your hair.” you chuckled airily, prying your eyes open to meet his lusted stare. he took a moment to process, no doubt distracted by the touch of your fingers to his exposed collarbone.

“you’ll have to wet my hair, right?” as he spoke, voice husky and eyes dropping to your body, he made agonizingly slow work of undoing the top few buttons of your dress shirt. you followed his train of thought, chest heaving against his fingers, eyes darting to the shower standing to your right.

“i like the way your pretty little head works.” you gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to your level, lips taking his in a short lived, rough kiss. “strip, then.”

“you don’t have to tell me twice, sweetheart.”

you couldn’t help the boisterous laughter tumbling from your chest.

[laterosal]

♤ My Dear Seraph | Yukimiya Kenyu x Reader

▽ featuring: yukimiya kenyu x fem reader … no repost on any platforms © laterosal 2024 … a stylist for yukimiya kenyu? ooh boy~ … word count: 3.1k

📌 AO3 | one-shot

“You’re the model?” You gaped at him in shock as you dropped the cup of coffee onto the ground. Monochrome loose top, gingham collar, cargo pants… It hadn’t been just moments ago you crashed into him and snapped at him; you, too, were almost late to another editorial shoot to be the stylist for the client—Yukimiya Kenyu. Him?

“Oh, it’s you—” Yukimiya Kenyu, the client, removed his mask and smiled warmly at you. “How are you?”

“You aren’t even going to ask why I—”

“There’s really no need, since I’m sure you have your own reasons.” He winked at me, the bells from closing the door jingled slightly. Hm.

“Y/N, this is Yuki-kun. I hope you two can get along well…” Yuki’s agent, Tomiko, clapped her hands. “Ah. This is Y/N, and she will be your stylist for this editorial shoot.” Tomiko’s hair was tied into a bun, a clipboard in her hands with her free hand adjusting her glasses.

You silently groaned to yourself as you realized you were rude to your client, this model and student who looked too pure in your eyes. You quickly cleaned up the coffee mess on the ground, before striking up another conversation with Yukimiya Kenyu’s agent.

“Yes, yes. Can I check his portfolio real quick?” You cocked your head to the right, forcing a smile on your face as you stared at Yukimiya Kenyu.

“Ah, here.” You gave a quick glance on the agent’s electronic device through Yukimiya Kenyu’s previous shoots and swiped past each photo. Well, he sure does look stunning. You grinned at yourself as you zoomed into some photos—then exited as quickly as you glanced. His smile, posted on some photos, had some type of warmth in it.

“He’s never once done candid photoshoots, huh?” You clicked your tongue and shook your head as you remembered the purpose of this editorial shoot: candid photos, rather than another commercial shoot. “Interesting. I kinda get the vibes. Oh, and the measurements, Tomiko-san.” You frowned as she quickly handed you the clipboard with the measurements as you hummed to yourself the numbers as a quick scan. You felt a pair of eyes staring at you closely, the eyes of Yukimiya Kenyu, who wondered what clothing you would bring to the table.

“Half-turtleneck top… no, how about a lapel deconstructed flight jacket? And some accessories… a pair of sweatpants? Hm…” You murmured to yourself as you reached the bottom of the measurements page. “Ah! Balloon sweatpants… The ongoing trend for now…”

“Is there anything wrong, Y/N?” Tomiko asked nervously as you murmured even more.

“Hm?” You snapped your head up. “Oh, no. Sorry, take a seat—please. I didn’t mean to take up too much of your time.” You gestured for them to sit on the high stools near your working space at the counter—in this small-space area of where your creations take place. Sewing, knitting, and the zippers and buttons and the needle that threaded every one of the clothing for the famous actors and models. That was you. And they—models and agents—sometimes fear you, since you tend to want things done as quickly as possible. Your need to rush things made your temper flare at times—but for this client, for Yukimiya Kenyu, you wanted to take your time. He seemed to have this certain charm for you to slow down your life, the time with him seemingly longer.

“Okay. Oh, will the photographer only be here tomorrow—the day of the photoshoot?” You asked as you set the clipboard aside, digging into boxes full of materials.

“Oh, yes. Just tomorrow. Uh-thank you so much for having us today, L/N Y/N. I wasn’t quite sure whether you would be willing to work with us for Yuki’s photoshoot.” Tomiko nervously responded. “You are a busy person, after all.”

“Sure. No problem.” You shrugged as you gave them both a smile. A college student and a feared stylist… You giggled as that thought wandered into your mind. Yukimiya Kenyu, hearing a giggle from you, raised his eyebrows when your back was turned to him. “Were the measurements taken recently?”

“Oh, yes. We didn’t want to bother you with such trivial things, after all.” You suppressed a snort. Trivial things? These “things” were what stylists often did themselves to perfect the best clothing choices for the client. Oh well. “Would you like anything to drink while you prepare some clothing ideas for Yukimiya Kenyu?”

“Sure. Any place is fine. Caramel macchiato, with milk foam and oat milk and steamed hot. Light caramel drizzle, and two shots of espresso, please.” Your eyes still trailed Yukimiya Kenyu’s photos that were still brightly displayed on Tomiko’s screen on your counter. You sketched out some designs on blank sheets of papers, tapping the butt of the pen against the counter.

“Then, a flat white for me.” You raised your eyebrows as your eyes were focused on the design as you heard Yukimiya Kenyu’s order.

“Alright. I’ll be back soon, you two.” Tomiko rushed out, with both orders scribbled onto a small notebook.

“Specific in ordering too?” Yukimiya Kenyu grinned at you as he drummed his fingers against the counter.

“Yep. Just a part of me, I guess. Specific and precise.” You locked eyes when you lifted your head up at his bright, orange eyes. “And you?”

“That’s just my go-to. I don’t try anything new—I just stick with whatever I like.” He shrugged in a carefree manner. “I’m not too picky with my orders.”

“And are you implying I am?” You smirked at him as he widened his eyes in shock.

“Oh, no, no, sorry—I didn’t mean it in that way.” He responded flustered. His cheeks were heated, and his ears had a pink tint.

You giggled as you slapped your pen down onto the counter.

“Yuki-san, I meant that as a joke.” You laughed even more as he opened his mouth to say some words, before closing it again. “Sorry.” You wiped a tear from your eye.

“Well, I suppose your order does make up for the spilled coffee from earlier.” You nodded at Yukimiya Kenyu’s words.

“Yeah. I was just… a little surprised to see you here. I didn’t realize—Oh, let me apologize for earlier… for being really rushed and rude.”

“No worries. Again, you do have your own reasons, yeah?” He murmured as he stared intently at you, his rounded glasses reflecting the light from your lamp on the counter.

“Do you wear glasses during photoshoots?”

“I don’t have to.” He mumbled uncomfortably, taking off his glasses and setting them on the table. He looked… stunning. His orange eyes gently gazed at you as your mouth dropped slightly, before you swallowed slowly.

“Oh, you can wear them if you’d like. It wouldn’t be a bother, I think…” You scratched your head nervously. He looked like an angel, from the Heavens they sent him. “Pulchritudinous star—” You slapped at your babbling mouth, eyes widening. “Sorry—” You burst into laughter again. “Your beauty throws me off, really.”

“I can see.” He looked at you innocently as a grin formed on his face. “I shouldn’t be distracting you too much from your work, right?”

“You already have, my dear client Seraph.”

The sound of the shutters and clicks from the camera made you feel at ease as you looked at Yukimiya Kenyu, the holy Seraph model— Too blinding for your eyes. You suppressed another giggle as you made eye contact with him, his small wink at you that made your cheeks feel flushed. Although you pulled an all-nighter to sew the clothing for him to wear, you thought that it was worth the end product. If he were really to have descended from the Heavens with his captivating beauty, you wanted him. He had a different aura from the rest of the boys who often flaunted you, and his signature smile that made you feel the wings of the butterflies fluttering.

“That’s it for today.” The photographer released a sigh and glanced through the photos from his camera. “Y/N-kun, as always, what an interesting outfit choice. I mean, your design for Yukimiya Kenyu—” He added when you raised your eyebrows. “Come take a look at the photos.” The agent Tomiko inched near the photographer as she nodded at each photo.

“Isn’t this cafe a beautiful shot though?” You sighed dreamily as you stared out the windows of the busy streets and cars driving by, the cityscape all displayed from this cafe window. A yawn escaped your mouth as you stretched out your arms.

“It really is.” Yukimiya Kenyu remarked as he glanced at you from head-to-toe. You turned to face him, grinning at him. Did he say that the cityscape was beautiful—or did he mean you? You noticed him pulling his pair of glasses out of his pocket, slowly adjusting his glasses. He sure did look alluring with or without his glasses. “You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”

You shrugged and sighed.

“It’s what gets the work done.”

He looked at you guiltily and nodded his head.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s nothing, Yuki-san. Really—”  You added as he scrunched his eyebrows together. Your phone vibrated in your pocket as you read the messages.

[M, REO]

Are you free today?

[YOU]

i’m with yuki-san right now

uh but yeah, i guess so

[M, REO]

Bring him over to my place.

I’ll send you the address in a second.

Business calls.

[YOU]

oh okay

ohhhh are you treating us for dinner?

[M, REO]

Yukimiya Kenyu, right?

He was my teammate in football before.

[YOU]

at the blue lock project thing?

[M, REO]

Yeah. Bring him over in thirty.

No, head to the park. I’ll have someone drive us over.

[YOU]

yes sir, rich kid

You paused as you responded, frowning as you scrolled up at the text messages. How did he know Yuki-san as Yukimiya Kenyu..? And THE Yukimiya Kenyu also played football?

“You are a famed stylist, after all.” You jumped as you realized Yukimiya Kenyu hovering behind you. “And I am somewhat of a well-known model. Sorry, I didn’t mean to glance at your text. I was going to ask you something, but I’ll tell you later.”

“Ah. Okay!” You gave him a fistbump before waving at his agent and the photographer. “See you two later!” They murmured their farewells before heading straight back to the photos.

“You know Reo?” Yukimiya Kenyu asked as you both hopped onto a public bus to head to the park. “Actually, I’m not surprised.”

“Mhm. He was my client a few times—” You rolled your eyes as you remembered him teasing you about taking his measurements. “And a long-time friend of mine since high school.”

“I see.” Yukimiya Kenyu murmured as he gripped your arm so you wouldn’t topple over in the bus as it screeched to a stop.

“Thank you, Seraph.” You giggle at him again. “You’re super adorable, huh?”

He smirked at you as he eyed you cautiously.

“Sure. You’re super cute, then.” He hesitated to add on: “Like a kitten.”

“So I am a kitten!” You squealed in delight as his face flushed again, shaking his head.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“You know I’m just teasing you, right?” You gave him a grin again. “You don’t have to worry about that. I just make everything a joke—”

“Sure, then.” He patted your head like a kitten as he chuckled when your face was a pink tint.

“Oh… Um… were you going to say something before? Uh…” You stumbled over the words, still flustered from his head pat.

“Right. Do you want to get coffee someday?” He murmured as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah! Are you waiting to have my order memorized and said to the barista who stares at you like a maniac?” You cracked a smile.

“Yeah. Caramel macchiato, steamed hot, with milk foam and oat milk. Light caramel drizzle, and a shot of espresso.”

“Two shots.” You corrected, still impressed with him memorizing your order.

He stared at you amusingly.

“And two shots of espresso.”

“There you go!” You playfully punched his shoulder. “Were you ever this good at memorizing things?”

“I don’t know, actually.” He scratched his head, his eyebrows scrunched together. “Maybe it’s just for you.” For you.

“Is my charm that strong?” You flashed him a smile as he examined your outfit: baby blue shoulder crop sweater with gray drawstrings and wide sleeves, laced beige cami top, midnight blue with golden patterns on the palazzo pants, and over-the-ankle leather flats.

“To attract people like me? Yeah.” He ruffled your hair as you stared at him in disbelief. Most of your voluminous hair, with the help of a hair clip, was tied into a bun, with a few deliberate curly strands that fell to your neck. Having pulled an all-nighter, you only lightly tapped some makeup to conceal any possible dark circles, as well as adding on lip gloss. Your silver earrings were dangling just below your neck, its shine reflected from the sunlight through the bus windows.

“Out-out-out,” You murmured as the bus screeched to another stop at the city’s park. “Come on, Yuki-san!” Your face was flushed as you fidgeted with your clothing, hopping off at the bus stop. He trailed behind you, admiring your figure as you skipped down the sidewalk of the park. His steps matched yours, soon quickening his pace to catch up to yours. His hand brushed against yours, before he grasped it gently.

You swiveled around, and gasped aloud, seeing Yukimiya Kenyu bring your hand locked with his hand near his lips, carefully planting a kiss on the back of your hand.

“Eh?” You put the back of your free hand near your face, trying to cover your tinted cheeks and surprised expression. “What—” So dignified.

“Oh look who’s here today!” A familiar energetic voice shouted as both you and Yukimiya Kenyu swiveled around, seeing the chin-length dark purple hair and his silly grin. “I didn’t realize you guys were all lovey-dovey, yeah? Are you guys dating?”

“No!” You shouted back and puffed out your cheeks, your face reddening. At the same time, Yukimiya Kenyu only shrugged and responded: “I wish.”

You twisted your body to face him with a startled look.

“Yep, it’s confirmed. They really are meant for each other,” Mikage Reo teased. “Isn’t that right, Yuki?”

“If Y/N-kun wants to.” Yukimiya Kenyu shrugged again, pointing at you. Switching the topic, he turned to you and added: “Do you want to go to the same cafe after lunch?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, uh—sure!” You, flustered, stammered to respond, before nodding along.

“Okay. So, Mr. Mikage, where to?”

“Drop the formalities already…” Reo groaned. “‘Reo’ will do.”

You giggled as Yukimiya Kenyu shooed him away. Yukimiya Kenyu then stared at you, at the sound of your laughs brightening his day.

“You do have the most interesting ways to get out of Reo’s grasp.” Yukimiya Kenyu chuckled as you didn’t dare meet his eyes, the heat rising up your face.

“Well… I mean…” You puffed out your cheeks as if a child pouted. “I… Just treat this like a date, then.” You two had escaped Reo’s pestering about your relationship with a simple response tumbling out of your mouth: We’re going on a date to the cafe. Without any other words, you rushed out of the restaurant after eating lunch and waited at the bus stop for Yukimiya Kenyu.

“Yeah, I will. I’m surprised they cleaned up the photoshoot equipment really quickly, though.” You two now sat at the seats near the window with a picturesque painting of the skyscrapers and cherry-tinted sky. The very place Yukimiya Kenyu had his photoshoot earlier this morning. Having slowly finished your drinks, you fiddled with the cup sleeve on the drink. The coffee aroma was an endless scent of tranquility, although paired with the constant clinking of coffee machines and mugs that clunked together in the sink… It was a chaotic pair, so to speak.

“We did come here, like, three hours later. And it’s nice talking to you, Yuki-san.” You gave him a grin, admiring his bright orange eyes that gently gazed upon you. “Oh, I do have a question—and I hope it’s not too uncomfortable.”

“I can probably guess what you’re going to ask.” He released a sigh, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. “I have optic neuropathy.” You widen your eyes, sitting up straighter.

“Oh… I’m… sorry.” You didn’t know what to say in such a suffocating, awkward moment. You did bring this up, after all. “Is… uh, that's why Reo said you used to play football, then?”

He nodded slowly.

“I didn’t want to, but it couldn’t be helped.” He forced a smile as you bit your lip.

“Oh. You can talk to me whenever you need to, okay?” You gently squeezed his arm on the table, reminding him he wouldn’t be alone to face these problems.

“At least I have you.” He ruffled your hair gently, his eyes slightly droopy. You leaned in and kissed him on the forehead, wrapping your arms around him. He jolted, his face reddening before he pushed you back and stood up. The slight curls of his dark hair covered his eyes, and you giggled at the sight. Such a beautiful, shy person…

“I did say to treat this like a date. So there’s a kiss, mm?” You grinned at him as he laughed—but still embarrassed, he seemed to want to get out of the cafe quickly. You suppressed another giggle before noticing his eyes full of surprise—again, seemingly wanting to ask you a question.

“Are you taken?” He coughed, before adding, “Relationship-wise.”

You grinned at him, dodging his question.

“How about you?”

“No. Although, a lot do think I’m eye-catching.” Yukimiya Kenyu winked at you as you giggled. Who wouldn’t think he isn’t?

“Hm…” You thought to yourself of how to phrase your response. “Well then, yeah.” Yukimiya Kenyu’s heart sank as he clenched his fist on the counter. You tapped his puffed out cheek gently, whispering: “Look at me, Yuki.”

Startled, he widened his eyes and stared at you, his eyes filled with desperation and sadness. He was going to accept that you were someone else’s already. He turned to look at the outside view, drumming his fingers lightly against the wooden counter of the cafe.

He held his breath when he listened to the five words tumbling out of your mouth, making his heart flutter and his gaze much more gentle as it reached your eyes.

“By you, my dear Seraph. ”

[venustrvck]

TOKIMITSU AOSHI x F!Reader

card: temperance; drunken confessions. we also added: first kiss! wc: 1.1k

❥ Valentine's Event co-written with @saetiate

Ice clinks against glass, shifting with the transition from marbled bar-top to warm palms. In your hands, you hold two cups of whiskey, admiring the deep golden colour. It's been aged well, the bottle you poured it from promising a rich flavour profile, and the gold of it blushes a sweet caramel under the overhead light as you swirl it around the glass, hinting at its sherry butt finish.

You make your way out of the kitchen and into your living room, bare feet padding softly over your carpeted floors. Tokimitsu is sat on the ground, his back to your couch, and his legs outstretched under your sleek black coffee table. You stifle a chuckle at the sight, there is something so… ridiculous and endearing seeing such a large man sat on the floor, barely two centimeters between the top of his muscular thighs and the glass of your coffee table.

Glass clink against glass when you set down the whiskey, and you make your to Tokimitsu, settling down cross-legged next to him. You tuck your ankles under your thighs for warmth.

You were out earlier, celebrating his win with the rest of PXG, drinks and cheers traded equally around the bar. Rin begged off early. As the rest of players dwindled by the end of the night, liquid courage sparking in your veins, you found yourself inviting Tokimitsu to your home to sample your whiskey, telling him how you've been saving it for a special occasion and you wanted an excuse to break it out.

He agreed with an enthusiastic nod. Yet, now that he was in your home, he seemed to be lost in his own world. So much so that your arrival in the room went unnoticed by him.

He's murmuring to himself, drunk flush high on his cheeks, and you lean in to catch what he's saying. His voice washes over you, soft and quiet, the tone of it warming your heart. You'd love to sit there and listen to it forever, but you can't quite catch the individual words of what he's saying. "What was that?"

"I'm- I'm so sorry! I was just…"

"Just what?" You ask, thigh sliding against his, Tokimitsu's warmth seeping into yours. He's nervous, wide green eyes darting to look at you as he stammers out an apology, and yet… despite his nervousness, his immediate apology at the touch, he doesn't move away.

Your bodies are pressed together, side by side, and you can feel the hardlines of his muscles through your clothes. You wonder if he can feel the softness of you through his; the plushness of your thighs and hips.

"Just… just getting comfortable?"

A smile touches your lips at his words, endeared by the earnest way he looks at you as he says them, even when you can tell that he isn't offering you the entire truth. You're not the type to push him, so you accept the explanation with grace. "I do hope you've found my home comfortable."

"Oh, I didn't mean to imply — it's very comfortable!" He scrambls to appease you and you can't help your soft laugh.

"It's fine, Tokimitsu, really. You didn't imply anything."

He's looking at you again, but this time… you can't put your finger on what's changed, but, being subject to his gaze like this makes your throat go a little dry. You avert your eyes. Heat suffuses through your cheeks and your fingers flex at your side. You consider reaching out for your cup, just to have something to do when — "Aoshi."

His voice cuts through your thoughts and your eyes snap back to him, wide. He wants you to call him by his first name?

He blinks, as if he'd only just noticed what he said, and he startles, "Sorry! Is that too presumptuous? I'm- I'm sorry it's just. Well, I've been thinking about it for a while. I thought… maybe its enough now? But of course not, I have to work harder to be a man worthy of confessing to you—" he cuts himself off.

You know from the way he reacts that he didn't intend to let that last bit slip. He gets too in his head sometimes when he talks and his thoughts flow out of him like a rushing river, the surging torrent of it forcing its way through his lips unhindered by any stray thoughts that maybe he shouldn't.

Tokimitsu— no, Aoshi is staring at you. You get the impression that if he could shake, he would, but his career has so far relied on his ability to keep his body steady through the worst of his anxiety, and so the impulse has been drained out of him. The fear in his eyes is unmistakable, like prey, but you don't know what there is for him to be afraid of. You thought your affection for him was obvious, from the way you lean into his space when his speaks to the way you try to find every conceivable excuse to hang around him. Case in point: Today.

A soft laugh leaves you, helplessly fond, "I like you too."

The line of his shoulders slumps as the tension clears and his eyes grow wide, green nearly overtaking his face. The apples of Aoshi's cheek ripen a dark red, the colour bleeding out to his ears. Your tipsy brain draws up the vague image of a Christmas tree, and you laugh to yourself.

You shift closer to him, sharing heat. His hands immediately go to your waist to steady you as you lean over him; even drunk, they're strong. You relish the feeling.

"Aoshi," you say, tasting the word on your tongue, "Can we kiss?"

His hands flex on your hips. His tongue darts out, and your eyes chase the pink of it as he licks his lips.

"Y-Yes," he clears his throat. "Yes, yes —"

That's all he gets out before your lips press against his, pillowy soft, butterfly wings batting against your ribcage. His hands don't move from where they rest on your hips, but your hands — they run down his chest, and then back up and wind around his neck. You're chest to chest with him, and his mouth goes dry as you pull away for air.

It's like a flip switches the moment after the kiss, because before you can blink, your back is on the ground, his large form hovering above you.

"Aoshi?" You blink at him, wide-eyed.

"Sorry!" He scrambles backwards. "I don't know what came over me."

"It's okay."

There are two glasses on your coffee table, side by side, glowing the colour of embers. The ice melts. The night marches on.

[odetolithium]

I fucking love describing Severus's quarters at Hogwarts 🖤🐍

Breathing in deeply, the smell of worn leather wrapped its arms around Harry and invited him further into the room. It hurt to twist his neck around to see every inch of the living space. A tall bookcase, the width of a long wall, stretched beyond Harry’s gaze and he felt drawn to study the titles across each spine. Books along the top row were behind a glass cabinet, a heavy lock joined the sliding panes. Gas lamps littered the stone walls, casting warmth to the darkest corners. They varied in styles and sizes, reminding Harry of an antique shop he once visited with Mrs Figg as a child. It was full of wonder and intrigue. He never expected Snape to be a curator of the eclectic. He had expected something reminiscent of the dingy classrooms, furniture serving functional purposes, a lack of character, curiously tempered.     Opulent, hand-woven rugs complemented the darkness in their muted green patterns. A dark, mahogany wood table faced the bookcase, it was set to seat two and the chairs pulled underneath where delicately carved in an antique fashion. Harry noticed each leg had a small wooden snake coiled around it. He could appreciate the details from the careful carving of each scale on its tightly wound body to its forked tongue at the mouth. Beyond the dining table, was the fireplace and a three-piece leather set. The familiar emerald-green wingback armchair faced its smaller counterpart and between the pair, was a long low-back leather couch. Harry was in the snake pit, and it was weirdly homely. The deeper he ventured; the more familiar things felt.   “Once you are finished inspecting my residence, you may take a seat.”   Harry realised he’d been running his fingers over the green leather on the armchair. This must be Snape’s seat as he was indicating Harry take the chair across from the coffee table. Harry slowly lowered himself on the edge of the chair, pressing his hands between his knees. Snape sat himself down, crossing his legs and extending his arms to rest beside him. His fingers tapped gently against the worn leather.  

[keyrey]

Synopsis: You long for a change in your life, Nanami providing it in the most mysterious of ways. An angsty, short Kento Nanami x reader. A little !papamin and mamamin!reader with a twist! Word count: 2681 Animated divider & Please support by: @cafekitsune

Circular silicone plates holding broccoli and corn remained untouched on the table, neglected and chilled. Yet the pizza rolls and applesauce you paired with it were gone as quickly as you called out dinner time. How could one not appreciate the taste of broccoli? You questioned yourself while you wiped an intrusive bead of sweat from your brow. Temper tantrums reverberated throughout the house, their intensity seemingly unending.

The nocturnal hours unfurled amidst a whirlwind of little stubbed toes, a result of unmet reprimands. Each collision elicited a sharp cry. Nights felt bleak and parched. Your body squirmed and turned as it adapted to the imminent change in climate.

You paced back and forth in the kitchen. Each uneven step solicited a sharp pain in the back of your heart. The room seemed to close in around you. Sounds around you remained amplified and distorted, making it difficult to separate your thoughts from the overwhelming noise. Your mind had tangled in a false sense of perception.

No, I am not alone. I have a husband. He is in the next room over.

You repeated the thought until you were left breathless as if doing so could somehow pull you away from the suffocating grip of reality.

Bedtime. When you retired for the night in the guest room down the hall after a brisk decision to reside in different rooms. The initial intention was not to bother your husband while he worked. You were insistent about the change when he started his job, but you soon came to regret your decision as the bed grew infinitely eerie without him.

There was no need to dress up for bed anymore, except for someone who seemed like they cared. The laundry basket in the corner of your room sat dormant filled with unused silk pajamas. On top, were old t-shirts that carried muck and scum accumulated by weeks spent at home. No need to spend an hour on makeup or doing your hair. No tickets to a fancy restaurant or a basketball game. There was no one to go with. Except there was – but he was in the next room over.

You slipped out of bed and made your way to the kitchen, desperate for a distraction and a glass of water to soothe the hoarseness of your throat. A shadowy figure laced with remembrance loomed over you like an owl perched on a pedestal. Fourteen hours, and he was finally here with you, sitting on the couch with a book in his hands.

“Ken!” you cried out in relief, padding your way toward him.

You wanted to smile, hug him, and kiss him senselessly to make up for all the time lost. But the weary expression on his face made you hesitate. The slight jolt of his actions as he turned the page, the scratching of his fingernails against the hardcover. Three coffee mugs laid out in front of him and to your dismay, every one of them was empty. It was well past eleven pm. So, this was what had been causing his sleepless nights?

“Are you okay? You look pale,” your voice brittle with worry as you spoke. “Have you been taking your medication or eating well?"

You took his frigid hand in yours, attempting to create friction against his rough palms to warm him up. A silent but breathtaking gentle squeeze of your hand and an acknowledging nod provided all of the reassurance you needed. But the moment had been a fleeting one as you felt the chill of your husband’s hand slipping out of your grasp.

He adjusted the reading lamp that was clasped onto the page. A soft cast of orange glow pronounced his baby-pink lips and sharp jawline. Kento glanced up briefly, his expression ruminating on a sense of hitting a new low.

“I’m alright. Do not worry about me, love,” he muttered, dismissively. All the caution you felt for him depleted, the sentiment replaced with hopelessness and frustration. "You have enough on your hands as is..."

“Look, Ken, all I’m trying to say is that I miss you, okay?” You try to start the dreaded conversation, light and simple. “The kids do too. I think your job might be taking a toll on you. Can’t you rest?” you pleaded. Your husband’s thoughts were redirected toward the illicit tapping of your foot on the ground which served as a testament to his patience. You observed as his gaze shifted away, his jaw tightening as he braced himself against the sofa.

You never remembered when he'd end his meetings early to take the girls to the park. You never recalled the time you caught food poisoning and were rushed to the hospital, cutting it off during a sales pitch. How he'd let your middle child doodle on a piece of his paper because drawing was her passion- Even though that paper was the most important one on the table, now filled with unicorns and rainbows. You only wanted to believe what you wanted to believe. And that was your downfall.

“I’m sorry, but you know there’s no such thing as breaks in this field. I can’t. There’s a mountain of logistics that go beyond a simple feeling of tiredness. Financial stability is never guaranteed, many hours of mulling over a resignation letter, I’d have to find myself a replacement employee, train them, then supervise them,” his voice rose like boulders crashing against the shore. “I can’t pack up my office and leave with a snap of my finger,” This only deepened the frown on your face and made the normality of ‘proper’ eye contact even more complicated.

His defensiveness was palpable, an edge in his tone that seared through the space between you. Yet, you chose to let it slide, knowing something deeper resided within. As if it were a means to convince himself that he wasn’t struggling like he wasn’t working himself like a starving canine working on a farm. Was this just part of his character, a counterbalance to the 'calm and collected' persona he wore like a thick coat of armor?

“It’s not an option I have on the ready. Not a trigger I can activate with the push of a button.” His irritation gave way to a more controlled demeanor, though the tension in the room lingered.

“And love, how can we survive if I quit?” His voice softened, becoming almost hesitant as he spoke. He looked down, tracing a pattern on the counter with his finger. “You don’t have a job and haven’t worked in years.”

As he continued, the weight of his words felt like a punch to the gut. You stared at him, like a spectator in a drama you couldn’t escape, your voice barely a whisper against the weight of his words.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” You walked away, pretending to busy yourself by cleaning the mess off the floor. The grip on the broom was tight; you were afraid to let go. Terrified of losing your footing as you thought about your premature acquiescence.

Weekends once were a lovely respite. However, as the fifth day of the week commenced, the sixth and seventh days began, marking a recurring peak in Kento's work responsibilities. Countless, careless, clueless clientele, rampaging with their never-ending supply of wealth and power. He didn’t know who he was saving people for. The backlog of projects resulted in diminished family time and even less time for personal endeavors.

He remained locked in his study down the hall.

At last, the girls had bathed and tucked themselves into bed. The eldest had been blessed with privacy of her own while the other two sulked with their puffy and pouty lips. You sat down on the old wooden rocking chair across from them. It was once a spot where you’d nurse them when they were younger. Where you’d tirelessly read and digest parenting blogs like it was your morning coffee. Your exhausted tone had expertly been replaced by a soft one. Wishing your three little angels nothing but peace, happiness, and exemption from hardships. At least from– the knowledge of your own.

You leaned the chair forward, forcing a smile to appear upon the layers of dwindling hope within. The sight of your children rubbing their eyes with small, tender fists of love served as a balm that healed your weary soul.

"Would you like to pick out tonight’s bedtime story? Eldest’s privilege," you asked, hoping to connect with the nine-year-old. She always seemed so disconnected from you, her peers, and especially her sisters. She rarely spoke to you as is. Though a three-year difference in theory hadn’t seemed like much, her mind and body had already started to evolve. In mood, and recently the beginning of buying bras for more than just you.

“Can you read this for me, baby?” You point a finger toward the last sentence of the page as the girls shimmy around your calming presence.

“And following that day, Tiana and Prince Naveen lived happily ever after.” You let out a sigh as the story came to an end.

“Momma, where’s Dad?”

The unsuspected question made your heart swell with guilt. Where is Kento? You mustered up a response, taking your gaze off of your twirling fingers.

“He's working now, sweetheart. You know, in the next room over.”

An unexpected realization of the dismissiveness in your tone struck you. How you had reacted as if 14-hour shifts a day were normal— though you remember that in your household, they were. The girls finally took their rest as you quietly exited the room without a trace.

--- Morning. ---

The sun had barely risen when you shuffled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and yearning for your first cup of coffee. The house was silent, the calm before the storm of another bustling day. You opened the fridge, the cold air hitting your face as you reached for the milk. That's when you saw it—a small note, neatly folded and tucked into a bag of Kento's favorite snacks.

Curiosity piqued, you took the note and unfolded it. His handwriting was unmistakable, strong and steady, yet with a touch of warmth that made your heart flutter.

Good morning, my love.

I know things have been tough lately, and I've been distant. Work has been overwhelming, and I haven't been the partner you deserve. But I want you to know that I see you, and I miss you every single day.

I left this note here because I know you always reach for my snacks. It’s a little reminder that even in the busiest moments, you’re on my mind. Let’s make time for each other tonight. I promise I’ll be home early, and we can have dinner together, just the two of us. Maybe we can even dance in the kitchen again, like old times?

I love you more than words can say.

Yours always, Kento

A smile spread across your face, warmth blooming in your chest. You tucked the note back into the bag, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Tonight would be different. Tonight, you would reconnect, even if just for a little while.

You stood behind him in the study, he’d let you enter on special occasions. There were no smiles, no dancing, no time for reminiscing. Your hand squeezed and kneaded your husband’s tight shoulders as you read the E-mail he’d been staring at along with him in your mind.

Esteemed workers,

I regret to inform you, that our higher-ups have made it clear. Due to the lack of materials for everyone, and the shortage of students attending Tokyo Jujutsu High throughout the school year, you have been selected as the first wave to undergo a prolonged unpaid absence, active until further notice. Each of you will mailed a one-time payment of this month’s salary. Following that, compensation will not be provided. Resignation letters must be sent to the front office if desired.

You knew, that Jujutsu Sorcery was never meant to be a full-time job, he knew it as well. Too goddamn well. Yet, the option was either he stay a Salaryman or return to sorcery. The lesser of two evils? You’re starting to think there’s no such thing. Yet, you had to be optimistic, you had to bring his spirits back up. Wasn't that your job? Something you've been neglectful about. But you are unable to avoid Kento’s shaking body.

“Hey, we’re alright, okay? We’ve still got money in the bank,” this was your attempt at convincing him? “You’re smart, you can get another job. Maybe be a baker like you always wanted, huh?”

“Bakers don’t put food on the table… I can’t,” he mumbled beneath the comfort of his palms over his mouth.

“Well… they put bread on the table, don’t they?” you couldn’t get past the irony despite the numbing situation, your eyes crinkled in amusement as you composed yourself.

Your joke wasn’t lost on him– thank god, that could’ve gone way worse. He giggled himself, though he caught his actions and cleared his throat.

“You never get serious, do you?”, it sounded like he was annoyed, but you heard the rare fondness of his tone.

“Never,” you graciously agreed.

--- One week after the other. ---

Your interactions with Kento had become limited to small fleeting touches while he searched for jobs hiring in the winter quarter. A brush of the arm while walking by or a brief accidental hand on your thigh. The most unwavering difference was your showers, your mind circled back to the way life used to be. Once a playful, unruly excuse you’d use to be together. Now, a reality. How he’d pin you against the cool confines of marble tile to merge his body with yours. No– no more thinking that way. You reprimanded yourself as you washed the dirt and grime off yourself while the man you married turned away from your direction.

His stance was uncomfortable, his shoulders hunched and his face a mask, unable to show emotion. His trademark soft blonde hair was streaked with black and light gray at the roots. You remembered how you used to joke about his future silver hair, calling him a silver fox in jest. You never thought the time would come before you. It had been months since you last saw his natural hair coloring, he always had touched it up, even having you assist him sometimes back in the day. The sight of his demeanor so changed made your heartache.

She heard Kento's breath quake and quicken, the soft splashes against his feet and the tile. Was he turning around? An arm reached forward, gently taking the worn washcloth from her hand, hoisting the duty all upon himself.

“Thank you,” you whispered in the lightest voice you could. It came out squeaky and awkward.

“You’re welcome,” his voice still shaky but less reserved.

What is he doing? Why is he waiting until now? Is this some way of buttering me up? A long-winded apology?

“How did we end up like this?” you faced him, unlike many other days.

“Do you feel it too? Is it just me?”

A soft exhale escaped Kento’s lips, accepting the situation for what it was. “I never listened to you.”

“Kento–,” you tried to interject, but he continued.

“I was so caught up in work and-- you’ve seen my hair right? I mean, it looks awful.”

You saw something shimmer in his eyes, a light that had been long gone. The corners of his mouth formed a half of a smile, one that was forced, but quietly prominent. Your smile shortly followed, yet this one was genuine and sincere.

“That’s right, but you know what?”

“What, love?”

“I think you’re cute, Kento, silver looks good on you,” you just randomly blurted out as his hands cupped the small of your back. It was uncalled for. You heard a small snort escaping the man’s nose. He used to do that whenever you’d mention things out of the blue.

“Thank you. You’re special to me.”

“You’re special to me too, Ken.”

Ah, how you’ve failed your mission once again.

Author's note #2 MC is holding onto the crumbs of nostalgia, it's why I never pushed 'your' confrontation with Kento too far. 'You' settle for what you have. Someone that makes you feel seen but only when he's close to you. And no, Kento still hasn't figured out the job situation yet. I don't see Kento as being like an amazing husband with no flaws whatsoever. Instead, I think he might become hyperfixated on things and neglect others without knowing. Or, he's aware but afraid to explain himself to MC head-on. He's human and everyone has their difficulties. He's not exempt from them just because he's some hot anime guy iykwim. Can you believe I've never been in a relationship before? 🙃😂😅💀 ha.ha. haha.