#beyond spending a moment feeling moved by how moved i am what is to be my intellectual response? what's the discussion?

[longagoitwastuesday]

I am liking Jujutsu Kaisen, way more than I imagined I would, but I foresee it will let me down and it's keeping me from enjoying this as much as I could haha

I think the characters and dynamics are well set, and I think many of them have an incredibly good and deep potential, but I would be willing to bet they'll not get a proper development, enough for them to really hit. A well assembled set of gears is not enough to make the movement go, you have to wind the clockwork.

I think Gojo and Megumi have a fascinating and very complex dynamic, but I doubt it will be given the time and care that imo it needs to actually work. And it is going well enough for now! One could see the intimacy between them was deeper than the one Gojo had with, say, Yuji and Nobara ever since the very first few episodes despite the fact Fushiguro too was a first year. But the pieces forming what they have are extremely complex, and it just wouldn't be realistic if it doesn't show, even if in a not showing way, or if it doesn't have consequences or implications.

It's one of those dynamics that shape one's life, the way one regards the world, the way one establishes or not relationships with other people. It's one of those dynamics that could be full of fondness, gratitude, resentment, admiration, trust, and that imply intimacy, the good kind or the bad, even if in just the knowledge of someone who's been a constant through your life. It could, and would, imply a myriad of feelings, and probably in such a mix it could imply contradictory feelings too. Even the nothingness would weight, even the nothingness would be significant and meaningful.

Gojo took Megumi and his sister under his wing, the son of a man who murdered him, because of both selfish and selfless reasons. Megumi looks like Toji. What does Gojo feel about this? How does Gojo deal with this? How does Gojo go about taking care of Megumi? Would he walk him to school? Make him breakfast? Celebrate his birthdays making him blow candles? Did he take him to the zoo? Does the relationship between them feel professional or is it something more? Gojo appreciates his students, but is Megumi to him just another student? When Gojo faces Sukuna in Megumi's body, did he see the kid he raised, or does he just see Sukuna in one of his students' body? Did he have one faint wavering instant? And how does Megumi feel about this? Is he resentful of him? Resentful of the situation? Of the selfishness behind his actions? Does he feel like a pawn? Is he grateful? Does he resent feeling grateful? Would he rather not? Does he love Gojo? Does he feel nothing about him other than what he could feel about a teacher that sort of annoys him but knows he's reliable in his strength? Does he think it unfair, cruel or unfeeling that Gojo is close, closer perhaps, with Yuuji or Yuta, considering their story? When Sukuna slices Gojo in two, does the remnants of Megumi's soul tremble?

And not just Megumi and Gojo. Yuuji and Nanami, Gojo and Nanami, Yuuji and Fushiguro, Nobara and the boys, or Nobara and Maki, Todo and Yuuji or Yuta, Gojo and Yuta, Megumi and his sister. Gojo and Geto, even! If the pieces are well set, the dynamics are intriguing, interesting, and have potential to be deep, but then the characters have like two plot relevant scenes that punch you hard, but little more, it's not nearly enough. Especially not nearly enough for the enormity that is shonen dynamics and situations. And the potential existing at all, and then not delivering, makes it all the more frustrating when you're left with something mediocre that could have been so good.

The development of dynamics through not only a few plot relevant gut wrenching moving scenes, but also the smallness of life, is important. The friend who recommended this to me said that those things were just unnecessary filler, but I disagree. I think there's a big difference between a large amount of anime-only filler episodes whose existence is based on the fact they had run out of manga chapters to animate, and moments of quietness. The low stakes character-driven moments of quietness can be so telling and so insightful, and they are so satisfactory when brought back later in higher stakes situations. My friend teased me there was no scene of Gojo making breakfast to Megumi, that it would be an idiotic idea, but it would be so telling. How he makes breakfast, what they eat, if he tries hard or if it's all mechanised, if they have personal bowls or if they use whatever, if he just buys them some pastry on the way to school, if the way they have breakfast changes through the years, or if he doesn't make them breakfast at all! All that would be very insightful on their dynamic and its evolution. All that would give a glimpse on how they regard each other and why, even in the present. All that could become meaningful in tense situations and high stakes scenes.

These moments also let the plot breath; if a lot is happening all the time, if every character is always experiencing trauma after trauma, the entire story is so emotionally draining that at some point you don't even care all that much. Besides, these nothing moments or low stakes plot arcs, besides deepening and developing dynamics, also let some in-world time pass, which would make the intimacy and bond between characters more believable imo; between Yuuji eating Sukuna's finger and their last confrontation in December how much time has passed? A few months? Am I truly to believe these characters are so everything to each other in only a few months?

Without some smallness, some repetition, some daily life, some low stakes not plot-centric development, the dynamics don't hit, they don't truly feel fleshed out, and dynamics as complex as the ones Megumi and Gojo have, or as supposedly meaningful as the one Megumi has with Yuuji or his sister, should be fleshed out if they're going to exist at all. Otherwise they'd risk making the writing feel awkward and fake. Besides, if the dynamics felt well fleshed out and realistic, they would shape the way the characters interact and act, and how they deal with situations, thus being plot relevant.

The shonen genre has so much happening all the time, the stakes are so high, the dynamics are so rooted in big events and the relationships carry enormous weight and implications. Yet they barely get developed, and it feels so stupid, so plain, the absence of something so important noticeable like a constant void, a shapeless nothingness present in every scene. It makes the characters feel like cardboard figures. Jujutsu Kaisen is already getting a better job than many, but I doubt it will do enough for what I've heard, and I fear I am bound to feel let down, and bound to feel unmoved.

After all, if not enough time and care has been given to develop a dynamic, I am not going to feel pressured by the high stakes; if not enough time and care has been given to develop the dynamic between Megumi and Yuuji, as good potential as it has I am bound to feel little for this last confrontation between Sukuna and Itadori, and his effort in getting Megumi back.

[bunnys-kisses]

kink-o-ween - day sixteen

max verstappen - dom/sub dynamics

cw: smut/pwp, dom/sub dynamics, dom!max, sub!reader, possessive behavior, soft dom!max, pet names (kitty, schat), oral sex (max receives), fingering

max liked when you wore reminders of him when you were together. a verstappen branded shirt, or the earrings he got you. little pieces of him that you carried with you, even when he was away from home. there were a few items like that. but his personal favourite was a small choker that highlighted your neck perfectly. and the little pendent on it was a 'm' and a 'v', with that no one would question who your boyfriend was.

he also loved it when you wore it during sex.

it started as part of 'play time' or rather the time you spend with max in a sexual capacity. it was a brief break in your busy schedules to finally be together. and that usually started with your head in max's lap with his large hand in your hair. the dynamic you shared wasn't always whips and chains, sometimes it was you being loved and max giving his submissive the love she deserved.

"how are you feeling, schat? you know i love you, right? you are so good for me. always listening and behaving for me." his tone was tinged with affection and it made you squirm a little. he could see the necklace you always wore. the one that reminded you of him.

you moved a little against him, but he kept you still for a moment and you looked up at him with a look that screamed innocent.

"kitty, i don't want to have to train you again." he said, his tone still soft but his words had a bit of bite to them. max trained you into his perfect submissive. and while you listened to his words, you still shied away from his loving comments.

you nodded, still once more, "yes, sir."

max patted your cheek and smiled, "and what do we say when someone gives you a compliment?"

you swallowed, continued to be in max's lap, "thank you, sir." then leaned toward your lover's hand and gave it a kiss which was met with a pat on your cheek. you were painfully cute, it blew max's mind.

max smile, you'd learn with time. he slowly put his thumb in your mouth, the paid of it ran across your teeth, "such a pretty." his thumb hit against your molars, "such a little bite. you need your big strong man to take care of you. to protect you." there was a fire in his chest at the sight of you.

so small, so soft. even with his t-shirt you wore that was pulled up a little, it exposed your soft stomach. it made max's mouth water. he took his thumb out of your mouth and wiped the spit against your cheek.

"is someone a needy kitty?" he asked, "does someone want more?" he asked as he pressed his hardened cock up against you. while he loved the non-sexual play, thoughts of you pleasuring him did cross his mind often when you were apart. he couldn't help himself. you were too beautiful, beyond measure or words.

your cheek was soon up against the bulge in his sweatpants and you looked up at him. you smiled at him before you kissed it. you then put your mouth fully against it, you got the front of the garment wet with your spit while you tried to pleasure his cock through it. you whined a little as max reached over and got his hand down the front of your shorts.

you pleasured him, he pleasured you.

"don't tease, schat. take it out and put it in your mouth properly. i want to feel you." max said, "a good girl." he sank his fingers into you, "i like how you look like this, you look like you're all mine.

"i am yours, sir." you said as you took his cock out of his sweatpants.

"always?"

you nodded before you got his cock in your mouth, you said with his cock in you mouth, "of course, sir. i wouldn't want anyone else... i couldn't be with anyone else."

max worked his fingers inside of your cunt. they were thick and filled you beautifully. you remember when he first fingered you and it left you speechless. it took some time to get used to them. it made your mouth water at the thought as you orally pleasured him. even now he managed to play with your clit in such a way that it took a lot to keep all of your focus on sucking his cock.

you whined with his cock in your mouth. you felt the pleasure creep up into your blood as you moved against him. he filled your mouth beautifully. the size of him just hit your throat in the best way and left you excited. and in return it made max feel pleasure in his body too, it pumped through his body via his blood.

"you're such a good girl. i can put you as i want and you let me take you apart. i remember when i first fucked you and you almost cried with how good it felt." he groaned.

you nodded your head a little, unable to fully speak. then you closed your eyes when he patted your head with his free hand. you went ack to fully focusing on sucking his cock. and you felt like you were in his heaven from the pleasure of his fingers in you.

"my perfect, sub, my treasure. i knew you'd be perfect for me the moment i met you." he praised you. he thought you looked perfect and he knew you were perfect from the moment he met you. as a result he held a sense of possessiveness for you.

he didn't like the idea of you with anyone else. not when he was the best partner for you. you were his pretty kitty, his beautiful treasure. and he'd make sure that no one else would ever touch you the way he touched you. his fingers grazed across your clit as he pumped his fingers into you.

"pretty kitty." he praised as he moved his digits faster. which made you move your lips on him faster. you both met each other's pace and it made you run hot. his cock nudged against your throat a little more which made you feel the rush of hot in your body. you were soaked between the legs and the feeling of everything raced up your spine. you were lucky to have max and he was lucky to have you.

he loved you so deeply, he curled his fingers inside of you and you whined. your hips bucked at the sensation and he said to you in a low, domineering tone, "you're perfect. my precious sub." his voice tinged with affection that made you stomach twist.

this was your little dynamic. max loved being your dom, he loved when you put all of your trust into him. when you became so soft against him, even when he was knuckle deep inside of you.

you squirmed a little, but kept your mouth on his cock. the spit covered your chin and all the down the base of his cock. you were drooling on his length like a good girl. he really did train you well.

"a perfect girl." he said, "you know exactly how to take me, and i want no one else to have you. you are mine and mine only." his words made you moan.

you gave him one last brief look before you closed your eyes once more and sucked him off while he fingered you. your cunt clenched around his digits until you felt the pleasure working through your body. your heartbeat was racing.

"fuck, schat." he said with tightness in his voice as he brought you to climax, "my kitty." he made you finish so nicely on his fingers.

you tensed up, but kept the pace of your mouth on him. and the rush in your blood kept you going with your movements. and quickly you made him finish as well.

"fuck," he groaned, he continued to finger you lightly as he finished down your throat. he felt the blood rush to his head. when he finished, he pulled his fingers out of you and out of your shorts.

you leaned up and swallowed his cum before you pressed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. but he soon pulled you into a proper kiss. even though the taste of his cock was on your mouth. he didn't care. he wanted the kisses.

when he pulled away he admired the necklace around your throat and smiled at you with colour in his cheeks. he said softly, "mine." and there was no way to debate that. you were truly, in every way, max's <3

[honeydjarin]

BRING ME THE SUN

OPLA SANJI X READER

You often find yourself in the galley, seeking the company of your favorite chef. Even when your half asleep, Sanji can’t bring himself to turn you away.

genre: fluff

warnings: none

word count: 1,500

a/n: how often can I write about sleeping? It’s what I long for most of all. I wasn’t expecting to fall in love with opla!sanji, but now I can't stop thinking about him!

PART II: (I’LL GIVE YOU THE MOON)

Your feet carry you over salt-soaked wood, up creaking stairs bordered by sun-warmed railings, before settling in front of the closed door to the galley. You hesitate for only a moment. The evening sun glares off the porthole window and prevents you from peeking into the room beyond, but you know the man you seek is in there. Sanji is almost always in the kitchen now that he has the freedom to experiment with new recipes as he pleases. 

When you first enter the galley, it’s with the intention of keeping the Going Merry’s chef company. Sanji’s easy going nature is addicting. Friendly and flirtatious conversations with him always leave you glowing golden—brighter than the sun. His comfort as he works in the kitchen, his joy for what he does, is contagious. Oftentimes, you find yourself at the door to the galley, having had no plan to walk there. You seek out his company whenever you’re given the chance, consciously or not. 

You hadn’t meant to develop such a large crush on the chef. He wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a crewmate. A friend. You had been wary of the flirt when he joined the Straw Hats. His first impression left you with his self confidence and charm but no glimpse of his care for friends and strangers alike. You never could have expected how easily the newest member would wiggle his way into your heart. 

You take a breath, then step into the room hidden behind the door. 

Sanji is exactly where you expect him to be, flitting around the kitchen as he begins preparations for dinner. When he hears the door open, he turns your way, a smile pulling at his lips as soon as he sees it’s you.

“Hello, darling. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, but he slows, keeping his gaze on you. “Are you hungry?”  

“Not yet. I just wanted to keep you company,” you say, making your way farther into the kitchen. A part of you can’t help but think Sanji must get lonely in the galley after having spent so much time surrounded by others at the Baratie, but he never complains. 

The other part of you worries that Sanji actually prefers the time alone, and that your presence in the kitchen is unwelcomed. The Going Merry isn’t a particularly large ship, and finding a moment to be alone can be difficult. 

“Then today I am a lucky man,” he replies. His smile never falters, eyes gleaming as though he truly does feel lucky to spend time with you. It’s enough to dispel any lingering worries, at least for the time being. 

You warm beneath the weight of his gaze, heartbeat fluttering from the sudden attention. For a moment you forget yourself, too lost in the twin seas trapped in Sanji’s eyes. Your own lips pull into a matching smile and you feel like you’re glowing, just like you always do when he gives you his attention. Sanji’s gaze seems to soften, as if, somehow, he can see the light burning in your chest. 

If you don’t move now, you’ll sink too deeply into this feeling, you’ll get too wrapped up in your not so little crush. 

You take a step forward, then another. Your feet carry you to one of the seats at the counter, keeping the island between you. Sanji’s gaze still washes over you, but at least this way, no matter how tempting it may be, you won’t find yourself reaching out to him. You won’t tangle your fingers between his own, won’t run your spare hand through his hair or cradle the soft curve of his cheek, won’t lean in to kiss his still grinning lips. 

The evening sun filters through the galley windows, gleaming off cookware and pooling on the countertops. Your seat is strategically situated in the center of one of those pools, the hazy light casting a warm beam across your skin. You sink into its embrace, growing more relaxed with each slow breath you take. The warmth is like a hug, and you can’t help but to settle into it. 

You fold your arms on the countertop and rest your chin on them, easing into a comfortable position. You could fall asleep like this. 

Oftentimes, you offer to help Sanji cook, not wanting to be in the galley without at least being useful, but today you seem to be slipping—too relaxed, too tired, content just to watch the chef in his element. You’re only half aware of what he is doing as he works. 

“Here,” Sanji says, setting a glass down in front of you. “Try this.”

Small bubbles rise from the liquid inside, popping as they reach the surface. When you take a sip, it’s cool and saccharine, flavors mixing to create the perfect balance.  

“Oh! It’s good,” you praise before taking another sip. You have to set the glass down, wanting to savor the drink Sanji made just for you. “Everything you make is good.” 

“You’re too sweet to me, darling.” 

His words make you smile, but you keep your attention on the glass in front of you, too afraid that if you look at him he will see in your eyes just how deep your affections lie.

Beads of condensation have already formed on the outside of the glass, making the fizzy liquid inside look almost cloudy. You trail your finger through the moisture on the smooth surface, the cool liquid dripping down your fingertip leaving a clear path behind your touch, a curve into a point. Reflect and repeat. When you pull your hand away, a little heart remains. 

The blonde chef leaves you feeling like a lovesick fool—as sticky sweet as the drink he made you. 

This moment is too easy, too safe. You hardly notice the way your eyelids weigh heavy, each blink lasting longer than the one before it. The sounds of chopping vegetables and boiling water begin to fade, barely noticeable as sleep creeps ever closer.  

“As flattered as I am that you want to keep me company even when you’re so tired, I must insist that you find a more comfortable place to nap. I’ve heard that pain is beauty, but beauty sleep should never cause someone as sweet as you to wake up in pain.” 

If you weren’t already so close to sleep, Sanji’s words might have sent your heart racing. He thinks you’re sweet too. 

“I’ll be fine, Sanji. It’s just a little cat nap,” you offer, only half aware of what you’re saying.  

You don’t hear if he responds. 

—♡—

It’s a chill seeping into your skin that starts to wake you up. The ocean air isn’t really that cold, but the absence of the sun on your skin creates a change in temperature stark enough to make you sigh in disappointment. What once felt like a soft embrace now feels like a missing piece. 

There’s the sound of something being whisked, or stirred, the only evidence you have that you aren’t alone in the galley.  

You stretch your arms out to your sides, groaning slightly at the stiffness in your shoulders. Sanji was right, your body does hurt. You keep your eyes closed as you stretch, desperately clinging to those last moments of sleep as you work out the aches in your muscles.  

“Hmm. It’s cold now,” you mumble. The stirring sound stops. 

The creeping sense of cold doesn’t have long to settle over you. Before you can continue to complain about the movement of the sun, something heavy and warm is draped over your shoulders. The heat of your skin sinks into the fabric before it is reflected back at you, just like the sun. It feels like a blanket. At the very least, it offers the comfort of one. 

You pull the fabric closer around you, feel the curl of a collar around your neck and the holes for sleeves catch on your shoulders—definitely not a blanket. The fabric of Sanji’s jacket is smooth and well made, the quality much better than most of the crew’s clothing.  

What is this made of? You want to ask. Boyfriend material? 

But where flirtation spills naturally from Sanji’s lips, it only ever sounds awkward and stilted from yours. You leave the words unsaid, choosing instead to offer a simple “thank you.” 

“You seemed quite content. It would be a shame for you to grow cold simply because the sun doesn’t understand how much you appreciate it.” 

Finally, you open your eyes. 

Sanji leans on the counter beside you, offering you a soft smile. It’s subdued, as if he himself isn’t even aware he’s doing it. He looks good like this—he always looks good. He looks at ease right now, like he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Or with anyone else.   

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but for just a little while, you can almost let yourself believe that he feels the same way about you. Why else would he look at you like that, with such fondness?  

“So you decided to keep me warm instead?” you prod. 

“Of course,” he responds without hesitation. “I can’t bring you the sun, but I can offer you this.”  

Of course. He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. As if he couldn’t ever bring himself to consider an alternative. 

You feel warm again, glowing. 

a/n: I’m planning on writing a second part to this. Hopefully it won’t take too long ^_^

[myceliacrochet]

I feel so overwhelmed. I have no income, no stable place to live, and hundreds of people coming to me who need thousands of dollars each to avoid getting incinerated, starved, tortured. I make crochet -- when I can get supplies -- and I'm trying to make stickers, when I can get supplies... I'm not very employable and everything is so expensive and it's all falling on my roommate.

I need to hold a fundraising event

Everyone is either stretched to their limits helping or can't be bothered

I'm doing my best to reblog, follow, and react every single campaign I can that is either vetted or has a clean RIS. I'm telling myself that I'm doing enough by contributing art and promoting these campaigns, but the reality is people need money and I'm giving them condolences and things that may not help much.

I had a bit of success promoting Omar's campaign and foolishly believed I could get those kinds of results again. Tumblr staff is being beyond ruthless, attacking even the critical and dangerous vetting work people are risking their lives for on the ground.

I don't know what to tell people who are coming to me for help in what may be their last moments and I'm like "hey here have a shitty art I made that might make a miniscule difference but probably won't. All the best!" I try to respond through my actions instead of words because like Kurt Vonnegut said there's fucking nothing to say about genocide because no one's meant to say anything they're just meant to get blown up. So then I'm ignoring the people who most need help in the world, coldly turning away. So I say sorry and offer these small useless things as if it means anything and every day I lose more sanity and meaning in my life because doing less than what I can to help people not get genocided takes all the color out of my world. I can't imagine truly relaxing or enjoying anything until there's no genocide happening anymore, and I don't see that happening. I feel hopeless like I did in 2016 but this time there's no back door out.

Every time I start to work on something I feel hopeless like it won't work

I have to get my ass into gear, which means I need to:

- pick up my prescription for strattera, I guess I have that now. That will help me focus

- get back on my antidepressants as soon as Fatima's campaign hits $10,000. That will help me keep moving

- talk to other organizers so we can work together.

I am drowning, I am burning in this hxll created by my own culture. Every day they torture the children and the adults come into my DMs and scream help us please please someone help us.

All I can do is do my best every day. I'll keep moving forward

Doing something is better than doing nothing, gxddammit, which means I'm doing a good job I guess, it's just little comfort as I watch the children get engulfed in flames.

Like, I know I can't end all genocide on my own but there's got to be more effective things that I personally can do.

I guess I'll check out one of those lists of things you can do other than donating money

If anyone has yarn to donate and/or could cover shipping or help me find free yarn in my area, that would be so helpful. Because there's nothing I'd rather do than tune out and crochet most of the time and sell it for myself and others.

Please talk to me about how we can work together to help these precious people!!! I need to do more

@monstermashpotato @sylvianritual @gazavetters @determinate-negation @dlxxv-vetted-donations

@gaza-evacuation-funds @gazagfmboost @fly-sky-high-09 @90-ghost @nabulsi @halalchampagnesocialist @huzni @hussyknee @notallmensheviks @neechees @fuckyeahmarxismleninism @fayruz0-blog @gothhabiba @radicalgraff @marxism-transgenderism @marxist-lesbianism @voyagerprobe @workersolidarity @cheezbot @gayspacemonk @bogleech @slitherbop @butchniqabi

I guess I just need to work on my small business... Idek if I'm even helping by reblogging all this stuff, I'm just spending hours a day spreading stuff around to other people who can't really donate. I just seem to be wasting people's time who are going through genocide, I might even be only adding to their suffering. I don't know if I have the moral fibre to do this work, idk I just seem to cause bad things to happen to myself and everyone around me by dedicating so much time to reblogs instead of just securing an income, paying my bills, and being content to give a "reasonable" portion to genocide relief. I can't do that, I have to give all or most of myself but then I'm just a burden to my roommate and others. Or going all out and doing something really big that could really bring in the money they need

I'm sick but people need me

I guess what I'm seeing here is that I need to switch gears to working on crochet more and that will help me be able to help people and it will also be better for my mental health. I'll work on getting the supplies I need to continue. But idk I'll come back to this later and figure it out.

Thank you for listening I wish I could just let my brain scream to death but like people need me to keep it together so I can actually help but I'm at a loss as to how to help

I'll do it gxddammit I'll fucking get it done I'll crochet for this and it will make a difference and I don't have to suspend happiness until this is over I have to maintain some of that light of happiness within. It's not all on me we are working together

Hey 🩷 So I wanted to let people know that I am safe now. I'm back on my most necessary meds, I've applied for SNAP and general assistance, and I'm feeling stronger after having some more success promoting campaigns.

We are living during multiple holocausts. I take comfort in doing the work. We're making a difference in people's lives.

Thank you for helping me keep my head up. Let's keep going.

[a-d-nox]

pac/pap: message from your secret admirer

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pile 1

they lack self-confidence to get close to you - they might even not trust themselves around you. they might fear acting up or looking foolish around you. they are very apprehensive about taking action and you not accepting them as they are.

they find your personality very sexy. it's like they enjoy when someone takes charge - you don't mind taking up space and making your presence known and they adore that. your ambition, drive, and authoritative personality is addicting to them.

of course, they find you attractive - they worry that you don't find them attractive... they think that you won't take a chance on them and that you might not be open to a relationship/date with them because of how they look.

you are supportive. maybe you supported them or encouraged them in some way, or maybe they have seen how you interact with the people you care about. they can tell that you are a genuine person.

its wild; i feel like this person has a very active imagination. they might dream of marrying you or what being married to you would be like. they like the idea of walking with you on their arm. i feel like they wonder if they wait long enough and linger in the background that perhaps you will make the first move. they really like you. they think about the timing very often - they believe that you are the one for them. they really hope that you feel the same and are attracted to them. this is beyond lust for you - they love you.

pile 2

this is going to be a by chance meeting - you aren't going to run into each other everyday. you'll have a very positive few days with this person then it will be one of those things where it's like do you or don't you. perhaps this will be a "the one that got away" moment.

i feel like the connection is moving too quick for there to be much visibility into whether or not they even know much about you. so this connection has to make its own hold pattern - slow down a learn a bit more about each other. if someone peaks your interest, ask for their number.

i feel like you are out of your element with this connection. you don't see your beauty like they see it. you probably don't think they are attracted to you. you just need some confidence - trust that you are beautiful and make your move; stop waiting for masculine energies to make the first move.

they see that you lack confidence despite you being pretty and deserving attention. you are careful about what you do and what you say - this intrigues them. they are so curious about what you would say/do if you had the confidence to do so.

i feel like, unfortunately, no one will make a move in this situation. so you will keep to yourselves and spend time in solitude. stop thinking about what could have been and make it happen. you don't have to be unhappy with your present circumstances. start making a shift in your beliefs. you can put an end to your feelings of loneliness; you just have to change your mindset - abundance awaits you.

pile 3

they doubt themselves around you. i feel like you are rather close to them in their day-to-day life, but they don't think they can gain your attention. they tried - believe me, they have, but they just don't feel they are getting anywhere like they hoped they would.

they have been getting to know you for quite a bit of time. they love how passionate you are about the world around you. they also enjoy that you are building something for yourself.

you are very lovely to them. you are just at the beginning as your beauty journey too - you are going to continue to blossom and bloom.

you hold back which intrigues them. you can resist what others indulge in, which attracts their interest. you celebrate the small wins in very minimal ways, which they adore.

something is changing in the near future. you have to accept this connection as it is - i feel like you guys could be great for one another in the romantic sense, so why not try it? you can build a future together. this person wants to help you to grow in new and exciting ways. pay attention to subtle hints and messages from those around you. communication, fresh perspectives, and opportunities are ahead of you.

[bunnylovesani]

Daddy Issues

(This is what I imagine him looking like in this fic)

Content warnings: MDNI, reader has daddy issues, 20 year age gap, Anakin is your best friend’s dad, drinking, fingering, dirty talk, general smut with a bit of fluff

WC: 2.6k

You and Leia met in your first year of college and your friendship quickly blossomed. Despite being from the same town, you’d never bumped into each other. If you had, you’re sure you would’ve remembered him. The first time you’d met him was Christmas, 4 years ago; it was your first time coming round to the Skywalker residence and all you knew was that Leia was raised by a single dad, who was now in his 40s. The moment you laid eyes on him, you were fascinated. He had dark blonde hair which curled into golden ringlets at the ends and a mysterious quality about him you were sure made the women weak at the knees- how he’d managed to stay single for most of his life was beyond you.

Despite your fervent initial attraction to him, you tried your best to put all of it aside. Besides the obvious reasons to restrain yourself, he was also the first positive male figure you’d had in your life. He was a damn good father; always present in Leia’s life and, since you two were joined at the hip, by extension yours too. You ignored every sign, every impulse, every sizzling moment of tension that came between you two- tension you naturally assumed was one sided- he’s a decent, respectable man after all.

You had it all under control- until you received a call confirming the graduate program you’d applied for months ago had been accepted. The subsequent week was spent getting daydrunk while hesitantly packing your entire life into a van full of brown boxes- or rather, directing Leia to do it for you since you were too inebriated. It all boiled down to your final night; one last night in the suburbs you’d felt suffocated by your entire life before you moved to the big city to start your shiny new life.

So why did you feel sad? You suspected you knew the reason but spent the better half of an evening denying it and battling the growing urge to pay him a visit. Eventually, when the reality that you were about to leave him forever sunk in, you found your feet taking you out the door of their own volition. Preparing to ambush him with the help of some liquid courage you’d choked down prior to leaving, you rung the doorbell of his house for what you thought may be the last time.

“Oh, hey honey. Leia just left to spend the night at her boyfriend’s house, you just missed her. I thought you’d already said your goodbyes?”. He innocently questions as he opens the door and lets you in.

“I know, it’s you I came to say goodbye to.” You say anxiously, staring at him intensely through your lashes.

“I see, I’m honoured.” He smiles and approaches you, pulling you into a hug. “Good luck with everything sweetheart, stay safe and above all- remember to have fun! Life passes you by in an instant and one day you’ll wake up as old as I am and kick yourself for not grabbing every opportunity you had.”

“Funny you say that, Sir. That’s the exact mantra I’ve adopted recently. Fuck it, right?” You help yourself to the glass of whiskey he was holding out of his hand and take a sip.

“Can I sit with you for a little while?” You plop onto his cushioned couch before he can reply.

“Erm, yeah of course, make yourself at home.” He says welcomingly, though with a perplexed expression on his slightly wrinkled face. “Are you okay?” He wonders if there’s a reason you’re acting so strange. You don’t usually drink.

“I’m great, thank you Sir.” You bat your lashes. “Just feeling sentimental with the circumstances and all.”

“How many times have I said, call me Anakin. I know I’m old but after so many years I’d say we’re on a first name basis.” He chuckles, taking a seat beside you on the sofa, keeping a respectable distance. “I know I’m nothing much to you but I really do think of you and Leia as my girls. I’m so proud of everything you’ve accomplished.” He says endearingly, smiling at you kindly.

That’s when you’re reminded of the reason you came here tonight. You had every intention of telling him how you truly felt, how you’d had a raging crush on him from the moment you met him- and now that you might never see him again, you saw no reason why you shouldn’t act on those feelings.

But hearing him compare you to his daughter filled a hole you felt inside you ever since your father abandoned you- while simultaneously making you feel sick to your stomach.

You stared into his warm eyes, encased with crows feet and accompanied by two prominent creases on his forehead. You shouldn’t find a man of his age so attractive but you do.

“You know, I don’t think you’re old.” You state simply.

“What?” He asks somewhat confused by your meaning.

“You said one day I’ll wake up as old as you. I don’t think you’re old at all. If anything, you’re in your prime.” You look away. “You’re not nothing to me either.”

He looks visibly stunned, though he tries to mask it by refilling a glass of whiskey, the brown liquid almost spilling everywhere.

“Right back at you, kid. Well I’m sure you’ve got a lot of packing to do so I won’t keep you. You need a ride?” He shuffles in his seat.

“No. Not the kind of ride you’re thinking of anyway.” A wave of boldness overcomes you and you feel the alcohol burning through your veins as you shuffle closer to him.

“Uh, I think that whiskey’s gone straight to your head. Why don’t I get you some water?” He’s about to get up but you grab him by the hand and force him to stay seated, holding onto it longer than necessary.

“You know how I feel about you Anakin. I know you know.” You stare deep into his mature blue eyes as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down with an apprehensive gulp.

“Now that’s enough young lady. You absolutely should not be thinking about me in that way. I’m almost twice your age.” He sternly warns you and you can’t help but wince. The way he’s scolding you is triggering some deep rooted daddy issues. You knew you always had them to some extent but you never knew just how bad they were until you met Anakin.

“I dont mean to make you uncomfortable, I just couldn’t hold it back anymore. I’ll leave right now if you want me to, you’ll never see me again. Just tell me you don’t feel anything towards me and I’ll be on my way.” You’re huddled over him with your legs on the sofa, hand slowly inching its way towards his thigh.

A flash of conflicting emotions run through his eyes- he’s obviously embarrassed, perhaps shocked - though you find it hard to believe he had no clue at all- but there’s something else. He’s debating with himself, you can see the cogs whirring in his mind.

“I can’t say that.” He meets your gaze. “I care about you a lot, you know that. Which is why you need to leave. You’re not in the right state of mind.” He gets up again but you pull him down and climb onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I have been in love with you for 4 years, Anakin. You are my every waking thought. I know it’s wrong and you’d never be with me but I can’t control myself. If I can’t have you forever, let me have just this one night- please.” You wait for him to object to the way you’re sitting on him but to your surprise, he doesn’t.

“Alright, honey.” He grumbles softly after a little while, looking at you with a subdued expression that conveyed both concern and understanding. “Alright, if that’s what you want, I’ll give you what you want. I’m yours for the night.”

You sit there, stunned. You were fully expecting him to kick you out of the house and tell Leia everything. You were expecting anything other than him giving in. Is he just taking pity on you and thinks this will help you get over your daddy issues? He knows you have them. Or is he as sick and twisted as you are?

“Can…can I…” You lean in, pressing your fingertips against his lips.

“Leave it all to me sweetheart. Daddy will make it all better.” He wastes no time taking your hands into his own and kissing your fingertips softly, before pressing his lips against yours.

You’re too stunned to react so you allow him to kiss your motionless lips, your eyes still wide open in disbelief. You’d never been so grateful to someone for taking the lead.

“Close those pretty eyes for me baby, you’re safe now.” He kisses your eyelids softly and his gentle caresses awaken a deep urge within you.

You grab at his collared shirt, loosening his tie and unbuttoning it. “Been working more late nights at the office?” You mumble into his lips as you push the crisp white shirt off his shoulders, leaving his muscles exposed.

“That’s because I have two women in my life who bleed me dry.” He chuckles and you smile at the memory; he’s shelled out for you on more than one occasion- from plane tickets and birthday gifts to a new MacBook for college because your one broke and you couldn’t afford another since you’d been fired from your waitressing job- he even agreed that that guy deserved to get a drink thrown in his face for grabbing you. He said that if he were there, he would’ve done worse.

Before you freefall into a psychoanalytical hole, Anakin rips your skirt off - it’s as if he can hear your mind working overtime. You gasp a little as he kneads the fat of your ass cheeks roughly, guiding you until you’re grinding against him. You can feel him getting hard, and oh did it feel big. You’d stolen subtle glances at his crotch on numerous occasions, contemplating what it might look like, what colour the tip might be, what it might taste like. You couldn’t bare to be left in the dark any longer so you reached for his belt and impatiently started undoing it- but you were stopped by his large hands cupping yours.

“Not just yet princess. I wanna take my time with you.” He whispered coarsely and the feeling of his warm breath on your neck sent shivers down your spine. Before you knew it, he had spun you around so that you were sitting on his lap with your back facing his front. He traced his tongue in big open kisses along your neck while his hands trailed up and down your thighs, before he hooked his fingers around your panties.

“Lets get these off shall we?” He purred and his words sent sparks straight down to your core. He lowered your underwear only down to your knees, before spreading your legs a little, his hand placed under one of your thighs to keep it up. You felt the cold air hit you and knew instantly that you were soaked.

You breathing was reduced to short little pants as his fingers reached the inner folds of your pussy, and it felt like every caress touched your soul. You started squirming about in his lap as two of his fingers slid into you.

“Goddamn… oh baby, I didnt even mean for that to happen but you’re just so wet they slipped right in.” You mewled at his lustful words as he curled his fingers inside you, rubbing your clit with the base of his thumb.

“Oh Ani…ah fuck!.” You cried. “Anakin!”

“Yes sweetheart, what is it?” Gaining speed, he grabbed your cheeks with his free hand and turned your head to force you to look at him but you were too stimulated to respond.

“Do you hear how wet you are? And here I thought you were a good girl.” He maintains eye contact and your cheeks flush at the lewd sounds coming from your core. You take a glance and see his hand is glistening with your arousal, wetness squelching as it pours down to the Rolex on his wrist.

“Aah…I, I’m sorry daddy! Mm can’t help it” You manage to squeal out, embarassed by how wet and helpless he made you.

“Don’t you dare apologise sweetheart. Daddy loves how wet this pussy gets. Is this all for me?”

“Yes, yes Sir it’s all for you- mm all yours!” You moan as you feel your climax fast approaching. “Please can I cum? Pleasee daddy!”

“Yes princess, cum for me.” He pumps his fingers in and out of you at such a tempo you have to hold onto his arms for stability.

As if someone opened a dam, your orgasm washes over you and you let out a stupified scream- you wanted to say his name but your brain is so scrambled all you can manage is a mumbled moan of incoherent syllables.

“Such a good girl baby, well done honey.” He plants kisses all over your cheek and neck as your heart rate climbs down.

As you come down from your high, the realisation of what you’re doing dawns on you. As if he could read your mind, he takes your face into his hands.

“What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours? If you think you’ll regret it, tell me now. I don’t think I could handle it if we made love and you woke up regretting it.” He speaks softly, as if being too harsh might scare you away.

“No, no it’s not you.” You quickly respond. “I just feel a little cheap. I don’t ever have one night stands so I’m kinda out of my depth here… and the guilty thoughts about Leia creeping up on me don’t help either.”

“Hey, you’re not cheap.” You scoff at his attempt to reassure you. “Stop that, I mean it. I have nothing but the utmost respect for you regardless of the outcome of this. But…I mean I’m out of my depth here too. If we’re being honest, I haven’t had sex in years.” Anakin admits and your jaw drops. How could a man this damn fine not get laid for that long?

“It’s a personal choice.” He corrects before you jump to any conclusions about what might be wrong with him. “I don’t like one night stands either and if I’m not in love, I have no real interest in sex.” Your heart leaps at the insinuation- if he’s willing to sleep with you, that must mean…right?

“So let’s not have a one night stand then.” He continues and your heart drops. I guess you thought wrong.

“Let’s keep seeing each other. I ache all over at the thought of this being the last time I see you. I need you in my life. I don’t care if it’s wrong, I don’t care what people say. Leia will come round to the idea eventually, she has to.”

“I love you.” You reply a little too quickly, staring at him with so much admiration you think your heart might burst.

“I love you too, my sweet girl.”

Part 2

[harrysfolklore]

new year's wish - blurb

a/n: happy happy new year loves ! wrote this little blurb about one of my favorite tropes and i hope you like it, let me know your thoughts <3

gif by @harryisart

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

2011

It was a tradition between your friend group at this point.

For the last two years, you've been celebrating New Year's Eve at Jonny's place, all of you getting together to celebrate and reminisce about your memories together.

You loved your friends to pieces, your group wasn't exactly huge, but you've made a bond so special over the years that no one could easily break.

However, you surely had a different and deeper connection with your best friend, Harry.

You met Harry the first day of middle school, and ever since your first interaction you've been inseparable. As time passed and you got closer to Harry, you began noticing some changes in how you felt. His laughter made you feel happier, his support meant a lot more, and being around him felt different—like something special. Sometimes, you found yourself admiring him in a way that went beyond just being friends. You started to realize that your feelings for Harry were growing into something deeper than friendship, something you hadn't felt before. It was like a secret you kept in your heart, waiting for the right time to figure out what it meant and terrified that making a move would ruin your friendship.

"Hey! I was looking for you." Harry's voice interrupted your train of thought, making you move from the fireplace you've been standing for the last few minutes.

"I got cold outside, wanted to catch some warmth." you said, looking at your curly haired best friend.

"The countdown is about to begin," he let you know, "Let's go with the rest."

You followed him to where your friends were hanging out, sitting next to him.

"What's on your mind? You're really quiet."

You took a moment before replying, "Just thinking about how everything's going to be different next year, we're barely going to see you."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, a frown appearing on his face.

"You know, the band is taking off and you're going to be so busy," a confused look took over his face, "Don't get me wrong, I'm so proud of you, we all are. I'm just going to miss all of us here together, at Jonny's place."

"Come on, none of that," he said as he noticed a pout making its way to your face, throwing his arm around your shoulders and pulling you to his side, "I'm always going to be around, you won't get rid of me that easily," you laughed at this, "Next year we're all going to be right here together and nothing's going to change."

And as the clock counted down the seconds till midnight you wished for one thing: I wish he doesn't forget about me

2013

"Hey, stranger."

"Hello to you too, miss"

Harry's voice echoed through the speakers of your car, making you laugh as you drove the streets of Holmes Chapel, heading to your favorite wine shop.

"Are you coming to Jonny's place for New Years or are you going to spend it with your famous friends." You joked, and even though you couldn't see him you knew he was rolling his eyes.

"Of course I am, that's every year," you smiled at his words, "Besides, I need to see you so I can tell you all about this girl I'm seeing," and just like that your smile quickly faded, and you were glad he couldn't see you because you could swear your face dropped along with your heart, "I'm super thrilled, we hit it off right away and I honestly can't wait for you to meet her."

You weren't sure how many seconds passed in silence from you,but soon enough you heard Harry's voice asking if you were still on the line.

"Yeah, just got distracted by the traffic," you lied, "I can't wait to hear all about it, I'm glad you're happy."

New Year's was days away but you already had your wish in mind: I wish to be the girl for him someday

2015

There was just one thing in your mind as you sat on the bar stool with a drink in your hand: this year sucked.

That year, Harry had a super busy time with lots of success. He kept in touch, but it wasn't like before, your talks became shorter, and you didn't hang out much. You understood he was busy, but it felt different, you missed him and the fact he didn't show up for New Year's hit hard

On top of that, the headline "Spotted: Kendall Jenner and Harry Styles Getting Handsy on a Yacht" was the first thing you read in the morning, and it hurt.

You weren't even celebrating at Jonny's place, which made the night even more depressing for you, your friends insisted on trying something different and celebrate at a rooftop bar instead.

Maybe you held on to nostalgia too much, but you missed the old days when everything was simpler and you had Harry next to you.

"Hey! Countdown is about to begin, what are you doing on your own?" Ellis, one of your closest friends, called for you making you hop off the stool and join them.

"Everyone has their wishes for the new year?" Jonny asked the group, and you knew exactly what was the only thing you were going to wish for: I wish things would to go back to how they were

2019

"Look who finally showed up!"

Jonny's voice made everyone turn their heads towards the door, where a cuddly looking Harry stood with a bottle of wine.

"Hello to you too, mate." Harry said, making his way toward his best friend and giving him a hug.

After letting go of Jonny, he locked eyes with you and wasted no time to pull you close and wrap you around his arms.

"I missed you," he mumbled against the crown of you head, where he placed a small kiss, "I'm sorry I haven't texted, you know how chaotic album releases are."

You smiled with a tingle of sadness, Harry had just released his second album 'Fine Line', one that he described as having sex and feeling sad and that mainly talked about his most recent breakup.

A breakup that you helped him get through even though your own heart was being obliquely broken by him once again. But at the end at the day, he was still your best friend and there was nothing in this world you wouldn't do for him.

"It's okay, you're here now." You let go of him and squeezed his arm one final time before joining the rest of your friends in cheerful conversation.

Like every year, the night flew by and before you knew it you were a few minutes away from midnight, so you took that as a cue to look for Harry who had been absent from the room due to his phone ringing.

"H? Are you done with your phone call?" you asked, getting close to him, "Is everything okay?"

"It was Camille," he said, turning to look at you and showing you a small smile, one that gave away his contentment about it, "She said she wants to talk in person, to work things out."

"Oh that's, that's good I guess." You tried your best to give him a fake smile.

"It's more than good, this is great!" his smile widened as he moved from his place and wrapped an arm around your shoulders to give you to where your friends were calling for both of you, "Never thought this year would end like this."

His words echoed in your head as you stood with your friends who counted down the seconds until midnight, and a single wish came to your mind: I wish loving him didn't hurt so much

2023

The familiar setting at Jonny's place made you feel comfortable and at ease, no matter how busy your lives had been that year, your friends would always show up to celebrate the new year together and that was something you deeply cherished

This year had been extra special, with every aspect of your life blossoming, but there was a certain thing that made 2023 a great year: your relationship with Harry.

You two had become even closer that you were before, you had always been best friends who shared everything but things felt different now.

Maybe it was the way you exchanged looks that lasted a bit too long, the accidental touches that sent shivers down your spine, or the things you both didn't say but felt.

You couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, Harry finally felt something more too. But your intrusive thoughts, the fear of ruining your friendship and the amount of times you've been heartbroken over the years kept pushing these thoughts away every time they popped up.

"Praying to the God's above that Harry finally kisses you at midnight?" Ellis' voice almost made you jump on your spot on the couch, she plopped next to you with a beer on her hand and a cocky smile.

"Ellis! What are you on about!" you complained, making her roll her eyes.

"Come on! We all know that's what you wish for every birthday, and we've noticed that he can’t keep his hands off you tonight, walking in hand in hand and all."

It was your turn to roll your eyes, but you could feel your stomach twist at her words.

After a few more drinks and not so subtle teasing from your friends about you and Harry, you slipped away for a bit, needing a break from the noise. Soon enough Harry spotted you by the window, looking up at the stars.

"Hey," Harry said standing next to you, you smiled as you felt his arm wrap around your waist, "The countdown is about to begin."

"Let's go join them then." You moved from the window and tried to head towards the living room, but Harry's hand grabbing yours made you stop on your tracks.

"Actually," he avoided your eyes, focusing on the scenery outside for a moment, "I've been wanting to talk to you about something, I don't even know if this is the ideal time but-"

"Hey," you cut him off, finding his eyes and giving him a tender smile, "It's okay, you know you can tell me anything."

"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, about this year and everything that changed, especially between us," he began, his voice soft yet determined, and your face full of confusion and anticipation.

"These past years have been a whirlwind," Harry continued, "But in all the chaos and changes, there's been one constant, You. And I've been blind to not recognize what that means."

Your breath caught in your throat and you could swear you felt your palms drench in sweat.

"I've wasted too much time not acknowledging it, not admitting it to myself and hurting you in the process," Harry spoke again, his voice laced with a tingle of sadness. "I cherish our friendship deeply, but I've come to understand that what I feel for you goes beyond just friendship. It's something deeper, something I've been too oblivious to see clearly for my own selfish reasons."

His words hung in the air, you could hardly believe what you were hearing, the words you'd secretly longed for so many years, spoken by the person who meant the world to you.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I love you, I've loved you for longer than I realized, and I don't want another year passing without telling you."

Tears welled up in your eyes and without a word, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. It felt like the weight of the years of unspoken emotions was finally lifted, and in that moment, everything felt right.

"I love you too," you whispered, your voice filled with a all kinds of emotions. "I've always loved you, Harry."

From afar, you could hear the cheers and celebrations of a New Year, the clock had reached midnight and your friends already made their wishes.

And as you finally kissed the man you loved after he confessed that he loved you too, there was nothing else you'd rather wish for.

[diamond-champagne]

4. I Lost You

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Warnings: Slightly suggestive

A/N: Thank you so much for the support <3 This chapter is a bit choppy as it is a filler but I hope it provides clarity for the chapters to come! As always, feedback is always welcome! Enjoy. :)

The next few days fly by as far as Paige is concerned. She spends it going through the motions. Before she knows it, she’s making arrangements to go home for Thanksgiving. It’ll be the first time in years that Paige is only going home to Minneasota. She won’t be heading to Virginia to visit Azzi and her family. Riley would be going home with her this year. The thought makes her want to vomit.

The younger girl hasn’t asked her about her plans for break. In fact, they haven’t seen each other outside of practice. It’s a strange reality for Paige because she never thought she’d have to miss Azzi when they’re finally so close to each other. It’s funny how they felt more connected when they were hundreds of miles apart. Paige sighs deeply. 

A knock on the door interrupts Paige’s thoughts. She quickly checks her phone before opening up the door. Blair is waiting on the other side. The basketball player promised to drive her friend to the airport. 

“We’re going to be late. Let’s go!” Blair rushes Paige. She quickly gathers her keys and her phone before quickly walking to the car. Paige is very happy that Blair gets to see her boyfriend. They’ve made so much progress in their relationship despite the obstacles thrown at them from being long distance. However she’s sad; because Blair is leaving and Paige doesn’t know how she’ll get through the rest of the semester.

It’s a shared sentiment between the two. They had a conversation while eating dinner.

It’s around 8pm on Tuesday when Blair texts her.

You. Me. Noodles and Company?

Paige immediately agrees. Beyond the mention of the place that makes her favorite Mac and Cheese, her friend is leaving tomorrow. The blue-eyed girl isn’t sure how to cope with that. Paige is deep in thought when her phone vibrates again. It’s another message from Blair.

Let me in!

Paige figures that the girl had already been on her way when she initially texted her. This distance between her apartment and the restaurant is too far for her to get here as fast as she did. Nonetheless, she moves from her spot on the couch to let the brown-haired girl in. The smell of the food attacks Paige’s senses immediately.

“Hi, Paigey” Blair greets as she moves into the kitchen. 

“Hey, B” Paige responds. The two girls are quick to pull out their food and dig in. The silence between them is comfortable, at least for a moment.

“I’m gonna miss you, B” Paige confesses. She isn’t sure how she became so close with the girl in front of her in a matter of weeks. The blue-eyed girl would’ve never thought that she would be friends with the girl who bought her a tequila shot, but here she is. 

“Stop! We’ll say goodbye when you drive me to the airport tomorrow.” Blair demands. She also thinks about how she’ll miss Paige. 

“What am I supposed to do without you?” Paige whines. She really doesn’t know.

“You’re going to heal your heart.” Blair responds softly. “You’re going to move on because this is killing you. You have to do this for yourself.” Paige can only nod. “When I come back, I want to see a happier version of you. One that gets all of the love she deserves in this world.”

Paige gets up to hug the girl. She only hopes that she understands what she means when she replies “Thank you”. Blair hugs the basketball player a little tighter before pulling away.

“This is our last night together. We need tequila shots.” Blair laughs. She doesn’t want the entire night to feel heavy. Paige laughs but agrees and pulls out a bottle from her cabinet along with two shot glasses.

The rest of the evening is spent enjoying each other's company. Both girls were so glad that they had met the other.

When they finally reach the airport, silence settles between them. Paige gets out of the car to help Blair grab her bags from the trunk. They aren’t ready to say goodbye just yet. It’s simple.

“I’ll see you soon, Bueckers.” Blair smirks. Her tease lightens the mood. This is what she said when they first met.

“I can't wait!” Paige flirts back. 

They hug before Blair turns to walk in the airport. She’s almost through the door when she turns back to gain the basketball player's attention. 

“Paige!” she yells which prompts the blue-eyed girl to look at her. “Take care of yourself.” It’s not an easy task but she says it anyway. 

“I will. Promise” Paige confirms.

“You’re too full of life to be half loved.” and with that, Blair walks into the airport. She doesn’t give the girl a chance to respond. She doesn’t need to. Blair can only hope that the blonde girl listens to her.

-

For the next few days, Paige carries those words with her. 

“You are too full of life to be half loved.” echoes in her head at all hours of the day.

She carries them home to Minneasota for Thanksgiving. She looks for any type of love within the people around her. 

She sees it with Drew. It’s in the way he naturally gravitates to her. It’s in the way he looks at her like she can do no more.

Paige sees the same thing with her dad. His eyes hold a certain type of admiration. She can tell that he’s filled with a sense of pride when he looks at her. He’s proud of her. 

She hears it when talks to Blair’ and her other friends. They naturally include her and accept her. 

She feels it when the Fudds call and text her individually on the holiday. Katie, Tim, Jon, and Jose each make an effort to wish her a happy Thanksgiving despite her not being there with them. They don’t have a reason to think about her; but they do.

She understands it now. Why should she settle for only half of that? 

Paige decided over Thanksgiving break that she won’t.

-

Azzi spends the week of Thanksgiving with her family and Riley. The decision to bring her was last minute and slightly impulsive. Okay so maybe slightly more than slightly impulsive. The curly-haired girl had essentially thrown a wrench into everyone’s plans by bringing the volleyball player home with her. 

Everyone had planned for Azzi to walk through the door with Paige. 

Her grandparents had come with the hopes of being able to see the pair for a little while. Jon and Jose were disappointed that there wouldn’t be someone to play 2K with besides each other. Katie had felt completely unprepared for the unexpected guest. She didn’t know what food Riley liked but she made sure to stock up on the ingredients for mac and cheese for Paige. Tim simply just couldn’t get past the fact that his daughter knew anyone else besides Paige. He really couldn’t get past the fact that they had washed this hideous fluffy purple blanket, only for the owner to not occupy their home.

Azzi knows this because she feels it too. It begins the day after Thanksgiving.

Riley and Azzi are cuddling in the basketball player's bed. Riley has an arm swung over Azzi’s waist while her face is buried in her neck. Azzi rubs small circles on her back while scrolling through tik tok. She’s bored and antsy.

Azzi is restless. She spent one full week with her girlfriend Riley and she hated it. It’s not that Riley isn’t fun to be around; but she wasn’t Paige. She didn’t know her way around her parents’ house or have inside jokes with her brothers. She didn’t understand why certain tik toks were funny. She didn’t smell like vanilla or have blonde hair. And she certainly didn’t have big, bright, blue eyes..

Azzi missed Paige. The concept isn’t exactly new to her. Their entire friendship is built off of them missing each other. But even in the times that they’re apart, they’re together. There’s a never ending stream of phone calls and text messages. They have a widget app that allows the other’s picture to appear on their home screen. They wear each other’s clothes more often than not. Paige and Azzi are always intertwined in some sense. Paige and Azzi are more like PaigeandAzzi.

If she’s thinking about it, Azzi suppose that’s why it was so easy for her and Paige. It was so easy to kiss Paige. It was so easy to touch Paige. They had already known everything there was to know; secrets, crushes, dreams, and fears. This was simply just something to add to this list. Now she knows all that she did before plus some.

Now Azzi knows that when she kisses Paige right below her left ear, the blonde lets out whimpers that one can only dream about. She knows that when they’re making out, she should bite the older girl’s bottom lip. Azzi knows that Paige lets out the most pornographic when she kisses the birth mark on her inner thigh. She also knows that she has to give Paige praise because even though she’ll never admit it, she loves it when Azzi calls her a good girl.

So, Azzi knows it all. She even knows that Paige is in love with her. She can hear it in the way Paige speaks to her. Her voice held a certain softness that is reserved specifically for the younger girl. She can feel it in the way Paige looks at her; like Azzi can hang the moons and the stars. She can feel it in the way Paige touches her. The blonde is gentle but Azzi feels every emotion when they hug. It feels like home.

It felt like home.

She hasn’t heard that voice or looked into those eyes in a very long time. Azzi knows it is her fault. She took all she could from the girl without giving anything else back in return. She didn’t have anything to offer the girl; so she didn’t.

Now Azzi is home during Thanksgiving Break; holding a girl that isn’t Paige. And that’s why Azzi hated it; because she wanted those eyes with blonde hair. Everyday. She wanted every holiday with Paige and everyday in between. 

She can’t have that though. Azzi has taken so much from Paige; she doesn’t even know where she would start.

So, she pulls Riley closer. She isn’t Paige but she hasn’t lost her.

PREVIOUS | NEXT

[filtharchives]

guys im so embarrassed i wrote this but as a Freak™ i firmly believe there is not enough omegaverse in this fandom so i gotta write it myself

hopefully i’ve improved some since last time… 🫣

summary: cove x reader - your sudden heat triggers cove’s rut and no one is home to stop you

tags: NSFW, takes place in Step 3, fem/afab reader, omega!reader, alpha!cove, traditional stuff (being a provider for spouse) cause tbh i also can’t deny the housewife kink in me lol, normal omegaverse stuff like knots and slick etc., first time/virginity loss, mating press ♡, reader is pillow princess-ing, breeding kink (you tried to be safe but he got impatient sorry), only a little size difference/kink and belly bulge

it was a hot summer day–too hot for even the biggest beach bum to spend out on the sand–and you and cove were lazing around in your bedroom with the air conditioner as high as your moms would let you put it, which was just enough for you and cove to cuddle comfortably in your nest with the condition that he was shirtless and you were in the flimsiest tank top you could find. .

cove was beyond thankful to not have a shift at the tropical restaurant today. he told you he thinks he would have died if he had to wait tables while the restaurant was full of sweaty, heat-agitated tourists whose scents would overwhelm his nose which was pretty sensitive, even by alpha standards. his comment got a sympathetic nose exhale out of you, which in turn got a playful pout out of your boyfriend. 

“don’t laugh. it’s not funny,” he scolds half-heartedly. “i really could’ve died in that situation. do you know how many sweaty, old alphas i’d have smelled? and they get so snippy when they’re sweaty and uncomfortable. if you knew what it was like working there, you wouldn’t be laughing right now.” 

“yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes with a smirk, feeling a little smug as he squeezes your waist in his arms and nuzzles his face into your neck despite his little rant. “but they still give you the big tips, don’t they?”

“only cause they smell you on me,” cove argues. “they think that i’m an alpha working solely to provide for my omega mate, so of course they’d wanna ‘help out’.” 

“then really, you should be thanking me right now, instead of lecturing,” you snicker, joking. “where’s my cut of the money?” 

“your ‘cut’ is everything i buy you with those tips.” he nips at your collarbone pointedly. “those alphas are kinda right–i am providing for my little omega.” 

my little omega. god, that sounds so delicious coming from his mouth, it almost makes you dizzy. and the idea of him taking care of you makes your inner omega purr with delight. you’re too busy fixating on cove’s words that you almost don’t notice cove perking up in surprise, his head lifting off your arm as he supports himself on his elbow. 

“you…” he pauses, sniffing. “you smell different. just now.” 

“mm?” you hum, looking at him with hazy eyes. you feel your body grow warmer and cove’s scent seems so tantalizing all of a sudden. cove seems to think the same about you, leaning back into your neck to sniff your scent glands, the arm he’s had over your waist moving back so he can grip your hip with his hand. 

“smells sweeter…” he mumbles curiously, practically shoving his nose against your skin. his hand squeezes your hip before moving to your rear to pull you close to him again. 

“cove-?!” you cut yourself off with a small squeak of surprise as he drags his tongue against your gland, your body shivering as his warm, wet muscle teases the sensitive skin. your hands press against cove’s bare chest as he rolls on top of you, caging you in his arms as his knees sit between your thighs. 

“god,” he hisses against your neck, voice not as soft and playful as it was moments ago. “i’ve always wanted to smell this straight from the source. it’s not the same coming from your clothes.” 

it’s only when he says that, that it clicks for you–your heat had arrived early. a few days early, in fact. and you feel silly, not recognizing it after several years of experience, but in your defense, the response from cove was far too distracting for you to put the pieces together on your own. but now that you know what changed in you, you also realize the change in cove was from his rut being triggered. by you. that thought warmed you up even more. cove calls your name. 

“tell me to stop, and i’ll go home right now. i can ask my dad to deliver some of my clothes and we can call, just like we always do,” he says, eyes shyly avoiding yours and staring at your stomach instead. “but if you want me to stay… i-i’ll take care of you. i think- no, i know i’m ready. to take this step in our relationship. b-but only if you are! we can hold off on it if you want!” 

he finally meets your eyes, looking a little frantic, as if worried he was too bold and would scare you off. still, you could see his arms shaking as he held himself over you, taking all the self control he had to not take you then and there. as much as you admired his restraint, your body ached for his. 

“i want this,” you respond breathlessly, feeling almost winded by the anticipation and desire running through you. “i trust you, cove. i want you to knot me.” 

cove turns bright red from his ears to his neck. he was hoping you’d say yes, but he didn’t expect such an explicit answer. 

“oh! o-okay, let me just-” he nearly throws himself off the bed, running out of your room and you hear his heavy footsteps race down the stairs. before you can call out and ask questions after processing his sudden disappearance, you hear him running back up the stairs. he returns to your room and shuts the door with his foot, arms filled with water bottles and snacks. he gives you a sheepish smile as he sets them on the shelf under your window. 

“for later, you know?” he says, fumbling nervously with the last water bottle before putting it down. “wouldn’t want you to get hungry or dehydrated.” 

you’d make a witty quip if you were more lucid, but his preparation and concern for you makes you preen and only more needy for the rest of the care he has planned for you. smelling the slick pooling in your underwear, the cute look is wiped off cove’s face and replaced by an almost uncharacteristic, wolfish grin as he approaches you and your nest again. fuck, this heat is becoming unbearable–you want him now, you don’t even notice you’re whining until cove’s in front of you on the bed again, cupping your face and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“don’t worry, i’ll take care of you, just like i promised,” he coos softly, his hands parting from your face to remove your shorts. he licks his lips again when he sees the large wet spot on your panties that had seeped through your shorts. 

“one more time: are you sure you want to do this now?” cove asks, looking into your eyes through his lashes. his breathing is heavy with the amount of self-discipline he’s exerting. his inner alpha is practically howling at him to get on with it and fuck you like an animal, but he loves you too much to give in when there’s still a chance you might back out. “i can’t promise i’ll control myself o-or be gentle past this point. but i’ll do my best to stop whenever you tell me! i-if you ever tell me-”

“please,” you all but beg, adoring his efforts but so over the waiting. “please just fuck me already, alpha. i hate waiting.” 

your interruption and desperation draw a small chuckle of disbelief from cove, but it also settles his nerves. he gives you an apology kiss as he tugs off your underwear, practically drooling at the unfiltered scent of your slick.

“sorry for making you wait,” he murmurs as he pushes your thighs apart, backing up on his knees until he can comfortably lean down and kiss your clit. 

you’re a sobbing mess as cove draws you closer to your third climax of the day, still only giving you his mouth and fingers. as much as you begged for his dick after the second orgasm, cove insisted he needed to make sure his knot wouldn’t hurt you, even if it meant straining against his pants uncomfortably while rutting against your nest. still, with how enthusiastically he was devouring your cunt, you can’t say he wasn’t enjoying himself as well. 

the slurping and squelching that filled your bedroom were lewd, but that was nothing compared to your mixed moans and the stench of sex that was probably stuck on your sheets by now. cove always got off on your scent during his ruts, holding your gifted, used panties to his nose as he jerked off, but the smell coming straight from your glands mixed with the taste of your slick on his tongue–he felt like he could cum untouched from those alone, but he needed to hold out until he could stick his dick inside you, even if he couldn’t actually breed you yet. oh fuck, the idea of you filled with his pups had his eyes rolling to the back of his head, even if the logical part of him knew you were both too young for that yet. still, he couldn't deny the idea’s appeal.

“cove!” you gasp, one hand tugging his hair as the other gripped the pillow behind your head. “‘m gonna cum again-!” 

you barely finish your sentence before you gush all over his face for the third time, and just like the previous two times, cove laps it all up eagerly, rubbing his nose against your overstimulated clit as his tongue parts your lips. you try to push him away but it’s only once he was satisfied with his cleanup that cove lets up to pull you into a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. you moan into his mouth and whimper when he pulls away but you’re already too spent to chase his lips. he chuckles at your dazed state but is far from done. 

he gets off the bed and finally relieved himself of his pants and boxer-briefs and you drool at the sight of his big dick and the much-desired knot at the base. he nearly trips as he simultaneously hurries to your drawers while removing his clothes and digs through your drawer to find the condoms (that you’d told him your moms bought for you regularly once you and cove started trading clothes during your synced mating cycles. it was funny and embarrassing at the time, but now you were grateful). he grabs a handful and rips open the first one as he rejoins you in your nest, also ripping the condom inside in the process. he tosses it aside and goes for the next condom, only for history to repeat. he blows through two more, growling as you whine impatiently, before muttering “fuck it” and tossing all the condoms onto the floor. 

“i’ll buy you plan b later, okay?” cove assures you as he lines up his dick to your pussy with one hand, the other holding up one of your thighs. “just be good and take my knot, just like you wanted.” 

you moan a cuss and throw your head back on your pillow as he slides in, your endless slick and his careful preparation making it easy and oh-so pleasurable. cove hisses as he stops just before his knot, his now-free hand moving to your other thigh. you’re about to complain about the lack of movement but cove already starts pushing in again, watching intently as your cunt swallows him up with relative ease. you mewl at the stretch that was much easier than you’d anticipated–you’ll have to thank him later for making it so easy on you despite your impatience. 

cove stops again once buried to the hilt inside you, his eyes flick up to your face and, seeing you without any discomfort, grins. 

“look at that, omega,” he murmurs, his hand pressing gently on the small bump in your belly that disappears and reappears with each slow thrust of his hips, making your breath stutter. “your needy little pussy all stuffed by my cock.” 

playing nice doesn’t last long, however, as he quickly gets pussy-drunk and picks up the pace. 

“f-fuck~” cove groans, tossing his head back in pleasure while his hands grip the backs of your knees, keeping you wide open. he leans his head forward again, looking at your half-lidded eyes and drooling, moaning mouth with dark eyes. he lets your legs fall to his sides, choosing instead to lean forward with his elbows at the sides of your head and his chest pressed against yours, practically putting all his weight on you as he fucks you hard and fast.

the wet slapping of his balls on your ass and the sounds that leave your mouths are loud and lewd and surely your sister or one of your moms will come home soon, but cove really couldn’t care less when it feels so good. he’d always dreamed of having you on his knot like this, ever since he first jerked off to your scent, but having it for real was better than he could have ever imagine. so tight and warm, and the fucked-out look on your face was even better. 

“so cute like this,” he mutters, his face so close to yours and you try to focus your eyes on him but can barely keep them from rolling back. “you were made to take my knot. we fit so well together. fuck, i can’t imagine doing this with someone else. i should just claim you already.” 

the prospect of being claimed by cove makes you keen. his face is shoved up against your neck again, inhaling your scent like it’s oxygen, and he really is tempted to bite you then and there. 

“you’d like that, right? being bonded to me? oh f-fuck! oh, yeah, you do. tighten up so much at the idea…” instead of biting your neck, he moves his mouth to your shoulder and satiates that need. you cry out his name, both out of pleasure and disappointment. it feels so good to be bitten by him, if only it was where you want it most. 

his sweet words are reduced into babbles as he loses himself in you and you could admit that you’ve lost yourself long into this heat. his tip kissing your cervix and his knot stretching your lower lips is all so delicious, it’s overwhelmed you to tears.

“c-cove,” you gasp, clawing at his back, toes curling as you get closer. 

“mm-” cove grunts, picking up pace for the final stretch as he mutters thoughtlessly into your ear. “gonna fill you, omega… fill you with pups… all mine…” 

normally, the thought of being pregnant would would terrify you, but with a heat-clouded mind, it’s all you want. 

“please fill me,” you whimper. “cove- cove! wan’ your pups… please gimme pups, alpha…!” 

“agh- fuck!” cove’s arms cradle your head to his chest as his knot swells, locking him inside you. “gonna fill you,” he repeats. “fill you w’ my pups… my omega… all mine…” 

you cry out as cove’s hot seed fills you, clinging onto him with your arms and legs wrapping around his muscular body. he’s shaking and growling and still babbling as he cums, and his load feels heavy inside you, especially with his knot preventing any from leaking out. as he comes down from his high and feels fatigue wash over him, cove quiets down and at least finds the strength to lower himself onto you slowly, lying on you while his still-inflated knot keeps your bodies stuck together. 

you sniffle as post-coital clarity slowly comes to you, and your lust is temporarily pushed aside by your affection for cove. you gently comb a hand through his hair as your eyelids feel heavy.

“we’ll be like this for a while,” cove chuckles, cheeks flushed pink. “go to sleep. i’ll clean everything up once my knot goes down and when you wake up, i’ll still be here. we’ll drink and eat, and then we can keep going as much as you want. i’ll be right here.” 

his words of reassurance and the gentle rumble of his chest as he speaks is enough to lull you to sleep, as if you weren’t already totally spent. and yet, the idea of going for more rounds sparks your excitement once again, and you can’t help how your pussy briefly squeezes cove’s dick, making him gasp. you chuckle at his reaction as you finally nod off.

ahhhhhhhh omgggg !!!!!!! 🙈🙈🙈

[slut4evanpeters]

Red Lace

stan bowes x fem!reader

song i recommend listening to: yayo by lana del rey

warnings: sugar daddy stan, smut, fingering, blowjobs, riding, car sex, squirting

word count: 1.4k

notes: guys im sorry my smuts are kinda bad🙁 ITS SO HARD TO WRITE AND FOR WHAT LIKE but here ya go! i love a good sugar daddy stan moment. sorry for ooc imma be so real with yall i didnt even watch pose. I JUST SEEN CLIPS OF STAN STOP LEAVE ME ALONE

MDNI 18+

You don't understand why Mr. Bowes insists on buying you things.

Thanks to his pay raise, you've got too much cash to spend on yourself already. You've upgraded your apartment, bought a new car, and now you shop at Whole Foods.

But this? This seems like a bit much.

"Mr. Bowes, I really don't ne—"

"And you expect me to allow you to walk home by yourself at this time of night?" He raises an eyebrow, his pale skin in stark contrast to the black leather of the limousine. Adjusting the cuff of his black suit jacket, he drawls, "Please, I insist."

You sigh, and yet you step into the limo anyway.

You feel out of place with the fancy wine glasses, smooth jazz, glossy white exoskeleton and soft red interior lighting. The partition is rolled high and you can't escape the feeling that this is private.

"Your address, Ms. Y/N?"

"Oh, right um," you hate to say you were too enamoured by all the glitter and glam that it takes you a second to come back down to earth to provide him with the proper info. Mr. Bowes raps against the partition with a fingernail, mumbling what you assume to be your address to the driver before it raises and you two are alone again.

"So, Ms. Y/N," Mr. Bowes begins. Despite all the space in the long limousine, he's sat right next to you, shoulders brushing and all. "How was lunch?"

Right. Lunch. Today, you arrived to the office with your lunch from home in hand, to find an even better one sitting on your desk with a note that read:

Eat up, Sweetheart.

— S. B.

Seriously. Is your boss trying to kill you?

But, you ate it. And it was delicious.

"It—It was good."

And, fuck. You're not one to stutter but thinking straight proves harder than you thought under Mr. Bowe's heavy gaze.

Mr. Bowes crowds you against the door and his cologne is beyond overwhelming, flooding your senses and setting your veins alight as he slides a calloused hand up your thigh, pushing your pencil skirt out of the way as he rubs up your thigh. He knows he can get away with it.

"And the outfit?"

"It uhm...fits fine."

And Mr. Bowes always finds the perfect size, too. Honestly, you're impressed—half of the time you can't find your size yourself.

Mr. Bowes hums in satisfaction, a hand sliding to play with the lace that falls over the crest of your ass. You know he likes to see you squirm and stutter blush. And yet here you are, eating it up like some slutty secretary.

"Are you wearing it right now, Princess?"

Mr. Bowes speaks like he knows, and you find your face turning a similar fiery red to the lingerie set you have on underneath your outfit.

"I am."

Mr. Bowes's eyes flutter and you swear his grip around your ass tightens, but it's gone before you blink again. A groan rolls through his chest.

"Show me, Princess."

Your eye shifts to the limousine window. You're on the highway, but you haven't got an idea to when you'll reach your apartment. "Mr. Bowes, I—"

"Stan when we're alone, Gorgeous."

"Stan, what if someone—"

"It's dark and the windows are tinted," Stan cages you in with a forearm against the door, leaning over so his mouth is leveled with your ear. "You and I both know you live a little ways away from headquarters, so what's the wait?"

You...You...

You don't know.

You find your mouth moving before you think it through, "What do you wanna see first?"

"You know me so well, Princess," Stan purrs, biting his bottom lip as his eyelids sink halfway, studying you. After a still silence, Stan speaks again.

"Take off your shirt."

You shiver.

Button by button, your fingers pull at the fabric of your shirt until the lacy red bra Stan left on your desk is on full display.

Stan groans at the view, head dipping down to press butterfly kisses to your breasts. The warmth of his palms feels strange through the lace but the thumb passing over your nipple has you shivering nonetheless.

"On your knees, Princess," a pretty pink tongue emerges to wet his bottom lip. "I want to cum on those pretty tits of yours."

Your hands are fluent and swift, from undoing his button and zipper to unbuckling his belt, and your face to face with your boss' hard cock bobbing underneath the tip of your nose.

"Suck, Pretty."

Grabbing the base of his cock, you lick from his balls to the tip, giggling at Stan's shudder.

"What, Princess? It's not my fault your mouth is sinful."

To prove his point, and to prove who's in charge, Stan bucks down your throat. It makes you choke and splutter, but you push through the spasms in your throat anyway, pulling a fairly juvenile broken moan from the billionaire's mouth.

"Such a dedicated little girl." Stan groans, gently threading his hands through your hair to grab you tight by the roots. "I bet you're soaking wet in between those legs, aren't you?"

You whimper, subtly rubbing your thighs together—you wouldn't be surprised if you left a wet spot on the floor. Your cheeks burn from the humiliating thought.

"Up."

You pull your mouth off of him, a little confused.

"Change of plans, Princess," Stan pants, lifting you by the waist and sitting you in his lap. After pulling the tight black pencil skirt above your ass, Stan bites his lip at the sight of you.

"So gorgeous," he moans, trailing a finger up your slit. "And so wet. Did I do all this, Princess?"

You slap him on the shoulder in mild embarrassment, cheeks and neck burning. Grinding your hips in his lap, you roll your eyes. "Stan, just fuck m—"

He grabs you roughly by the jaw, chuckling at the way your pretty little eyes burst into the size of saucers, "I believe I asked you a question."

"Yes," you whimper, caught off guard. Stan's grip tightens.

"Yes what?"

"Y-Yes Sir."

Stan bites his lip at the pet name, using the grip he has on your jaw to shake your head back and forth as he coos, "Good girl."

Peeling your panties to the side, the big hands on your waist guide you onto his cock. The slide is smoother than it should be, and Stan's buried in your pussy fairly quickly.

"Grind on me, Princess." Stan bucks his hips to spur you on, and you're moving the moment you pull his dress shirt into a tight little fist. Stan's always been big, but inside you? It can get a little hard to breath.

Stan's thumb ghosts your clit and it has you shivering, drunk off his slow in sensual pace.

"Hmm, you're drooling Pri—fuck!"

There's a bump in the road and it sends your pupils flying into the back of your skull, and the broken moan that tumbles out of Stan's mouth makes you want to hear more.

Bracing your knees against the plush limousine cushion, you maintain the momentum and drop yourself onto his cock so rapidly you're sure the driver can hear the slap of skin through the partition. Stan's eyes widen before his eyelids drop halfway, mesmerized by the slow but hard movements of your hips.

"Shit—c-careful, Princess," Stan puts his hands around your waist in an attempt to gain control of the speed, but you quickly swat his hands away.

"I wanna," you pant, whimpering as he hits your cervix when the limo jolts again. "I wanna make you feel good. A-As 'sa thank you."

"Awe baby," Stan coos, applying more pressure to your clit. You squeak, readjusting your grip on his shoulders, "For the outfit I gave you? When I saw it in the store I knew it'd look gorgeous—and look at you, so fucking delicious."

To reinforce his comment, Stan digs his teeth into your neck, and that's your tipping point—eyes fluttering, your toes curl and you're squirting in Stan's lap; making a mess of his cock and his (probably expensive) suit pants.

"Oh shit—" Stan lets out a guttural moan and he's filling you up, hips stuttering and eyelids flickering. His chest rises and collapses with an airy moan.

"Fuck, Princess," Stan chuckles breathily, resting his head against the limousine seat. His face is pretty and flushed red, hair stiff with sweat and dress shirt a wrinkled mess.

The limousine rolls to a stop, the smooth motion pulling your attention to the window. As you peer out, your brows knit in confusion. This isn’t your apartment building. Instead, the limo is parked in front of a grand, imposing house. One you don’t recognize but assume must belong to Stan. Its tall windows glow with soft, inviting light, the front door just beyond a well-manicured garden.

Your gaze flicks back to Stan, his casual posture in contrast to the subtle tension in the air. He catches your eye, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips, his voice low and smooth.

“Care for a quick detour, Princess?”

[jisokai]

If you cross the river (will the fighting end?)

Contrary to what granny once said, Kita thinks he won't ever truly know who you are. You are the one who waits by the river, watching as he scrubs dirt from fresh carrots and dirty shovels. You are the one whose presence lingers like mist over his skin when you part. You are the one whose eyes he always feels, at every moment—the eyes granny reminds him of when they wipe the floor or prepare a meal together.

You are the one who knows that it does not matter, that he would still perform his rituals and hold unwavering conviction even if you were not there. Because he is Kita; he is Shin-chan—repetition, perseverance, and diligence is how he lives...because it simply feels good.

You are the same, committed to your duty to watch him from the moment you were pulled from the glory of a summit. And he is committed to being watched by you.

shinsuke kita x GN reader character study for shin, reader is a river/rain spirit, themes of disaster, mentions of dying/minor character death, fluff and angst, slow burn (i think), slight spoilers for haikyuu!! timeskip 20.3k words | oneshot, complete

notes: This fic is set around the premise that Kita's gran lives in the mountains of eastern Hyogo, just above Osaka. I have his parents living in the city while Kita is cared for by granny until it's time for him to start school, around 6 years old. He goes to Osaka during the school year and no longer spends time in the mtns. Since canon doesn't offer a whole lot of information, I took liberties with the setting and backstory to fit the plot of my fic. I hope this can help negate any potential confusion! + (It's another fic spanning childhood to adulthood. With a magical reader. I am unfortunately not able to escape my own tropes.) + shoutout to this fic for inspiration

ao3 option

One moment you are a carefree being, gleefully running along a series of falls wedged along the mountain summit. The sun is setting and you are soaking in the glory of the day: with swaying leaves and shimmering droplets, and the last bit of light streaming through pockets of trees.

The next you are falling, rolling, bumping your way through the water. A current sweeps you away without warning, your vision goes dark, and you have left your place above the sun to land in the depths of a looming valley. You have to carry onwards, knowing there is no going back, so you search for the one who brought you here.

There is a dim light beyond the bank. It seeps from the open screen of a traditional-style house, illuminating the wooden beams and eaves from behind. It's a bedroom, with a small boy dutifully putting his futon down for the night, smoothing out the bumps and lining the base to be in its exact spot. He has salt and pepper hair and you think he is the youngest old person you will ever see. He never looks your way, but you sense that he knows you are watching.

So you watch, now that you're here.

"Granny, who's that?"

He is a toddler, carried along the path next to the river by his grandmother, a thin arm clutching him tightly against her hip. Her eyes slowly move from his face to his finger pointing towards the water. She can't see what he sees: another child, waist deep in the gentle rapids, mysteriously faded—like a mist lingering instead of wafting to the sky. She smiles gently when she understands, bringing a hand to pat his hair softly.

"You'll learn when the time is right, Shin-chan."

She knows how this story will go.

Someone is always watching, Shin-chan.

Kita's life is built upon the small things he does everyday, and the end results are no more than a byproduct of that.

Someone is watching over you.

Rain streams down the mountain gullies and pools in the river at the center of the valley.

The sun rises. Over and over and over again.

Childhood

The morning light streams through open screens, crawling up the veranda and into the adjacent interior. It’s the beginning of June—cleaning day, the tatami mats moved aside for inspection and rotation while Kita and granny scrub the wooden floors together. Foam bubbles from the rag when he wrings it out, excess water trickling into the bucket. He wipes it across the floor of their living room, watching carefully as the wood darkens slightly, but not too much, leaving shiny streaks and stray bubbles behind. He smiles to himself gently.

A grin tugs at granny as she watches from the opposite side of the room. It was Shin-chan’s own decision to clean with her today. He gave her no reason as he simply said, “I’ll help,” when she grabbed her bucket and rags. He already started pulling the mats aside, then struggled to move the table in the center by himself. Granny chuckles to herself at the recollection before returning her attention to the floor, her section a little lighter than Kita's.

He looks to her side and the faintest crease appears between his brows, a slight purse of his lips. When he wrings out his towel again, he pulls the ends a little tighter before bringing it back to the floor with a new gentleness. The result brings the twitch of a smile to his mouth. It makes him feel good.

From outside, he hears the rustling of leaves, creaking as bamboo sways in a light breeze, and the scrapes of shrubs against the house. The morning is cool, bringing in air that will hopefully linger as the day drags on. The only chatter comes from the birds, quick raps of storks in the river and singing sparrows in the trees. Kita feels a warmth, one from inside, as he listens. Focuses.

He thinks it could be praise, from the spirits that are watching.

It’s still morning when they finish, the mats brushed and switched with the ones in the closet. After they return the table to the center of the room, granny quietly thanks Kita for his help. He only nods in return. Quiet Shin-chan. He thinks he’ll read until lunch, or maybe help some more if granny plans to work in the garden.

She interrupts his thoughts. “Let’s go for a walk, to Fujiwara-san’s.”

Kita's brow furrows ever so slightly, but he nods. Granny sometimes likes to visit the neighbors, though without any clear pattern or schedule. He thinks she might be doing it for him, so he can talk with other kids his age, especially with his sister always gone to a friend’s and his baby brother in the city. He would rather read, but agrees regardless since it’s granny asking.

They slip their feet into sandals and start down the path along the river, towards the right. Kita reaches for granny’s hand and she smiles down at the top of his hair. They walk slowly along pebbles and dirt, accompanied by the sound of water rushing next to them. Eventually they approach a bridge, granny having to grasp the railing as she walks up the steps. When she reaches the center of the river she pauses, a ritual, to watch the water run by.

“Fujiwara-san said he has exciting news,” granny offers in a delayed explanation. Kita doesn’t respond. 

Granny takes another minute to step down on the other end of the bridge and continue walking. They go left, towards the house that sits opposite of theirs. It takes slightly longer with the incline, but it’s quaint and Kita feels no hurry.

The house is open when they arrive, doors aside to let the last cool minutes waft through. There’s nobody home, however, and Kita looks up to granny curiously after they step onto the exterior veranda.

She only offers a smile as they wait a few moments. His attention is diverted when he hears the thumping of footsteps, small and quick, getting closer. They’re followed by Fujiwara’s muffled voice, worried. Kita's hand tightens in granny’s as he watches closely.

Out runs a child, his age, tracking dark footprints along the tatami mats from the back entrance. Not just with dirt, but smudges of mud, smearing on the woven grass. His chest tightens at the sight and he has the urge to scold, to clean the mess, but then he feels eyes on him and—

That watchful gaze he remembers clearly, despite only seeing it once, years ago. A gaze he still feels everyday, most intently at night. You are grown, but only as much as he is. And you’re…real. With a weight and embodiment, a person instead of a misty image on the river’s surface. You’re also brighter, both in appearance and spirit, as you put a small handful of grapes (fat and crisp and green) into your mouth (skin and seeds included) and chew quickly before swallowing and smiling widely at him. 

Again, Kita wants to protest the sight, tell you the skin is dirty and you can’t eat seeds, but the words are trapped. Something is tugging at his chest—something other than his apprehension, something that makes him want to physically step forward.

But then Fujiwara-san is rushing in, though not very quickly. He’s another old-timer in the village, with crinkly eyes and little hair remaining on his head, paired with a thin physique and hunch in his back. In one hand he carries a woven basket, filled with more bunches of grapes, shiny and wet. In the other is a wooden cane, pale with a reddish tint—Kita thinks maple. The old man never needed one before, and Kita wonders what’s changed.

He looks back to you, the one change he’s aware of.

“Shinsuke-kun,” his thoughts are interrupted by the call of his name. He hasn’t been listening, he realizes, and he turns his attention to the grandpa. “This is one of my grandchildren. My daughter has been busier with work lately.”

Kita, for a third time, wants to protest. He’s met all of Fujiwara-san’s grandchildren before, and if he hadn’t, granny would have certainly told him about another five year old. He doesn’t know how to respond, can’t, and so he watches blankly. You are smiling at him the entire time, with a joy he doesn’t understand—at least, not entirely.

(There is a tightness in his chest at the sight of you, like it wants to expand beyond its capability. He’s not sure what that means.)

“Have some grapes!” you exclaim in a soft voice, thrusting the bunch towards him. Two fall from the force of your sharp movements, and he watches as they roll on the ground, leaving another stain. He doesn’t accept them, just continues to stare at the mess.

Granny fights a smile as she encourages him. “Let’s try some Shin-chan.”

He wants to say that he’s already had them before. He knows they will be delicious and crunchy and refreshing, especially now that the heat is rising with the sun. He knows that Fujiwara’s grapes are the best, and now two have been wasted and splattered on the tatami. Instead of reprimanding you, he reaches his arm out to take the bundle. Since granny asked.

His eyes widen when you then crouch to pick up the fallen fruit from the floor and eat them (skin and seeds included) without so much as wiping them off.

Who are you?

The faintest tug on his hand makes him turn to granny, who’s pulling one off the bundle he’s holding to give it a taste. “They’re delicious as always,” she says. “I’m surprised it’s such an early harvest.”

Fujiwara smiles, eyes crinkling further. “Snow came early this winter,” he reminds her.

She hums thoughtfully. “Ah, yes. The weather has been quite unusual this year.”

Unusual, Kita wonders to himself. Because of you.

You smile at him again and that inexplicable tightness arises in his chest once more. He frowns, the first genuine frown of displeasure today. His mind tells him to ask granny if he can go home, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t understand how that could be possible, to want and not want something at the same time. His frown deepens.

Kita thinks his time at Fujiwara-san’s is excruciating. Kita is also hesitant to leave when granny says it’s time to go. He misses a knowing smile that rests on her face as she tugs him gently, watching as he glances back during their walk home.

You are nosy. Kita was already aware, given he could feel you watching him at every moment, even when he can’t see you. But you are nosy when you are physically near him. And you are around him often now, nearly every day for the past week. Whether you simply show up at random or granny is pulling him along to Fujiwara’s, Kita learns that being around you is inescapable, inevitable. 

At the very least you aren’t noisy, just curious. At granny’s you quietly hover whenever Kita switches tasks or activities, a ghost floating over his shoulder. Once you’ve fulfilled whatever interest you have, you keep to yourself in your own part of the room. You’re helpful in the garden, for some reason, but you make him grimace when you pull a carrot directly from the ground and take a bite, dirt and all. You don’t help him wash the harvest, just crouch next to him by the river water and watch his hands diligently scrub.

You are, however, incredibly messy. It’s as if you don’t even register what a mess is, mud and leaves and water following you everywhere. Always. Trekking through the door with bare feet, smudges of grime trailing behind, sometimes with dripping hair—undried hair—that leaves dark circles and puddles on the mats and wood.

Every time it happens his chest flares with irritation, that urge to scold you. But granny is near, so he says nothing and instead looks at her intently. Granny only ever smiles back, sometimes handing him a towel and reminding him that he can help, if he wants. He doesn’t want to. He’s not sure why the adults haven’t explained it to you, surely Fujiwara-san can’t keep up with the cleaning he must have to do to house you. If Kita and granny always have to scrub your mess after you visit, Fujiwara must be mopping every hour. Sometimes they clean when you’re here, while you just sit and watch, only to dirty the floor again the following day.

After a week of this passes and you show up again, uninvited and with your bare feet leaving mud on the veranda, he caves.

“Don’ come around here if yer jus’ gonna make a mess,” he says firmly—but also quietly, wary of granny’s proximity. Why do you always enter through the veranda anyways—not the genkan, where the mess would be easier to contain?

You don’t appear deterred, smiling as you hold up a basket. “I brought you grapes, Shin-chan.”

He blinks. “That’s kind,” he admits, “but I don’ want ‘em.”

“Well I do,” Granny’s sweet voice says from behind him. Kita tenses when he hears it, turns to look at her guiltily. Her calm, smiling face makes him uneasy.

He starts to protest, those disagreements he felt a week ago, since the moment she wanted to go to Fujiwara’s, bubble up together. “But gran—”

“Shin-chan,” she cuts him off. Her voice is gentle and soft, but holds a different kind of firmness that Kita can’t deliver. One that makes him listen, because he has to.

“It’s okay,” you say, interrupting the conversation that would have followed. You’re still smiling, unfazed. It flames Kita's annoyance, while calming his nerves. Again, he doesn’t understand these feelings. “I’ll go home if Shin-chan wants me to.”

The boy’s eyes widen at that, heart plummeting as if he’s done something wrong. Why do I care? he immediately wonders. Maybe because granny is watching over his shoulder, or because Fujiwara-san seemed so happy to have his not-actually-grandkid (Kita is still certain) around his house. He doesn’t know what home you’re referring to, Fujiwara’s or the city or…somewhere else. Regardless, it would be easier if you went back and let them rest, granny especially, since she must be tired from the extra chores. He still hasn’t answered, caught between wanting to agree, waiting to disagree. He’s not sure which part of him wants what.

Instead of caving to his irritation for a second time today, he sighs and says, “It’s fine…jus’ wash yer feet.” He realizes he’s resolved to clean up after you so granny doesn’t have to. What is he doing?

“Okay,” you say easily, smiling. That relief fills him once again, and he can only stare at you, as if explanations for that feeling in his chest will surface if he looks hard enough. They don’t.

“Here are the grapes,” you assert, raising them in front of you. He hesitates, staring at them in accusation after he finally grasps the handle of the basket. Then you say: “Okay, bye now!” and run off the veranda, your bare feet landing in the dirt and carrying you along the trail and across the bridge.

Kita watches you with a pained face, and he realizes his free hand lifted slightly, as if reaching for you. He scowls and forces it down. Then he turns to granny. She’s smiling at him, he can sense it’s with amusement. He wants to ask why you left, if you really are going home, wherever that is. But he can’t, not when granny is giving him such a look.

“Stop cleanin’ up after others,” he tells her instead. Granny blinks, wondering why she’s being scolded now, too. “I’ll do it. Jus’…jus’ rest.”

She smiles warmly. “You’re a good kid, Shin-chan.”

Kita doesn’t think so. Not right now, with the way you ran away.

“Some people need time to learn the ways we live,” she continues vaguely. “Not everyone comes from the same place.”

He wonders why someone from the city would run around without shoes, through mud.

That inexplicable relief returns when you stand in the outdoor veranda the next day. He still doesn’t understand why he would want to see you, maybe for the confirmation that his words did not actually send you away—that granny and Fujiwara-san can continue to enjoy your presence. Regardless, he stares pointedly at your feet, the dirt clinging to them.

“Sorry,” you say, with the tact to at least look sheepish this time. “I washed them at Jii-chan’s, but they got dirty again.”

Kita is too stunned to react. Do people from the city not understand how shoes work? Or water? Dirt? He sighs, attempting to find his patience, as he tells you to stay put while he leaves. He grabs two pairs of sandals from the genkan and re-enters the veranda. He slips on one pair, then ushers you to follow him down the steps to the spigot.

“Rinse your feet,” he instructs. You do, poorly, but he supposes he can only ask for so much. He puts the second pair of sandals on the ground and tells you to step your feet in after you rinse. It’s an arduous process, but finally you are mostly clean and in the sandals. He then walks you to the entrance of the genkan and tells you, “Enter here. Wear those shoes when ya visit and put ‘em—” he points to a cubby, “there when ya come in.”

You are smiling, always smiling, when you reply. “Thanks Shin-chan!” Then you kick off your sandals and toss them into the cubby. Kita's chest flares again with displeasure at your haphazard treatment of his things. Suddenly you grab his hand and pull him inside, and all he can think is that your skin is cold. He can’t find it in himself to comment, heart racing as he stumbles and tries to slip off his slides before you tug him to the main room. He watches as your undried feet leave dark prints in the tatami in front of him—he thinks of the mold that has probably started growing under them since your first visit.

He passes granny as you pull him through the rooms. He gives her a wide-eyed look, one that tries to ask for help. She only smiles.

Kita feels a little bad for his outburst, once a few days pass and he understands that you aren’t intentionally helpless. You enter through the genkan, with relatively clean feet. You’re careful when you eat after he points out that you tend to make a mess. You help clean, when he asks you to. You still leave crumbs around and wet patches, you scrub too hard sometimes and other times not enough, but you try. And Kita finds that he doesn’t mind so much anymore.

You just don’t know things.

The more he ruminates on your…unfamiliarity with the world, the less sense your story makes—the city story that Fujiwara-san told him and granny. It’s obviously not true, but it also has to be, if everyone believes it. Someone from the city wouldn’t look so surprised that their feet collect dirt. He recalls that evening a few years ago when he was only two, when he could see you in the river. He thinks about the never-ending feeling of being watched. You’re from here, from him.

It becomes apparent why you’re here, why you hang around him at home and linger in his presence. One night he wakes up hours before sunrise. He struggles to re-enter his slumber and curiously opens the screen facing the river, to gauge the time. The mountains loom behind the image of a small figure on Fujiwara’s veranda. You, offering a little wave.

He doesn’t react, just watches as you swing your feet. The moon sits high between you, illuminating the river below, the mist that lingers on its surface. He wonders if you’ve always been there, why he never saw you until a couple weeks ago.

The spirits are all around us, in every living thing. Granny’s voice calls from his memory.

As he watches you, the river, he wonders what defines a “living thing”— if it’s breath or blood or growth. Something else entirely. He thinks the river breathes; it absorbs the air when it bubbles over rocks. Its blood is the water itself. It grows in its own way, banks expanding and collapsing, body winding and pooling, collecting life, collecting stories and history. He’s curious about your story, why it’s part of his.

He closes the screen and goes back to bed.

Shinsuke is not the kind of person to ask unnecessary questions. Even as a child, he keeps those curiosities within, assuming they’ll be answered eventually. Like granny said, You’ll learn when the time is right.

So he doesn’t ask, instead infers. Analyzes and assumes. You aren’t the same. Throughout the summer, as you spend time together, you are always asking. Asking and smiling. Sometimes they’re necessary questions: how to properly wash a dish, or where to set a gift of vegetables. Most of the time they’re unnecessary, asking how Kita is feeling, what he thinks of the weather. Sometimes they’re downright invasive.

“Where are your parents?” you ask him one hot July day, laying in the main room. Kita is fanning himself and wondering why you aren’t sweating.

“Osaka,” he says curtly. He hasn’t seen them in a while, hasn’t thought about them either.

“Do you miss them?” You ask, nosiness unsatisfied.

He shakes his head, no unnecessary response. He likes it with granny, always misses her the few times he’s gone to the city.

You hum, like you heard his unspoken answer. He thinks that’ll be the end of it. It isn’t.

“Your hair must be a mix of theirs,” you say plainly. “Whose is grey?”

He shakes his head, “Neither.” They both have black hair, the same with his sister who’s never home and his baby brother in the city with a nanny.

You’re surprised. “Oh. Do you know whose it is?”

He shrugs, uncaring.

But you smile for some reason, with genuinely joyful eyes. “Maybe it’s your gran’s,” you say happily. It makes him blink in surprise, mystified. He inhales, chest lighter. “It’s cool how that sort of stuff happens.”

He can’t look away from you, your smile that pierces right through him.

That night after his bath, he looks at himself in the mirror, intense, searching in a way he’s never done before. He sees the traces of his mom in his eyes and his lips, his dad in his nose. Both of them at the tips of his hair, that lower section by his neck. He continues to stare, looking for granny. He sees the way she influenced the nose he got from dad. He sees the way she claimed his hair, cradling his head and framing his eyes and cheeks. He wonders what it means, to be chosen by the traits from a generation before.

When granny says goodnight, Kita puts his arms up for a hug. She’s warm, always is. His head nestles into her neck, his threads of grey and black hair tangling with her sea of silver. He doesn’t know what it means; he is a five year old without the vocabulary to articulate the tightness in his chest, something akin to longing and fear. He is a five year old incapable of grasping what it means to be alive.

Only a couple days later, Kita catches a new perspective of you. 

You are barefoot in the genkan and Kita is ready to scold you, this one he knows is deserved after all he’s taught you. Before he can, you speak.

“Come with me today.”

Your hand is outstretched and inviting, but Kita is apprehensive, not sure what you mean. Before he can ask, granny speaks from behind him. “Go on, Shin-chan.”

He frowns and looks at her. Neither of them know what you’re talking about, where you even want to go. But granny looks calm and assured, without a worry in the world.

You don’t wait for an answer, grasping his hand when he’s still turned away and giving it a tug. He feels that same chilliness on your skin, one that makes him think you might be sick. He manages to protest long enough to step into his slides before you pull him out the door. 

It’s a beautiful day. The sun still hangs to the side, the heat of July not yet settled in the valley. The sky is a bright blue, populated with innocent fluffy clouds, white and rolling in the breeze. A group of sparrows sing in a shrub you two pass, and a toad leaps off the path to get out of your way. Kita inhales deeply, the air humid but clean.

“Where’r we goin’?” he manages to ask, quickening his pace to match yours. Your hand has loosened its grip, but he doesn’t let go.

“The forest!” you cheer easily.

His eyes widen. The forest? He’s been to the forest before, to pick bamboo shoots and tea leaves with granny, but he’s not supposed to go without an adult. Does granny know? Why would she let them go by themselves? These are necessary questions, he thinks, and yet he swallows them down and lets you take him without protest.

You are fast despite being barefoot, rocks and sticks seemingly unnoticed as you dart along the path. Kita follows along diligently, stumbling only a few times. He wishes he wore his athletic shoes instead of the sandals. He glances back to the house, studies the way it shrinks from the distance. The two of you are still on the southern side of the river, not yet crossed to the northern mountains, where granny takes him.

Kita decides that he likes running like this, despite the heat and his shoes. It’s a gentle jog, with a destination in mind, his hand in yours as you lead the way.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, just follows you up and along the path until the two of you reach its end. It’s the first time Kita has seen it, the way it stops before a rock face that climbs up a mountain west from his house. He looks down the path, into the valley from the incline.

He looks back at you, waiting for an explanation for what to do next. You don’t offer one, walking to the bank of the river. To get in the river, he realizes, and for the first time since leaving granny’s he tries to pull away.

You turn back to him, smiling softly. “Trust me, Shin-chan,” you say.

He’s not sure why he should, why he did, to let you take him all the way out here in the first place. Because of granny’s encouragement, he thinks. Go on, she said. Did that mean all the way? To the ends of wherever you wanted him?

You have turned and continued down the bank. Kita does not try to escape your grasp, letting you pull him along.

The water of the river rushes over his feet, cool and surprising. It runs up his ankles, his shins, his knees, and finally his thighs. You are leading him forwards, upstream and past the rock face that marks the end of the trail. His toes bump rocks covered in algae, slipping and wavering as he wades slowly. You, however, are sturdy, never faltering with your sure steps.

You approach a pile of rocks, scrambling over them to bring yourself back onto land. You help hoist Kita after you. He pauses when he steps onto the forest floor, the softness catching him off guard. He looks down to see reddish-brown piles of pine needles coating the ground, dotted with lush bundles of ferns and patches of vibrant moss. The land rolls gently, small and soft hills of fallen pine covering rocks and dirt and life. A mist lingers from the proximity of the water, the sun pulling the moisture into the air. The scenery is dark, quiet from the hazy canopy above. Kita inhales deeply in attempt to regulate his exhausted panting, the essence of wood and mint taking over him. He is in awe, not used to being swaddled in pine. The forests here are mostly a mix of leafy trees, oaks and maples and chestnuts, with pockets of bamboo. Not secret havens of sweetness and tang.

You tug him along, bouncing through the fluff of the soft ground. He follows, eyes wide and soaking in the scenery, wanting to memorize every moment. You show him your enchanted forest, its mysterious darkness splattered with occasional sun that manages to seep through. He spots a white hare leaping away, watches birds flutter from the trees. At one point you guide him to cross the river on a fallen tree, green with moss and bundles of young sedge. Behind your skipping form he walks carefully, arms outstretched for balance.

His heart freezes when he steps down onto the other side, catching sight of a grey wolf waiting its turn. He clutches your hand as the creature steps forwards, two smaller ones following. They look at him blankly before leaping onto the natural bridge, continuing their own journey without looking back.

When he turns to you, you are smiling, and tug him forwards once more. The sun starts to stream in, brightening as pines transition to those oak and maple and chestnut trees. The ground is no longer soft, but firm dirt and clumps of rocks, leading to one larger slab of jagged earth that juts out from the mountain entirely.

You step out into the sun and he follows, taking in the view in front of him.

He is not at the peak of the mountain, maybe halfway there, but the outlook forces him to understand the vastness of the valley. He can see the large span of the mountains as they roll and crawl in the distance, his house a small square along others. The river is more apparent, winding intensely down the mountain and softening into a gentle curve next to the village. He can see crop fields and the road that has taken him to Osaka before.

You speak, the first time since bringing him into the water, “Some people climb mountains to look from above. I like when I still feel inside of it, can still see what’s happening.”

Kita thinks he understands, remembers the way the mountains from his house are like a promising wall, a guardian. How the depth of the valley cradles him. He thinks of the hare and the birds, the wolves, the journey here striking wonder and awe into his heart. He recalls that feeling of being watched, your gaze always near.

The sun approaches its peak in the sky, nearly noon. It illuminates the valley, brings light into the forest behind them. Kita watches it light up your face, already bright from your joyful expressions.

“Happy birthday, Shin-chan,” you tell him, taking him by surprise. He forgot, in the excitement of the past hours with you. Granny gave him some books this morning as a gift. You’re giving him the forest. His smile is small and reserved, but it’s the first time he offers one back to you.

He thinks he understands now: what you meant when you said home.

The sight of your back with a hand pulling him along defines the next year. After you show Kita the forest, he trusts you wholly, no doubt that you will look after him. He is happily tugged again and again into that realm of magic. He encounters more animals—badgers and pigs, bears and herons. In the winter he sees foxes and macaques. The river freezes and snow becomes the new carpet of the forest. You don’t shiver either, he learns.

You take him to the summit once, so he can see the view. The pine transitions to a highland, bald of trees and instead coated in grass and shrubs. It’s beautiful, a clear day when the entirety of the valley is visible and he can spot granny’s home, how it sits across from Fujiwara-san’s. When he looks up, there is only the blue of the sky, not a single speck of cloud coverage. They stay until dark and watch the Milky Way span across the blackness of night, its subtle hues of pinks and blues, the way meteors shower down in flashes.

He watches life rise from the ground when the weather warms once again, as seedlings sprout and newborn animals wander through the land. Flowers bloom, coating pockets of earth in the full spectrum of light. He is witness to deer learning to walk, stumbling awkwardly over roots and rocks. He sees the other clumsy ways animals go about the world, how a sparrow drops its worm, how a duck trips and rolls into the river behind its mother. He collects these moments in his memory, happy to observe, solely to understand.

And you observe him, because Kita knows that is what you are meant to do. He still doesn’t know who you are, or why him, but he feels your eyes constantly. He doesn’t admit it, but they are comforting.

On the days you two are not parading in the mountain, you are still usually in each other’s presence. Kita no longer reads while you look over his shoulder or sit on the other side of the room. He reads to you, the books granny rents him from the library. You like to lay on the veranda while he sits and swings his feet, paying close attention to pronouncing the words. He still cleans up after you, since you never fully get the hang of doing things yourself. It’s only crumbs and small puddles, untidy blankets or cushions, an untucked chair at the table after dinner. He finds himself volunteering to take granny’s extra harvest of leeks to Fujiwara-san’s, under the pretense that he wants her to rest.

He walks there briskly, and stays for an additional hour. You have a lot to say, your nosiness still strong even after nearly a year.

“Jii-chan told me you’re starting school soon,” you say, eating one of the leeks. He watches you chew the entirety of it, uncooked. Some water squeezes out and dribbles onto the floor.

“In April,” he replies. April is two weeks away. It’s when he’ll go to Osaka. He’s supposed to stay there for the week leading up to school to prepare. He gets the sense that you’re leaving too.

You don’t look sad, and his shoulders feel tense when he notices. He’s not sure why.

Kita doesn’t ever ask unnecessary questions, but right now he is compelled to ask you many things. Sometimes it seems like you understand what he’s thinking, but you never respond unless he says it outright. As a result, he never gets to know.

He surprises both himself and you when he asks, “Are ya goin’ to school, too?” He already knows you aren’t.

You shake your head. He wants to ask why, wants to ask if you’re going somewhere else. He wants to know if you’ll be here when he comes back during break. He wants to figure out why you came in the first place.

Another question: “Are ya goin’ home?”

You nod your head this time. He watches you, thinking you’ll return to the pine forest. You shake your head when he thinks it, and give him the reprieve of elaborating. “The river.”

He frowns, confused. The river? You were always in the forest, guiding him along its greenery. He thinks about how he has to wade upstream to enter the forest in the west. He recalls the memory from years ago, a child in the water watching him. 

“I came from the forest,” you try to explain, “but the water’s my home now.”

Kita is reminded that he was born in Osaka, but would always rather be at granny’s house in the northern mountains.

It’s hard for him to leave granny’s, more than any time before. When the driver comes to get him and he squeezes in the back with granny, he looks out the window towards Fujiwara’s house. You sit on the veranda, waving while your legs swing. This time the sun is high in the sky and the river releases a blinding reflection. When the car drives away and he can no longer see you, his chest hurts.

Osaka does not make it easier. His mother coos at how big he’s grown while his father watches disinterested. Kita is shown his baby brother, now a toddler awkwardly walking around and speaking. Kita doesn’t know how to talk to him, but he tries. He says hello to his sister—who he hasn’t seen since she decided to stay in the city—when she finally makes an appearance at dinner. Granny stays for the meal and the night, and then leaves in the morning.

That night, the second one in Osaka, he cries while laying in bed. He isn’t sure why, the feelings simply overwhelming and in need of release. The squishy mattress in a raised bed frame doesn’t comfort him. He thinks about you, about granny. The mountains and the forest. The river. When he looks outside his window—a square of glass punched through plaster walls—he only sees pavement and blocks of concrete. Other homes, maybe with other children crying for reasons they can’t explain. There is no mountain in the distance or river running along the ground. The sky is hazy, no stars in sight. The only twinkling comes from his own eyes, his teary squinting blurring streetlights and windows with every blink. Each time his eyes close, for a moment he thinks he can see you.

If Shinsuke is one thing, he is malleable. He can fit himself into environments, his adherence to routine giving him a means of finding comfort no matter where he is placed. Responsibility grounds him, distracts him. He can redirect his energy to doing well in school, looking after his brother. These things feel good to him, to simply do them well.

Even though you are not with him, he can feel your eyes at all times. He is reminded of being at granny’s, her washing the floor as she tells him that the spirits are everywhere, always watching. He finds himself cleaning up after his brother, thinking of you. He wonders what you think, if you’re reminded of the same.

School is as alien as Osaka, with its concrete exterior and plastered walls. They are painted white and lined with large sheets of glass. They slide open, but only for students to shout at their friends outside, not to let the morning air in. 

In class, he sits quietly at his desk and listens to the teacher. He doesn't talk with other students or pass notes under the desk. He doesn’t even wonder about you, the feeling of your eyes always on him. He watches the teacher closely, diligently records the lessons. He watches other students, gathering first impressions and additional observations. He notices the way some of them doze off or scribble in their books. He sees the meaningful glances some make to each other, usually girls as they eye each other and specific boys in the class.

When he studies for his first exam, he thinks that he can feel you in the room with him. First looking over his shoulder—a cool breeze wafting from behind him, and then laying on his bed—the sheets oddly chilly when he goes to sleep. He remembers how you sat by him while he read aloud just a few weeks ago. He murmurs to himself as he reviews information, wondering if you can hear him.

Kita scores at the top of his class. He doesn’t feel anything when teachers congratulate him and other students whine. There is no pride in his chest or sense of satisfaction at the results. He thinks back to his nights studying, your presence lingering over him. It just feels good, he thinks, to do things well. The process of trying and dedicating himself to something.

He makes a routine out of it, delegating time after school to review material. It falls easily into his schedule, after dinner and before he readies for bed. He still has time to play with his brother, usually reading or offering him toys. His sister is always gone, either busy with club activities or friends. His parents get home late too, but they usually manage to have a full family dinner.

They’re eating quietly, having debriefed their days as they reach the end of their meal. Kita glances at his family, realizing that they’re different from the people at school. He’s known them for his whole life, people without first impressions and instead ingrained understandings. He looks at them intently, notices the way they eat, listens to the way they speak. He knows them intuitively, no running list in his mind to keep track of information. He is reminded of the time you asked about his hair, and he stares at his mom, then his dad. His mom’s hair is long and brown, artificially lightened from its original dark color. His dad’s is black with a sprinkling of silver from age. Kita wonders if his will do the opposite when he grows old.

There’s another exam the following week, this one for his science class. Kita is the first one in the classroom, watching students filter in. The boy who sits next to him—Daiki, tall and skinny—plops down with a sigh just a few minutes before the teacher is supposed to arrive.

“Gahh, I’m so nervous,” he says to Kita, laying his head on the desk. When Kita doesn’t respond, he asks, “Are you?”

Kita shakes his head at that, not sure why he would be. He studied. 

When the results come back after a few days Daiki whines that Kita is a goody-goody, trying his hardest to get the teacher’s attention. Kita looks at his full marks and once again feels nothing. He thinks it is the natural result of his efforts. He wonders what you would say, if he could talk to you. He thinks you would ask nosey questions about his siblings. It makes his chest feel hollow.

Some kids try to be his friend, or at least try to talk to him. But he’s quiet, not very eloquent or forgiving with his words, and so they eventually leave him alone. He thinks about how you diligently stood by him, how you smiled when he scolded you.

When he gets home and returns to his room, it is exactly as he left it. There are no crumbs to sweep or puddles to wipe. His brother is out with the nanny, but he feels restless, the need to do something. He thinks he can get started on his homework early, pulling out his notebooks and folders. He can’t focus on the words, eyes skimming the pages without understanding. He knows that studying now is futile, and decides to continue later. He settles on bathing early instead.

His bath draws on, longer than usual. He finds himself pausing, getting lost in thought—though more lost in feeling, since his mind drifts blankly. He’s still restless by the time he finishes, but slightly relaxed. He stands to wrap himself with the towel and steps carefully onto the bath rug. Once he’s dried and his towel is secure around his waist, he leans over to pull the plug and let the water drain. Just as he grasps it, there’s a lurch of water that spills out and onto the floor. His eyes widen in disbelief and his chest flares with annoyance knowing he will have to clean the mess. He looks at the floor incredulously before turning back to the bath and—

His eyes widen further, mouth opening slightly at the sight of you—a misty figure over the water. You’re wearing a sheepish expression as you lean over the edge to assess the mess.

“Sorry,” you say quietly. Kita's disbelief increases at the sound of your voice. “I’m still getting the hang of it.”

Kita slams the plug back down and stands to face you clearly. He feels the water pooled at his feet, but all irritation has fled his body. Instead he is filled with a warmth, a contrast to the coolness wafting from you.

“You made a mess,” he tells you, unnecessarily. You know that already.

“Yeah,” you say. You apologize again.

“Don’ do it again,” he tries to scold. His body wants to step forward, to reach you. He’s not sure why, and he frowns with skepticism.

You nod, then lift your leg experimentally. When it’s pulled above the water, there are no droplets falling. Instead, you appear airy, like the water sits around your body. You step out and onto the bathroom floor, successfully avoiding increasing the mess. You smile brightly at your success. Kita continues to watch, wondering if you’ll disappear, evaporate at any moment. You look at the water on the floor and then meet his eyes, smile turning sheepish again.

“I should mop,” you tell him, breaking him from his quiet spell.

“I’ll do it,” he says immediately. “Jus’...jus’ don’ go anywhere.”

You nod.

Mopping helps him calm down, perhaps needing a task to manage his agitation. You watch, and then follow him to his room once he’s finished. He dresses while you distractedly rummage through his things, then walks over to you at his desk. He feels a wetness under his foot and looks down, seeing footprints scattered along the floor. They’re light and clearly yours, and he ignores them, continuing over to you.

“You can go back to studying,” you tell him.

He can’t bring himself to look away. He’s not sure why, chest tight with anticipation.

There’s a knock at the door, mom’s sign that dinner is ready. The noise startles you and there is a poof, the sound of you evaporating into mist, wafting up to the ceiling. Gone. The only traces of you are those faint, damp footprints and few misplaced items on his desk.

For the first time in a long time, Kita feels a sinking disappointment.

Adolescence

Contrary to what he expected, Kita doesn’t leave Osaka during break. His parents think it would be good for him to have a consistent lifestyle. Kita doesn’t protest, but he can feel a heaviness in his stomach. He asks about granny, if he’ll see her soon. They tell him she will visit some time, and she does, though rarely. He thinks about the forest and the mountains, when he’ll see them again.

On the first day of fourth grade, Kita wakes up on time. He uses the toilet, washes his face, brushes his teeth, and changes his clothes at his usual pace. As he splashes cool water along his forehead and cheeks, he is reminded of your touch and wonders if he will see you this morning. He often finds himself waiting, without realizing until a significant amount of time has already passed. You are irregular and unpredictable. It puts him on edge, that you might disrupt his perfectly crafted routine.

He is the first to sit down for breakfast and the first one to finish, everyone else but his mother just having started. He stands to put his dishes away and gather his school things when she rushes into the room. She’s fumbling with her shoe, trying to get it in place while collecting her things to fill her purse. Her face brightens when she sees him and asks about his first day, if he’s excited or nervous.

Kita shakes his head, neither. He’s been going to school nearly everyday for years now, what reason would he have to be nervous? What’s to be excited for?

He turns to leave, but she calls for him. She asks if he’s planning to join a club.

He shakes his head again, not sure why he should.

But his mother protests, “I think it’d be good for you to do a sport. You don’t exercise much, with all the studying.”

His father hums in agreement from the table and his sister stands to excuse herself. His brother knocks his bowl over, spoon clattering to the ground. Without hesitation, Kita walks over to return it.

“Just try one, okay?” his mom asks. Kita nods in response before finally leaving. 

In his room, he gathers his books and school supplies into his backpack, double checking that everything is there. He slips it over his shoulders and then turns to the window. It’s translucent with a sheen of moisture from inside. He wipes it away and glances at the sky. It’ll probably rain, he gauges. As he steps away from the window to leave, he catches a glimpse of you in the reflection.

His first day of school is like any other, spent seated at his desk near the center of the room, watching the teacher, observing his classmates. He diligently helps clean at the end of the day: sweeping duty, not missing a single spot. Once finished, he changes his shoes and makes for the exit. Some students say goodbye, and he nods in return. He can hear the soft pattering of rain as he approaches the door, and pops open his umbrella before stepping outside.

The walk home is quiet, with occasional groups of students chattering by. Kita walks at his typical pace, unrushed. He hears his shoes tap against the pavement with each step, the plopping of raindrops above his head. The occasional car rushes by, veering aside to avoid splashing him. He runs through a mental list of what he needs to do for school, but it’s short given it being the first day.

When he’s only a few minutes from home, he hears splashing behind him, as if someone is running through a puddle. You, calling his name.

He doesn’t turn to look, but his steps slow while his heart speeds, giving you time to catch up. Within a few seconds you are by his side, your now-usual misty and translucent figure at his side. You smile when he glances at you, but he appears unfazed. You’re unbothered as you walk with him, light on your feet.

When he reaches the door of his home and unlocks it, you let yourself in first. He closes his umbrella and gives it a shake before setting it on the rack. While he removes his shoes in the genkan, he eyes the light trail of footprints you left on your way to his room. He leaves them, knowing they’ll evaporate before anyone else comes home. He stops by the kitchen, dumping a bag of carrots onto a small plate, and then he briskly enters his room and closes the door behind him.

He sees you laying on his bed and he feels an itch of annoyance, knowing the sheets will be damp. But he doesn’t say anything, instead setting the plate on his desk and sliding his bag onto the floor. You smile and ask how his day was.

This has become part of Kita's routine, your irregular visits. He walks through life with an anxious anticipation, waiting for you to come. He is relieved when you appear, but he is never entirely pleased. There’s a warmth in his chest regardless, one that reminds him of granny.

He wonders if maybe that’s why he accepts the interruption so easily, because it momentarily brings him home, his life in the mountains, granny’s voice telling him that someone is watching over him. He knows that someone is you. He wonders if granny knows about your visits, if you ever tell her about him.

His answers are short, per usual. But he talks about his classes, his classmates, how mom wants him to join a club. He knows that you know all this, but he says it anyways, gives into you.

“Do you know what club you’ll join?” you ask.

He shrugs. “A sport, since I should exercise.”

You nod at that, “It’s too bad the forest is so far away. Exploring is good exercise.”

Kita thinks about the forest often, seeping into his spare time when he’s not caught up in classes or the growing responsibilities of life. He’s heard from mom about wildfires in Hyogo, ones that spring at random in the dryness of summertime. Luckily nothing near home, but still within the province. He recounts those memories of rabbits and monkeys, remembers the flowers that are blooming right about now. He's curious if it’s raining, how visible the stars are tonight. These questions bring a pain to his chest, one he can’t explain, one that doesn’t make sense. Sometimes he calls granny and the pain goes away. Sometimes it gets worse.

When you’re in his room with him like this, he thinks it’s a different pain entirely.

Eventually your questions lull and Kita knows that this is his queue to start his schoolwork. He doesn’t have much to do, though. Instead he wants to ask a question of his own. You can tell, and you wait.

He doesn’t know how to phrase it, so he never asks. As a result, you never answer.

A week later the school allows them to pick clubs. Kita looks at the other hopeful kids as they play rock-paper-scissors for a spot for the popular sports: basketball, football, baseball. He eyes the groups that are smaller, have less interest. The running club looks crowded, so he makes his way over. He still has to do a round of rock-paper-scissors, and he’s one of the three who have to find another option. To his right is another small group, and he asks to join without knowing what they are. Volleyball, apparently. He’s not sure if he’ll be any good, but he figures it’s only for the year and he can try something different in fifth grade.

Volleyball, it turns out, is difficult. He learns how to receive a ball, but it flies in the opposite direction of where he wants it to go. He watches the other players, trying to understand how to improve himself.

Volleyball, it turns out, is technical and requires a lot of practice to sharpen his skills. He diligently attends practice, two days a week for fourth-graders. The coaches appreciate his efforts, how he runs his full laps and takes every suggestion seriously. Kita finds that he just enjoys the process of training, improving his abilities and caring for his body. His legs feel tired at the end of the day and it reminds him of running through the forest. It reminds him of his efforts, makes him feel good.

Volleyball, it turns out, is the perfect distraction. From you.

It becomes part of his routine, filling in the gaps of time that he normally finds himself waffling in, waiting for you. He learns to walk through everyday as if it’s the same, just himself, but allows it to shuffle when you make an appearance. 

Volleyball helps as he enters middle school and your visits lose frequency. Your lack of presence, however, makes the feeling of your gaze on him even stronger. He feels it every time he’s on the court—though he only ever plays games in practice. He in turn watches his teammates, their ticks and habits. He watches his opponents, offers notes to his team about patterns and flaws in their styles. He’s not a powerhouse like the standout players, doesn’t have any exceptional talent, and so despite his hard work and consistent practice, he doesn’t play a single game, doesn’t even receive a jersey.

You ask him about it one evening, on break before high school starts.

“Are you going to join the volleyball club?” you ask, to which he nods. It makes you hum as you sit on his bed. He can see the wall behind you, how it darkens slightly from the moisture of your form leaning against it. 

“I hope you get the chance to play more,” you tell him honestly. “I don’t know why they don’t let you.”

But it means nothing to him, that sort of attention and recognition. He just plays to play the game, do the drills, learn the mechanics—to take care of himself. You know this, but you like watching him, the way he watches the game, moves with it, into it.

He doesn’t say anything in response, knowing that you know what he thinks.

Instead of pushing further, you change the subject. “I’m not going to be able to visit very often,” you tell him. You sound regretful, and his chest is agitated. He thinks of the fires, happening at random across the country.

“I know,” he tells you. He could sense it, recognized the increasing infrequency of your presence. He wants to ask why, but he can’t get the words out, for whatever reason.

You look at him closely and say, “I’ll be around though.”

He nods at that. He knows.

Inarizaki is a prestigious school, known for academics and athletics alike. Kita makes it in easily with his grades, and joins the volleyball club despite knowing he will likely never play in a match. The coaches note that Kita is inexperienced in competition, but they know an asset when they see one. His skills are too sturdy, too well-practiced for Inarizaki to not take advantage of him.

During his first year, he hardly plays. Even so, he is the first at practice, one of the last ones to leave, and the most diligent athlete on the team. He runs the entire length of the track, finishes every rep during weight training, and completes every drill and penalty without complaint. The coaches find that he does not have star power—he is unassuming and ordinary—but he is exceptional in his efforts, and his efforts meet returns when it counts, when they need him on the court as his usual Kita-san.

Some of the older players tease him for his diligence, others admire him because of it. Everyone realizes that he pays no mind to what they think, only ever doing what he wants, what fits his values. He respects his elders even when he disagrees with them, but he is blunt with his fellow first years, unafraid to call out their behavior, especially if it contradicts something they’ve said before. Some say it’s rich coming from him, someone who only warms the bench.

Aran is the one who talks to him, one day in the locker room. A tense conversation between Michinari and Shinsuke unraveled earlier when Kita commented on how the libero attempted too many unpracticed receives in-game, that he should have stuck to underhand until he perfected his overhand off the court. Michi has a temper, and his frustration was pushed by the spiker’s comment. He shouted that Kita wouldn’t understand, that he hasn’t been put in a game, hasn’t had the opportunity to feel the pressures of expectation.

Aran lingered when the others filed out of the locker room—partially to make sure Kita was okay, and partially to suggest he cool it with the critique.

“Don’t take it to heart,” he offers. “Akagi-san gets bad nerves. He knows what he needs to do.”

“I don’t understand the point of being nervous,” Kita responds.

A machine, Aran thinks. This guy is a machine. He says as much, and thinks there’s truth to Michi’s comments, that Kita must not understand because he’s never played in a match that counted.

But Kita explains—that it doesn’t make sense if you’ve practiced the skills and know your capabilities. That it’s the same with eating, shitting even. He thinks Michi’s underhand receives are enough, that they have saved the ball from Inarizaki’s own powerhouses in practice. Why would he need to try anything else?

Aran’s eyes widen as Kita speaks, starting to understand his perspective. It becomes apparent that his criticism towards Michi was more of a poorly delivered compliment: that their first-year libero is enough as he is, that he could save them with the tools he knows—he doesn’t need miracles. This glimpse into Kita puts Aran’s teammate in a new light, recontextualizes his diligent attitude towards their training and the criticism he gives his peers. He trusts the process, knows that the results will follow suit.

Aran begins to notice how Kita fades to the back, his presence unassuming on its own. Kita does not play for recognition or adulation, he simply does what needs to be done. His diligence to get every ball in the air goes unnoticed when the flashy ace pulls an impressive cross against three blockers—a move that would not have been possible without Kita, committed behind him. But Kita doesn’t care, doesn’t ask for attention. 

Aran already held immense respect for his teammate, for his repetition, diligence, and perseverance. But now he feels a special type of awe when he watches him more closely.

Kita does not make a fuss of convincing others of his praiseworthy traits, but Aran takes it upon himself to point them out to his team, to give new context to Kita's seemingly harsh words. Slowly but surely, they will understand, too.

What Aran doesn’t know is that Kita feels like he has already been noticed and recognized, always has been and always will be, at every moment—by you.

(Your eyes continue to bore into him no matter where he is. They feel stronger the longer he goes without seeing you. Your visits are few and far between, but he has his routine, knows to follow it independently and let it shape around your irregularity.)

The following season, a handful of talented first years join, including a freakishly synchronized twin duo and a sly middle blocker. They fight with each other. Some of them cut corners. One particularly troublesome one likes to work himself through illness, inspiring misguided awe in other first years. Kita as a second year has no qualms scolding his teammates, now sometimes including his upperclassmen. The underclassmen pout and grumble while the elders know the intent resting behind his abrasion. 

You only visit him twice during the school year, both times at the hotel for nationals. The first is during the Interhigh National Tournament; he is sitting in the tub at the end of the day, running through his observations of other teams he saw, considering what would be useful to share with the others, to exploit. His head is resting on the ledge of the tub, staring at the blank ceiling as a canvas for him to visualize what he saw: bad crosses, a fragile ego, delayed timing for a back attack. He thinks about the team they’re playing tomorrow, the most imperative information to note. He thinks he should finish bathing so he can write it down.

When he straightens his head to look forward, he jolts in surprise, water splashing out and onto the bathroom floor.

You’re there, sitting on the other end of the bath in your misty form. Your eyes are wide, head turning to look at the puddles on the tile. Kita can’t even consider the mess, body tense at your proximity. He’s never been flustered around you before, never felt strange about his nakedness if you appeared after a bath. It’s been a long time since you’ve come from a bath. And this—this is a closeness and intimacy he has never imagined. You, sharing the water, right beside him. He is frozen when your eyes move back to his face.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you whisper, and he recalls another variable to add to the situation: Aran, likely still in their shared room.

Kita shakes his head, not knowing what to say. “You—” he stutters, unlike him. “What’re ya doin’.” Ever since middle school you only appeared in the rain. He didn’t know bathtubs were even still a…vessel of transportation.

You smile. “Good luck tomorrow.”

Kita blinks, torn between the urge to scold you, the urge to reach for you, and the urge to make you leave before Aran learns of your presence. He finds it exhausting, the way you pit these conflicting pieces of him against each other.

Instead he tells you, “I probably won’ play.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “You’re doing it right now.” The analysis of his opponents, you mean.

A sound at the door makes you jolt, the water softly rippling around you. It’s Aran, asking if things are okay. He doesn’t comment further, but he swears he hears the murmuring of voices.

Kita calls back that he’s fine, just about to get out and be done for the night. He gives you a look afterwards, a sign that you can’t stay. He wishes you could.

You surprise him by leaning forwards, reaching for him. He is suddenly swept into your chilly embrace, arms wrapping around his shoulders. His body is tense, on edge from the intimacy, but he only feels your body above the water, arms and chest and head as it settles into his neck. Despite your cold temperature, Kita's body heats at the contact.

“I’ll see you,” you say, and then you are mist, dispersing into the air.

When Kita exits the bathroom, Aran thinks for the first time that he looks amused—a mirth settled in his eyes and his lips slightly quirked.

A few months later during the Spring High Nationals, you appear in his room, again shared with Aran. Luckily the spiker is out for the moment, allowing Kita the freedom to speak with you. He’s getting dressed from the bath while you flop onto his bed. When he finishes he stands over you, inquiring why you came.

“To wish you luck again.”

Where you’re laying on the bed, his hand hangs by his hip only inches from your face. He is called to reach for it, hold it gently. He’s not sure why but this visit makes him uneasy, like it could be the last. He wonders if these are nerves.

The sound of the key opening the door interrupts his thinking. You have already faded into the air by the time Aran enters, followed by the twins barreling their way past him.

Atsumu (the obnoxious) immediately makes for Kita's bed. He flops down onto it, not unlike how you did minutes before, but immediately tenses and shrieks. He rolls himself off, pushing Kita back from where he was standing, all while shouting, “Kitaaa! Why’s it wet—”

Kita thinks he should thank you, next time you visit.

You don’t visit again.

Rather, Kita goes home to you. He decides to leave for break instead of sticking around for club practice, a choice he’s never made since he started volleyball. Something in him calls to visit granny. So at the end of March he boards the train headed towards the north station, and then hails a ride to the village. Granny is home when he arrives, and she marvels at how tall he is, not having seen him since she visited in middle school.

He towers over her small figure, awkwardly hunching in a hug. Granny says that he’ll be a big help with his height, and over the next day she sets him to dust the high shelves and put away dishes. She comments that he can move the table in the main room all on his own, no longer small, five year old Shin-chan.

The ease Kita feels in himself when he is here, with granny in the mountains, is undeniably because this is his home. He is malleable, shapeable to the life he’s lived in Osaka, but this is where he should be. He knows that when he enters this final year of high school, he will be given a sheet that asks for his three career plans. With his grades and diligent work ethic, he knows that he can put himself on any path and make it work. But in this moment, in granny’s embrace, the warmth of a home lined with screens and tatami, Kita knows that he wants to be here, no matter what.

That night he lays out his futon, smoothing out the creases and carefully lining it to be perpendicular with the wall. He smiles, this routine of preparing his bed one of many things he missed in the city. Before he lays down, he is overcome by the feeling of being watched. He turns to the screens that lead outside, towards the river. He walks over and opens them, looking into the darkness of the night.

The moon hangs low in the sky—a crescent, a smile. It shines softly on the water, Fujiwara-san’s house behind it, and the form of the mountains beyond. You aren’t there, but the river is misty, a bluish haze settling thickly on its surface.

In the morning he decides to go for a run, an attempt to maintain conditioning while he’s gone from practice. He goes left—west—towards your mountain.

The jog is peaceful, with March air cool and crisp against his skin. He is calmed by the sound of the water rushing next to him, running the opposite way. There are birds singing when he passes and a small hare jets by his feet. Running feels like a trip through his memory, recounting the times he tried to keep up with your pace, the adventures you went on together. He is running through the blue of wanderlust, along the breathing water and between the distant mountains, under the bright sky above him. He is running through the green of nostalgia, the lush vegetation, stalks of bamboo and solid trees, mostly oak and maple and chestnut, but occasionally the mysterious pine.

He is running to you.

It isn’t apparent until he reaches the end of the path, to that rock face at the foot of the mountain, and you are there—in the flesh—waiting in the river. The water is cold during spring, and yet you smile warmly, unfazed by the temperature. When he takes your hand to let you guide him through the water, through soft pine and hazy light, your touch is cool and refreshing against his—hot from exertion.His heart lurches at the contact, an inexplicable mix of tightness and lightness blooming in his chest. He can’t tell if it’s hollowing him out or overfilling him. It feels like hello and farewell all at once. There is a knot in his stomach, one that feels like nerves. It is exhilarating, magnetizing, like falling into you completely. He lets himself. He has no other option.

You come back with him to granny’s and have breakfast together. She doesn’t say anything, only calls you “dear” and thanks you for your help cleaning up. She does not mention Fujiwara and neither do you. Kita feels whole, sitting on the floor at this table.

At night you sit and watch as he prepares his futon. He looks at you and asks, “D’ya need one?”

You shake your head, smiling. “Don’t sleep.”

He nods before getting up to turn off the light. He opens the soft blanket and lays down. He turns to you, hesitating. He wants to know if you’re staying, if you’ll be here all night. Part of him wants to invite you to lay next to him.

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you curiously.

You are smiling over him, as always. One of your hands reaches to smooth back his hair and he softens. Even with your skin always cold, his body will forever warm at your touch.

These days continue and Kita feels light, enjoying time with you, as a person. His questions fade after he succumbs to focusing on soaking in your presence. It feels good, not unlike the satisfaction of completing his daily rituals.

He looks at you closely, the way you’ve grown with him. You are still smiling, still diligent in ways that he initially failed to see as a five year old. Watchful, joyful. He doesn’t feel the smile on his face, a small one that granny notices. You are smiling too, as you take dishes he’s finished washing and run a rag across their surface. You miss some spots, little droplets sticking to the ceramic. Some fly off and land on the floor and counter.

Kita is entirely at ease. It is quaint, quiet, content.

After a few moments, you suddenly pause your drying and turn thoughtfully, towards the river. Kita watches as the faintest furrow appears between your brows, your face both pensive and concerned. You drop the rag on the counter and step away. He stares curiously, still scrubbing a plate.

“I’ll be back in a second,” you say. Nothing else, no unnecessary information. 

Fear germinates in his chest, his heartbeat picking up speed. Granny smiles at him, reassured. He wonders how she retains her calm demeanor.

When nearly ten minutes pass and you don't return, Kita tells granny he’s going to check on you. She nods in understanding as he slips on his sandals and exits through the genkan. He spots you immediately, standing between the house and the river. You’re facing the northern mountains with a frown on your face. Kita realizes this is the first time he’s seen you anything but joyful.

You answer his silent question when he stands beside you, “There’s something wrong.”

“In the forest?” he clarifies. You nod, looking onwards. He watches you for a silent minute, the way you study the sky over the ridge. 

“I think…” you start. Pause. “You should leave, with your gran. And everyone else.”

Kita's brow furrows as he looks at you skeptically. You turn to him, eyes unwavering. You never look this serious. Always nosy, unnecessary questions. Lighthearted. Messes on the floor.

“Shinsuke,” you say firmly. He startles at the sound of his full name. “Tell everyone there’s a fire—in the northern mountains. I’ll try to keep it at bay, but it’s spreading. By the time they see it, it’ll be too late. If you can evacuate the houses on the other side of the river before it’s visible, things should be okay.”

He feels a strike in his lungs, like he’s gasping for breath. He wants to ask for details, but you’ve made it clear there’s no time. You are grabbing him, your cool hand holding his wrist, as you start towards the bridge in a run. He is momentarily brought back to his sixth birthday, running behind you as you guide him along the path to the base of a mountain—your mountain. He remembers thinking that running behind you was fun.

This time you are serious, almost panicked, bringing him across the river and pointing at the houses, which ones he should evacuate first. The ones with the oldest people. Fujiwara-san is one of them. You let go of his hand and run, sprint towards the base of the mountain. He feels panicked, wondering how long it’ll take for you to come back. What it means for you to keep the fire at bay. You fade away, the blue of distance settling between you two, mistiness.

The next moments are a blur. He knocks on doors and is greeted by elders he hasn’t seen in years, ready to exclaim at how he’s grown. Their coos are interrupted by his apologies, an explanation that he got news of a wildfire and wants to make sure people have time to evacuate. He suggests that they get into their cars and head east near the highway, and to wait for official advice for next steps. He says the words, but they don’t fully register when his mind is still occupied with the memory of you sprinting to the danger. The families look at him skeptically, but they get a move on when they remember this is Shin-chan, the quiet and good-natured village boy.

He makes his way down the homes to relay the news. He asks neighbors to tell the others, and to call emergency services. There are 26 homes on this side of the river, and by the time he knocks on half the doors, smoke hangs over the mountains. No fire is in sight, but the signs are there. It makes the next conversations much quicker, and he is relieved as he watches cars pile out towards the highway.

Suddenly an alarm starts blaring. The emergency intercoms spaced along the neighborhood release a sharp and repeating warning sound. A deep voice calls out between the noise, commanding evacuation. Kita's breath is labored from the exertion of running between houses, but his chest feels lighter knowing that his responsibility has been lifted.

By the time he crosses the bridge back to granny’s home, the sky has darkened significantly, black smog blowing along and spewing upwards. There’s the slight lick of a flame creeping over the ridge and he feels his heart begin to gallop. His stomach clenches roughly when his mind flashes with images of the western mountain forest, deer and wolves and rabbits and birds. Flowers and pine and ferns. He glances that way and sees that it’s still untouched, for now.

He runs inside granny’s, calling for her to get in a neighbor’s car, since she doesn’t own one herself. She stands slowly, at her elderly pace, and Kita is restless as he helps her exit the house as quickly as she can. He takes another glance at the mountains and his heart plummets at the sight. The fire has crept over the ridge, and he can hear the distant crackling as it runs forward. Kita's eyes trail down to a figure by the bank on the opposite end of the river and recognizes you. His chest constricts with relief and concern at the sight. He tells granny to walk down to the next door neighbor, to see if she can evacuate with them. He has to lower his head to her ear so he can be heard over the sounds of the sirens and the voice on the intercom.

He starts jogging towards the bridge, to cross it, but you yell his name. It’s loud and fierce, a demand to stay put. It has a firmness that forces him to listen.

His feet stop, now directly across from you. He can see your face, the intensity in your glare. You’ve never looked at him this way.

“Don’t come!” you yell, voice almost lost over the commotion.

Kita is frowning, brow furrowed and mouth open in disbelief. He doesn’t have time to yell back before you continue.

“You have to go, Shin!” You shout. Kitas chest is heavy, and his shoulders are rigid. The flames are growing closer, rolling down the mountain. There’s a gust of wind and it blows the smoke towards the village. He can feel the heat of the burning forest.

Suddenly there are popping sounds, loud like fireworks squealing and shooting through the air. He doesn’t understand where they’re coming from, what they mean. They don’t stop, ringing through the valley and compounding with the blaring alarms, the warning voice on the speakers.

Kita doesn’t want to leave. When he looks at you, the despaired expression on your face and the many layers of hurt—layers he doesn’t understand, has never understood because he never asked—he knows that he can’t leave you. He has to do something, he is restless, like a child waiting for something that has no regular pattern, no rhyme or reason to be there in the first place. You, visiting him in Osaka.

But you won’t have any of it. “GO, SHIN!” you yell, voice booming—akin to a clap of thunder. The popping and splintering noises grow louder, and it strikes him that they are from the bamboo at the base of the mountain, the moisture in their chambers expanding enough to turn into deadly explosives. He sees a flock of birds lift from the forest behind you and fly east.

He tastes salt—tears, rolling down his cheeks and through his open lips. His voice is choked as he yells back in a desperate attempt for you to leave with him.

“I’m yer burden,” he reminds you, face scrunched in pain. His voice isn’t as loud as it should be, for you to hear him across the river. But he knows you can anyways, knows that you know he means don’t leave me, I’m the one you’re supposed to look after.

You smile sadly. He can’t tell if you’re crying too, but he can feel the same pain on your end. Your voice is equally too quiet to be heard when you respond, but it rings clearly in his mind.

“But I’m not yours.”

Your gaze is looking behind him, beyond him. He turns and his eyes widen, spotting granny slowly making her way down the path. His stomach churns—she didn’t catch the neighbor driving away. She’s coughing, unable to walk at the same time. With the smoke blowing over and granny’s old lungs, she can’t carry onwards alone. Kita hears himself curse and he rushes to her side, no hesitation as he lifts her frail body against his chest. Her head lands against his neck—her hair soft against his—and she coughs another long fit. He knows he has to leave. 

He takes one last glance at you, then at the fire crawling towards the now-emptied homes on your side of the river. The heat is increasing, blowing towards him with more smoke and ash. Five deer appear from the woods behind you and run across the bridge. You are staring at him, urging him to follow their example. He knows that he has to take care of granny, but he thinks this is the most pain he’s ever felt, buried deep in his chest. It’s the kind of pain that comes from hollowness, recognition that something vital is missing and yet somehow life is forcing him onwards regardless. He doesn’t know why this tension is there, when there’s a clear job for him to do, to do well. His face pinches, another round of tears welling before he blinks and turns to run down the path.

In this moment, he summons that unwavering confidence he has in himself. Not one of arrogance, but from the knowledge of what he is capable of, what he does everyday without failure. He runs east along the river, clutching his grandmother close. He tells himself this is any normal day of training, running to improve his endurance for volleyball. He is running besides Suna-san, who’s looking for a shortcut. He is running behind you, on your way to explore the enchanted section of pine in the mountain.

He is a toddler, carried along the path next to the river by his grandmother, seeing a mysterious child his age standing in the water. He asks who it is, pointing to a figure that granny can’t see. She tells him that he’ll learn one day, when the time is right.

He is sprinting down the same path, through smoke billowing over the valley erupting from a fire to his left, separated only by a river. Separated by you.

The honk of a car sounds behind him, a noise he barely catches with the sirens and the voices and the explosions pounding around him. He turns and sees the car of another neighbor, ushering him to get in. He veers to his left, letting the vehicle pull up beside him, and he yanks the door open, climbing inside with granny still against his chest. They lurch forwards as the driver steps on the gas and Kita guides granny to the seat beside him, reaching over to buckle her in. The interior blasts cool air and Kita is handed a water bottle.

“The fire department’s tellin’ people to evacuate to the next city,” the neighbor says. Kita nods numbly in response, unscrewing the bottle and helping granny take a few sips. She still coughs, but they’re smaller, less frequent.

With granny somewhat stable, Kita looks out the window to his left, facing the burning mountains. The car nears the ramp to the highway, starting up a mountain east of the fire. It gives him a clear view of homes being swallowed, Fujiwara-san’s one of the first.

Kita is breathless at the sight, reminded of everything these people will lose. He recalls what is already lost: the forest, the animals, the delicate combination of life that dwells in this valley. He thinks your mountain will be lost too, watching as the fire creeps west.

The popping sounds are dwindling, with the fire moving past the burnt bamboo sections and the car speeding away from the scene of destruction. But it is not quiet. There is a sudden clap of thunder that rumbles, long and gritty and deep. Kita watches as winds blow ferociously. Untouched trees sway while burning ones topple from the force. The sky is dark, a mix of smoke and storm clouds, though Kita isn’t sure when the storm began to form. He can see the water falling from the sky, blown at a sharp angle from the strength of the wind. It pelts over the mess of heat, releasing bouts of swirling steam into the air, to condense back into rain clouds.

As the car climbs higher up the mountain and the road, Kita watches the battle unfold before him. The power of rain as it fights the flames of red and gold eating the landscape. He watches the mist rising at the contact between elements, the water evaporating on impact.

He sees you in his room, that first time in Osaka when you were startled by a knock on the door. The way you went poof and disappeared.

They house granny in Osaka, taking over Kita's sister's room since she's at university in Tokyo. Kita is the one who looks after granny most carefully. It reminds him of caring for his brother when he first came to the city. He learns that granny’s house wasn’t caught in the fire. The river was an effective barrier and the rain came in time to manage any embers that had gotten blown over. The reports on the event stated that it was a miraculous storm, one that came from nowhere, completely unpredicted. It was an eventual downpour, enough to contain the fire within minutes and smother it completely in less than a half-hour. Footage from a helicopter shows the water rushing down the gullies and pouring into the river. With it carried embers, soot, ash, all piling together and flowing downstream. The next town down the river reported black water filled with sediment. A truck came in to deliver hundreds of cases of bottled water.

Aerial images reveal that nearly every house on the northern bank was claimed, only a few saved towards the east. He sees photos of the destruction. Your forest didn’t manage to escape in time, the fire stealing your enchanted pine. He wonders if you could have saved it if you didn’t prioritize his home.

There was one death: a backpacker, the person everyone believes is responsible for the disaster. Her body was completely charred, things almost entirely unidentifiable. Emergency services only picked out the metal of a stove—the decided perpetrator.

Kita has no time to grieve, with only a week before school starts again. After helping granny get situated in the house, he immediately goes to practice as a distraction. His teammates are appalled at the news, offering pats on the back and words of condolences, sighs of relief that he was lucky to leave in time.

But they don’t know what he lost. Not just the forest and the mountains, or the ability to visit his real home for months at the earliest. Even with the fire out there may be coals smoldering underground, or dangerous air wafting in the sky. The mountains won’t be green for at least a year, needing time for seeds to take root and sprout, needing seasons to accumulate rich dirt again. There’s no telling how long it will take for animals to return, birds to nestle back into shrubs or rodents to burrow again. The wolves and the deer are surely gone, evacuated to the next viable plot of land.

These aren’t the worst of his losses. What grasps his heart tightly, enough that sometimes he struggles to breathe, is the sight of you running into that smothering roll of flames. The loss of your eyes watching over him.

He dreams of fire, of heat and searing pain. His mind flashes with streaks of red and orange, billowing greys behind it. He hears the crackling of a burning forest and the popping of erupting bamboo. He wakes up panicked some nights, coated in sweat from the searing sensations he conjures in his sleep. In these moments he thinks it would help if he could be with you, your body always cool and damp, the sort of comfort that eases him, that could put out the fires of fear that grasp him.

A week later during practice, coach hands out jerseys. Kita is called first, given the number 1—captain. He blinks in surprise, having expected it to go to Aran. Nonetheless he takes the jersey and the title, and sits on the gym floor. He doesn’t register that he’s crying until he sees the teardrops fall onto the fabric, little spots of grey appearing where it was originally white.

He can hear Suna’s comment about the unfeeling robot showing emotion. He doesn’t care. He sniffles. There is a warmth in his heart that he hasn’t felt the past two weeks. He doesn’t understand where it comes from, why this of all things brings him comfort.

He tries to explain while walking home with Aran.

“I tend to agree with the adults…that the journey is more important than the destination.” His words remind him of granny at home, the way her hair skipped over his dad and went straight to him. The ace turns to him curiously, not sure what he’s getting at.

“I am built upon the small things I do everyday, and the end results are no more than a byproduct of that.”

He’s not good enough to go pro or make a living off volleyball. He just does what needs to be done, what fits into his routine—taking care of his body, cleaning up after himself, being courteous, and…volleyball. He holds up this jersey, looks at how it’s branded with 1, the captain’s number.

“Maybe this is just another result of the things I do.”

Aran blinks, stutters for a moment when he realizes what Kita is implying. “Don’t just—don’t sweat the small stuff! You don’t have to have some sort of logic behind your feelings!! If you’re happy, then you’re happy…that’s it!”

They hold eye contact after Aran’s outburst, and then Kita erupts into laughter. The ace watches his captain skeptically, not intending for his heartfelt advice to be amusing. His shoulders slump when he realizes this is the hardest he’s seen Kita laugh, ever.

Kita is reminded of all those times he couldn’t understand what he was feeling, why he was being drawn to do something he knew he logically didn’t want. All the moments he saw you and felt skeptical of the questions he wanted to ask, the embrace he wanted to pull you in, the warmth he felt in your presence—the way his brain and his logic denied him something he wanted, because there was no explicable reason for it. He thinks of the way you left, the way it hurt like no injury he’s ever lived through. He thinks of the lack of your gaze following him since just two weeks ago, the way he misses it but refuses to admit to it.

“You’re right,” he tells Aran.

By the time school is ending and he plays his final match, you are still not watching him. He feels the eyes of his granny and the eyes of his school on his back. The brooding eyes of Karasuno are on him when he is subbed for Aran in the second set. But yours are still missing.

He, however, has his eyes on his team the entire game, picking out their mistakes and what he knows is the misguided thinking behind them: Gin’s impatience, Atsumu and Osamu’s carelessness, Suna’s laziness. He stands behind them, the defense specialist who will receive the ball, and the one who’s eyes linger on their backs. He is watching them. He is like the lingering mist that wafts behind them, telling them that someone will see, whether they work hard until the very end, or let themselves succumb to their impulses. 

Kita has lived his entire life under your careful gaze. To cope with its absence, he has learned to become the omnipresent eyes backing up his team.

Adulthood

Granny always told him that someone was watching, and your gaze was proof. But at some point he realized that he wasn’t doing it for the spirits, that it didn’t matter either way. His work ethic would be the same even if you never saw him. This realization holds more weight when it is carried out in practice, Kita living his life with the same repetition, perseverance, and diligence in your absence. It makes him feel good, eases the emptiness. So he does it well, and he does it everyday.

He graduates at the top of his class, with grades that could get him into any university, launch him into any career he could imagine. And yet when the year passes and granny says she wants to return to the valley, Kita knows where he will go.

When he pulls into the neighborhood, his eyes are glued to the mountain. There are still trees and bamboo standing, though they are charred corpses. Debris of coals and fallen leaves litter the ground, coating the forest in brown and black. A light layer of green sits atop the earthy tones, sprigs of saplings and shrubs breaking the surface. Kita’s chest expands at the sight, a glimmer of hope.

There are only a few other neighbors who have returned, most still with family in the city. Kita speaks with some of them and gathers that they figure it’s a sign to leave the countryside—to better opportunities and a more convenient life. He wonders what will happen to this village if everyone decides to flee, who will take the land. Maybe the government will turn it into a Hyogo heritage site, a place people will flock to as a sort of pilgrimage. To see the brittle remains of homes and the earth’s attempt at recovery.

Kita knows that he wants to stay here, that granny does too. He’s not sure how it’ll work, but he can’t imagine himself anywhere else. His parents are skeptical, figuring that he’ll make an attempt only to eventually fold for a city job, but they forget that one of Kita’s life pillars is perseverance. He will find a way.

The way opens itself to him the following day. The April air is cool when he goes for a midday walk, crossing the bridge to the burned edge of the river. He trails along the slight incline towards the skeleton of Fujiwara’s home. There is only the charred foundation and a couple ragged beams standing upright, the rest collapsed into rubble. For a moment he can imagine you, running from the back door and into the front room with a bundle of grapes. He hears the distant whispers of Fujiwara’s protests as he follows slowly.

Kita walks to the once-veranda, experimentally standing on the elevated foundation. The charred wood creaks beneath him, but feels sturdy enough to hold. He carefully ambles along the collapsed room, scanning the damage. He manages to cross the house and reach the back exit, and he pauses at the sight.

The ground outside is similarly littered with earthy debris, patchy with occasional new grasses and saplings. Fujiwara’s garden is gone, no more grape trellises or rows of starches. But there is a small square, less than a tsubo, dug into the dirt. Kita knows what this sort of sunken patch means, has seen them in some of the neighbors’ backyards growing up, flooded and filled with lines of grassy crop. He steps carefully from the foundation of the house and curiously stands over the square, imagining the rice that would be planted at the end of the month.

He hears footsteps from near the house and turns to see Mayumi-san, the one who drove Kita and granny out of the valley during the fire. She looks healthy despite being in her seventies, carrying a shovel and a hoe as she makes her way over.

“Ah, Shin-chan,” she greets him. “S’been a while, good to see ya again. What’re ya doin’ out here?”

He bows slightly as he greets her and explains that he was exploring the neighborhood, since he only just returned. He asks about the rice garden.

“I was testin’ to see how it’d grow, since the ash can help sometimes,” she explains. “I came back early after the fire, n’Fujiwara said I could use his yard since he’s probably stayin’ in the city with his daughter.”

An excitement sparks in Kita’s chest, like something clicked into place. He’s not sure what it is exactly, but he presses her. “How’d it do?”

Mayumi smiles, one that looks devilish and would be frightening if he wasn’t accustomed to seeing it. “Shit’s the best yield I’ve ever had. M’gonna try to dig a few more plots, maybe sell ‘em at the city markets.”

This is his way, he realizes. He sees the shovel in her right hand and hoe in the left and speaks before he can register the words. “Y’want any help?”

The rest of April is spent preparing the land with Mayumi and pouring over books on agriculture. He soaks in his elder’s expertise on the subject, in the abstract and the field. When the end of the month rolls around and the two of them begin sowing seeds, Kita thinks that for the first time since your absence that he feels whole. He is here in the valley, between your two homes, dedicating himself to the land that you led him through as a child. He thinks he can feel your presence while working, your hands misting over his, transplanting seedlings with him. The rains that come in are well timed, bringing rushing water down the mountain to flood the few squares of crops.

The days pass with granny, some quick and others slow. She does well in the village, with other people her age, though the company is sparse. Kita can sense that it’s hard for her sometimes, but like himself she is malleable to her environment, can make do as long as she has her routines. Her lungs aren’t as strong as they used to be, but she enjoys her walks and can maintain the chores—the ones Kita lets her.

When September comes in, Kita and Mayumi spend one sunny day harvesting. Kita wields his scythe carefully, the movement unpracticed. He grasps the dry stalks and runs the blade across the taut stems, bundling them on the ground to be collected. They gather the clumps and carry them to the house next to Mayumi’s—another neighbor who hasn’t returned since evacuation. 

Mayumi prepares a sheet across the main room for them to work on. Then they thresh the harvest, grabbing the bundles and smacking them against the floor, pelts of rice springing off the stems. Kita is reminded of water, of rain splashing against the surface of the river. When all the stalks have been emptied, they spread the seeds of gold with their hands, like smoothing the creases of a futon. The day’s work is over, now waiting for the crop to dry. They exit, leaving a few of the screens open to let new waves of dry air flow through.

Kita finds these processes fulfilling, like his own daily routine. It’s another series of tasks that can be learned and done well. The result is his own sustenance, something he can live off of and share with others. It tastes better, he thinks, once he’s experienced the entire journey.

He tells his old teammates that he’ll be in Osaka next month for the markets. They only have a few dozen bags to sell, but he wants to get his friends’ opinions.

The markets are energetic and amiable. Kita shares with curious shoppers the story of the valley, how the burned houses and their backyards left ash that the rice took to. People find the narrative compelling, and they buy the rice despite the hefty price tag. Other vendors are interested, some make purchases to try in their food. Kita enjoys the atmosphere, the way these people and their businesses are connected. He and Mayumi manage to sell all the rice they brought. It’s hardly a profit, but it’s promising.

The next day Kita is in the Miya’s home with the additional company of Suna and Gin. They talk about life, preparation for nationals, what they’re thinking of doing when school ends. Atsumu is going pro, taking volleyball as far as he can. Osamu is ending it here, contemplating career options. He says he’s looking for restaurant jobs; he wants to be a chef.

“Yer gonna be a farmer, huh?” Atsumu asks, laying back on the couch. “It suits ya, that simple life.”

Kita nods. “Knew I needed to take care of granny, that I was gonna be in the valley anyways. One of the neighbors was growing some an’ I asked to help—wanted to see what it was like. S’gonna take time, but we’re gonna try to get the land from the neighbors, see if we can apply for subsidies ‘cause of the fire. Then we’ll try t’upscale. The market yesterday was good.”

Gin sighs, “Ever the considerate and diligent Shin-chan.”

“The rice is good,” Osamu interjects. “It’d be good for onigiri.”

It is, it turns out. After three years, Osamu decides to leave the restaurant he started working for out of highschool and open his own onigiri store. Kita is their main rice supplier, and a customer who never has to pay. They have classic flavors in the beginning: tuna mayo, pickled plum, ikura. When Kita comes with his next delivery, Osamu sits him in the dining room and has him try new options. The former captain takes his job as taste-tester seriously, his diligence appreciated by the former spiker. They decide that the shrimp and beef flavors are ready to be sold, but the chicken needs reworking.

Kita gets into his truck that evening and drives home. The sun sets by the time he enters the valley, winding through roads in the black darkness. When he arrives at granny’s and exits the car, he sees that the sky is beautifully clear. The Milky Way spreads itself over the northern mountains, where life is still recovering, slowly but surely. He takes in the view for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet noise of the night—soft rushing water from the river, chirping insects, occasional wind.

He notices the blinking lights that cross the expanse of stars: planes and satellites. He sighs, remembering a time when he could sit on the top of the mountain and witness an unobscured view of the sky, taking up the entirety of his visual landscape.

Suddenly there is a shooting star, the most intense he’s ever seen. It’s a bright flash of light, he thinks for a moment white and orange and pink, that darts from the east and disappears as it curves west. Its trajectory gives the illusion that if it touched the ground, it would land on your mountain, that special enchanted forest.

After a few more minutes of watching, of relishing the awe, he makes his way inside. Granny is asleep, so he heads straight to bed.

When he wakes the next morning, for the first time in years—since that fire crawled along an entire mountain and you left to put an end to it—he feels the prickly sensation that he’s being watched.

Life doesn’t change with you watching him. Life didn’t change when you stopped. It’s something he knew, something you knew. He carries onwards, his routine of life, one that he does well and does everyday. He and Mayumi expand the fields again, creeping their business along the length of the river. Kita slowly takes on more farm responsibility, knowing enough to work independently when Mayumi needs to rest with increasing frequency. Granny is similar—she likes to help sometimes, with the easier work, but her lungs still struggle, never fully recovered.

It’s a beautiful morning, with cool air entering the house and light diffusing through the shoji. He can hear the birds and the rustling of leaves outside when he wakes, blinking away the lingering visions of orange and red from his dreamscape. He opens the screen towards the river while he puts away his futon and prepares for the day.

Granny isn’t in the main room as per usual. Kita pays it no mind, assuming she’ll be in soon. He makes breakfast and waits for her. She doesn’t come in on time. Kita stands to search, thinking she may have missed the time.

He enters her room and sees she’s still sleeping. He crouches over her to gently rock her awake, but there is no response. At that moment he realizes she is not breathing, not making a sound. He freezes, feels his heart plummet. He carefully lifts her hand from under the blankets—still warm—and checks to see if there’s a pulse. It’s quiet, flat.

He moves slowly, processing, sitting back on his heels next to her. His throat is tight and his chest—it’s hard to breathe. He shakily inhales through his nose and holds her hand in both of his. There’s a stinging behind his eyes and suddenly he is crying, weeping openly as he holds onto her. Death is the logical consequence of living, one of the only certainties of life; knowing this does not make Kita’s loss any less painful. While the hurt sits heavily in his chest, there is a growing spark of gratitude for her, that they were able to spend the beginning of his life and the end of her’s together.

Granny’s passing brings her closer to Kita, in a way. He feels that there are now two pairs of eyes on him, watching over him. When he looks in the mirror and sees his grey hair, granny’s hair, he thinks that he will always be a piece of her living on, that it’s his duty to live earnestly for her. He makes a shrine for her in one of the rooms of the house, placing her urn in the center. It is a beautiful grey clay, narrow and unglazed. A black thread ties the lid to the body.

She becomes another part of his routine, sitting before her remains and her images with his hands clasped and eyes closed.

Life goes on.

A month later he is in the field, tending to his crop. It’s late in the day, when the sun is near setting. The pink of the sky reflects onto the flooded beds, interrupted by sprigs of green. He inhales, appreciating the scenery, before exhaling and continuing his work. When he looks up a moment later, he is frozen by the sight.

There’s a wolf, large and grey, like the first one he saw as a child in the pine forest. He is not afraid, but in awe. A wolf returning means there’s prey: rabbits and deer. It means the forest is recovering, that creatures are finding their way back. He takes in the strong figure of the predator in front of him, sturdy and confident. A movement flashes in his peripheral, three pups catching up. Shin notices that one is nearly white, standing out from the others. He thinks of himself in Osaka, with his relatives.

When the pups catch up, the mother turns away and carries on.

Kita finishes his work before the sun fully sets. A light rain begins, clouds absorbing the vivid hues of sunfall, and he hurries to collect his tools before crossing the bridge home. The drizzling turns into solid pelting by the time he makes it to the empty house. He turns back briefly, squinting through the water collecting in his eyelashes, to see how long the downpour will last.

There’s a figure, at the other side, and his eyes widen in shock. He drops his tools and takes a few hurried steps closer, searching for confirmation.

Through the rain he can see you, standing at the other bank. You are smiling, he can tell, with your shoulders pulled upwards as if embarrassed. He thinks he is dreaming, that this is impossible. You, in flesh and bones, standing in front of the remnants of Fujiwara’s once home. He does not realize that he is smiling back, eyes crinkling and collecting water—his own tears as they spill—and grin spanning impossibly wide. His chest feels like it’s lifting, floating him in the air, to you on the other side.

Suddenly you are running forwards, not towards the bridge, but down the bank, to cross the water. Kita’s face flashes with concern and he starts down his own side, slipping through the mud. By the time he reaches the shore you have swum halfway across, long confident strokes despite the speed of the current. Kita marches forward, water touching his waist when he finally reaches you. He grabs your outstretched hand and tugs you into him, engulfing you in his chest and arms. You are as cold as the water surrounding him, but his body explodes with warmth at the contact, at finally being with you.

His heart races as he clutches you close, in an iron grip that refuses to relent. He thinks he hears you laugh against him, and he chokes out some strangled mixture of a laugh and sob. The water makes it hard for him to stand steady, so he brings one arm beneath you to lift you from the sediment and carry you to the bank. There he sets you down and grabs your waist firmly, staring at you with disbelief. You are smiling with all the glee in the world, eyes nearly closed by the force of it.

“I made it, Shin-chan.”

He doesn’t know what that means, but he thinks of the shooting star and the wolf, the rice fields filling easily without additional irrigation.

You lean forwards and wrap your arms over his shoulders, clutching him close. His arms come around your waist and he thinks he can recognize his feelings: relief and homecoming. There is a fullness, one that is close to painful, a pain he had been living with for years in your absence. He pulls you up the bank, to bring you into the house. He leaves his tools out, to be dealt with tomorrow, and goes straight for the genkan. 

You try to protest when he passes the spigot, “Shin, the mud—”

But he doesn’t care, kicking off his boots to be cleaned later. The mixture of river water and mud splatter on the tile of the genkan, leaving brown puddles and smears. Kita removes his socks and drops them behind him, letting his clean feet be the barrier between himself and the floor. He carries you to the bathroom, to deal with the mess together.

At night you are in his room, watching him set up the futon. He looks at you to ask, “D’ya need one?”

You shake your head, smiling. “Let’s share.”

His heart pounds loudly in his ears. He nods quickly and pushes the blanket aside for the two of you. He clutches you close under the soft comforter, your head slotting snugly in the space of his neck. It sends a shiver down his spine, the chilliness, but it coats him in warmth. He can feel his heart still racing, never fully calmed since seeing you. He feels those questions and thoughts bubbling up, words he always found unnecessary to say. Something about this moment lets him release them, lets him be curious about you.

“Didn’t know if I’d ever see ya again,” he says quietly, into your hair.

You nestle your head further into his neck. He can feel your lips against his throat as you speak. “It took a lot from me, the fire. Always need time to recover.”

His hand comes up to cradle your head, smoothing through your hair.  The image of the rainstorm flashes before him, the way the clouds swarmed from a previously blue sky to pour everything it had—everything you had—to put out the fire. He remembers the awe he felt, the sublimity of the view from a car fleeing the scene.

He doesn’t dream that night, his mind like an empty gulley, letting the soothing rainwater rush through him.

He cleans up after himself in the morning, retrieving his tools and mopping the genkan. It takes a while, though, interrupting his work several times to check that you are still in his room. You haven’t risen by the time he finishes making breakfast. A panic sits in his chest as he enters to wake you. You are still asleep, and he relaxes when he sees the steady rise and fall of your chest beneath the covers.

He sits on his knees beside you and gives your body a gentle rock. Your eyes peel open after a moment of stirring, and you are already smiling. Kita thinks it brightens the room more than the sun streaming in, that life is breathed into him from you.

You notice the granny’s shrine at breakfast. After assisting with cleanup, you ask if the small urn is all the ashes he has of her. He shakes his head and shows you the drawer in the display, where a box lays with the majority of her cremated remains.

“I wasn’ sure where t’put her,” he tells you.

You have an idea.

Only a few minutes later the two of you are exiting through the genkan, dressed for a day in the woods. Kita has a backpack on, the box from the shrine tucked safely inside. He lets you take the lead, turning left down the path and towards the western mountain. He is reminded of his sixth birthday, running to the end of the dirt road for the first time, panting to keep up with you. This time you are calmly walking hand in hand, in no hurry. Kita squeezes yours tightly, a necessary action to express the feeling in his heart.

You smile at him, and bring his hand to your mouth, kissing the back of it. Kita inhales in surprise and you watch his ears turn red, giggling at the sight.

When you two reach the end of the road, the rock face is still standing sturdy. He can see burned trees standing at the base, your mountain not untouched by the disaster. However, like the other forests, it is recovering, hope sprouting in the form of ferns and saplings. He sees a rabbit scurry away and a soft smile crosses his face.

You head first down the bank and into the water as usual, him following with his hand in yours. The cool water creeps up, only up to his knees now that he is grown. The water is easier to navigate in his adult body, and he effortlessly steps up the rocks to the forest floor, ones he used to scramble over on his hands and feet. The ground crunches beneath him. There is a patchy layer of pine needles—short ones—spreading along. The ground is not fluffy from decades of accumulation, but it’s a start. Small saplings bring bursts of fresh green, prickly when he brushes against them. The ferns hide beneath them, avoiding the scorching sun.

History repeats itself as you pull him forwards, along the river and through the early rebirth of the enchanted pine forest. The fallen tree that once served as a bridge is miraculously intact, though the top is scorched and he feels unsteady walking to the other side.

Wandering through the forest is another type of home. He hadn’t taken it upon himself to explore since returning, not wanting to disrupt the delicate healing of the ecosystem. He trusts you, though, and the path you’ll lead him to experience the land without damaging it further.

He notices that you are taking him to a section that he hasn’t been often, not a regular spot during your times together as kids. But it makes sense when you arrive at the small clearing and he sees the massive pine from his memory. It is thick with twisting branches, sturdy. Some of them are blackened from the fire, but others are coated in fresh needles, long and green, waving gently in the wind. He is surprised he hasn’t seen this miracle before, from the house. Maybe the distance obscured the view.

Kita walks slowly to the base of the tree and looks up towards its canopy. He can see the contrast of the charred and ashy sections of trunk against the rich brown of its healthy, resilient branches. The green shines brightly against the black and grey, proud of its revival.

He shrugs his backpack from his shoulders, understanding that this is where granny should be. He lowers to his knees before he unzips the bag and carefully removes the box. It’s a light wood, with tan streaks running along the grain. Pine, he thinks to himself in disbelief.

He slowly unlatches the box and sets it on the bed of brown needles near the trunk. There’s a plastic bag inside, tied with a simple overhand knot. He undoes it gently, slowly unfurling it to roll open and over the edge of the box. It’s the first time he’s looking at her remains, he realizes, and he notices that they are grey, grey ash with clumps of small black coals.

You watch as he moves slowly, cupping soft remains in his calloused hands.

“It’s like your hair,” you say.

He cries, letting out soft, ragged breaths between quick inhales. His weeping lasts the entirety of the time it takes him to spread the ashes at the base of the tree, where it meets the ground. When he finishes you crouch behind him and wrap your arms around his torso. He continues to cry. You feel it, his chest heaving with grief and mourn, love and gratitude. He brings his palms to his eyes to wipe the tears, but they continue to fall, splatter the earth beneath him with feeling.

You listen quietly as his sobs fill the space between rustling leaves and distant cooing birds. Eventually you take one hand from his torso to rub his back slowly, soothingly. 

His noises eventually lull, quieting to the occasional sniffle. He gently pushes the bag into the pine box and then slowly closes the lid and does the clasp. He returns it to the backpack with careful, practiced motions. Your arms release him when you sense he wants to stand. He turns around to face you, you and the valley below.

He watches you closely, runs his eyes over your face, eyes and nose and lips. He wants to memorize your soft smile, the way it warms him like the sun.

You bring your hands to his cheeks, their coolness refreshing after crying so heavily. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes, soaking in the contradicting ways you make him feel—this tug between heat and cold. He feels you press a kiss on his temple, then the other. They’re smeared with the grey ash and black coals, transferring the dust onto your lips. He sighs, in peace, and brings his hands to cover yours. 

When he opens his eyes once more, he looks behind you through the space between the trees, to the valley below him, spanning wide. He is reminded of the thousands of years it took these mountains to form, the thousands of years it took for the forest to grow on top of it. He knows that the fire he witnessed was not the first to rage across the land, and it certainly won’t be the last. He takes in the growth and change that has developed in the past few years, sparkles of hope in a collapse of despair. He recognizes that the destruction is an opportunity for something new, for him to be part of building the next beautiful forest that will rise.

He has lived for what feels like forever, and yet an entire life lays ahead of him. A life with the forest and the mountains and the river. A life with granny’s spirit watching over him, her hair and remains guiding him forwards. A life of working the land and growing something for himself, for others.

A life of unnecessary questions, ones he struggles to ask. A life of inexplicable feelings, ones he’s learning to let in.

A life with you. Here.

i know i said minor character death and then killed granny,, she's a minor character in haikyuu!! but she is a main character in my heart

anyways here's the afterword

[itsjustjackie55]

Bones | Justin Herbert x Reader

Warning: Smut ahead!!! 18+ only MDNI! If you’re uncomfortable reading please do not click continue reading beyond this point!!

A/N: The position they’re in is kind of a prone bone position but it takes place on the sofa so it’s just a little bit different. Kind of got a bit dirty lol. Spooky season is finally hereeee!!! Im sorry this took so long, school started to pick up so I’m sorry, I just finished writing it I also didn’t edit it, I just wanted to get it out to y’all!!

Laying back on the sofa you couldn’t help but love how much cooler it got in cali, football season and fall activities, it’s been a little bit of a difficult start for Justin the ankle and the losses.

Being around the house as he forced himself to get up. You couldn’t stand seeing your boyfriend being moody and annoyed because of the pain and lack of being able to move with his ankle sprain. But you were more than happy to help him with things and support him when he need it.

You loved the man so much you were willing to do just about anything for him. Even if it was just laying with him on the couch and watching scary movies. It was the best thing you loved to do with him. These little moments you spent together, but as the night went on you knew you were getting sick of the snack and couldn’t help but get a little hungry.

Deciding on ordering in pizza for tonight was a good decision. It allowed the both of you to spend more time on the couch cuddling and making out.

Him on his side behind you while you laid on your back. You loved feeling the heat from his chest and the roughness of his hand as it trailed up your hip to your jaw pulling you in deeper.

Feeling him growing hard on your upper thigh you couldn’t help but feel a little cocky about you being the reason for his boner.

Letting out a moan as your grinded on him, you couldn’t help how needy you got for him within the short time span.

You loved him and he loved you but the way he fucks you like he was angry all the time made the sex ten times better.

You loved having sex as outlet for his fustrations.

“J…”

“Angel?”

“Touch me please” you begged

“I already am,” was all he said as he started teasing you putting his hand under your shirt, trailing his way up and squeezing your boob.

“I want more… please handsome,”

“I need it”

Groaning at the way you begged him for more, he gathered himself pulling his shirt you were wearing up to reveal your lack of panties and your chest. He always got just a little lost and breathless seeing you over and over again.

“You’re so beautiful baby”

Blushing at the way he complimented how exposed you were to him, you couldn’t help but feel a slight vulnerable and yet still confident because of the giant man.

He moved on top of you to kiss you but you were ahead of him sucking on his tongue. A sign that you were getting lost in the moment.

Trailing your hands up his shoulders and tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging slightly causing him to moan. He had to give you more, he just knew what he had to do, moving himself lower, leaving kisses and love bites all over your chest until he got to where you needed him most.

Making eye contact with you as he stuck his head deeper between your thighs. Flattening his tongue from your entrance and flicking your clit as he licked up your cunt. Loving the way you moaned his name and looked so exposed for him drove him crazy.

He loved seeing you pinch and tug at your nipples with one hand while the other was still in his hair pulling, and pushing down on his head as you ground you hips onto his face.

He loved the way you tasted to. So sweet like candy. He loved how wet you got for him and how easy it was to get you like this. And the way your perfume lingered, not only did you taste sweet you smelt like it too.

It drove him crazy.

Pulling away from you so he wouldn’t come in his pants was the best option for the both of you.

“Sweets…” was all you could whine.

“I know, I’m sorry gorgeous,”

“Flip over.”

Doing as you were told, Justin sat up on his right knee and planting his left foot on the ground pulling his sweats down to his mid thigh, just enough for him to spring free.

Looking behind you as you placed you legs between his your mouth watered at the sight of him, bright pink tip, cock sticking straight up and hugging his abdomen.

You couldn’t help but giggle when he called you out for staring.

“What are you looking at, my eyes are up here sweetness.”

Moving closer to your ass he couldn’t help himself but slap it, watching it jiggle and turn red when you yelped at the feeling. Moaning after he rubbed the spot he just hit.

He knew how to give you tender loving. Leaning forward, grabbing his dick and pushing it to your entrance, he noticed you tense at the feeling.

“Relax mama,”

“We’ll go slow.”

Hearing his words always made you relax, he truly was gentle and patient with you. Always catering to your needs and making sure you were always content.

Pushing himself further in slowly you both moaned loudly, you gasping for air as he tried pushing deeper, his public bone meeting the edge of your ass.

He loved this position as much as you did.

He loved seeing how your back arched. The way your ass bounced every time he pulled out and thrusted in you rough.

He loved seeing your body glisten underneath him. He loved the way you squeezed around him, he loved how you stopped speaking, too distracted and gone by the feeling. Biting down on one arm and the other pushing and pulling on his hip to keep a pace you loved. He loved taking care of his girl this way.

Getting carried away he pushed his hands to the arch of your back, only making your hips and butt lift more. He couldn’t help but keep slapping your right cheek as he kept thrusting.

You loved it the most, the feeling, the closeness, the rawness of it all, the deep level of intimacy. Twisting your body to try and get a kiss from Justin. He noticed how needy you were for him. Leaning down and pulling you by your neck to meet him halfway.

By now you didnt know how to stop yourself from cumming. You didn’t even know how to announce it to him.

He on the other hand already knew where you were. He could feel you squeezing him.

“Cum for me baby, I got ya”

“Cum in me J”

Moaning at your words, feeling him twitch inside you, he knew he couldn’t last that much longer.

“Come on baby, ladies first, you gotta cum for me first baby.”

Meeting his lips once more you couldn’t keep quiet as you came, moaning his mouth and whimpering his name and a string of cuss words.

Hearing you let go drove Justin to the edge, halting deep inside you, filling you up from behind as you both came down from your high. Collapsing onto your back tilting your head back to kiss him really sealed the deal.

Letting your highs cool down you were a mess. Panting and shaking, you knew you were in love.

Flipping to your side seeing Justin sitting on the other side of the couch, legs spread dick still out and twitching, his arms on the edge of the couch, he was already looking at you. Smiling at him with tired eyes. You both had a night. He looked good too, his cheeks pink and goofy smile plastered on his face.

The both of you giggling because of what you had done. The moment was cut short when the doorbell rang, you had finished up just in time for dinner.

[just-a-little-cellist]

Hello there! I just came across your page and was wondering if I could get headcanons for Darth Maul and female that includes NSFW? I am trying to find as much Darth Maul content as I can cause I am currently crushing on the guy(and his actor, Ray Park)

(YES my first Maul ask! currently hyperfixating on him so you're in luck! since you didn't specify much I let the inspo flow and ended up doing a sorta first kiss scenario + some general NSFW, if you'd like me to expand on any of this or do anything different then feel free to send me another ask! enjoy :D)

(Darth Maul x fem (AFAB) reader - Maul being a little angsty but mostly fluff in the first half, NSFW labelled)

In the early stages of your relationship, before you become romantically involved, Maul spends a lot of time observing you. Just moving across a room brings the sensation of blazing eyes following your steps, and he makes little effort to hide it either.

It isn't clear whether he watches out of suspicion or curiosity. But you know he sees the shiver go through you every time you lock eyes with his intense stare.

He also doesn't speak much, which doesn't make it easier.

(Not that he'd ever admit it, to you or himself, but he prefers listening to you talk. He finds himself lost in the stories you tell and the emotion in your voice.)

He may resist your efforts to get close to him, even staying resistant to you once your relationship has been established, but he does want and need to experience genuine care. He's just not sure how to accept it.

The first time you gather your nerves and reach out to touch him, before any romantic advances had been made, he pulls away like he's been burned.

Almost all of the touch he's received before has been violent and painful. This is foreign, and he doesn't know what to do.

His expression is unreadable, and he storms away soon after, leaving you wondering if you'd overstepped and if this would finally be what tips his patience.

You don't have to wonder long though.

He enters the room that you're stood in silently enough that you only notice him when you turn around.

Maul stares down at you, his body far closer to you than you expected, and you fumble with your words when he doesn't say anything.

"HI! Uh... I'm really sorry if I overstepped earlier. It wasn't appropriate of me and I promise I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable I just-"

You trail off when the Zabrak slowly takes your hand.

He's... unusually careful, for someone so frequently fuelled by anger. He's gentle, and unsure, like he thinks you'll bolt at any moment.

His eyes stay locked with yours as he slowly lifts your hand up and, seeing no sign of fear or reluctance, places your palm against his face.

The contact is barely there, Maul clearly not certain what move to make from here. It's sweet, you think, that such an imposing figure would be so timid in receiving affection.

You smile softly, pleasantly surprised as your apprehension dissolves, and gently brush your thumb over his cheekbone. His eyes close, just for a moment, and he leans into the touch ever so slightly.

"Forgive me for earlier," he murmurs. "This is... new."

"That's ok, I can be patient."

He stares at you for a moment longer, trying to see if there is any motive beyond your sweet smile, but finds nothing but fondness.

"You have entranced me, starlight."

His eyes flicker down to your lips with longing in his eyes and, not one to miss an opportunity, you lean forward and kiss him softly.

Maul is stiff at first but, just as you're about to pull away, he melts into it. His hands slide up to your waist as your arms move up around his neck, and he hums approvingly at the feeling.

He only pulls back once he feels you smile against him.

Clearly feeling defensive and a little vulnerable, he looks at you questioningly.

"Sorry, it's nothing! I just-" You look at him and gather your thoughts. "I'm just glad you don't actually hate me."

"You thought I hated you?"

"I wasn't sure... you don't exactly make it easy to tell you know!"

He chuckles when you playfully swat at his arm.

"I could never hate you, starlight."

~ NSFW below <3 ~

Maul is not used to being vulnerable, in any scenario, so in the beginning he reverts to what he is used to: control.

He is exclusively dominant the first few times you have sex because that's what he thinks he's supposed to be.

He can focus on the way your lips part, the sounds you make, the feeling of your nails digging into his shoulders as you cling onto him.

It's your vulnerability, not his. It will take him time to feel comfortable enough for you to take the reins.

Soon into your relationship, you mumble a quiet plea and urge him to sit against the headboard. You straddle his lap and kiss him softly, but with so much passion that he stops breathing, and slowly sink down onto his cock.

This time it's him clinging onto you, and he swears nothing has ever felt better.

Maul is certainly a switch.

He has days where he feels such a primal need to possess you, to claim you.

It's days like this you find yourself on your knees, face pressed into the mattress while he fucks you from behind. His claws dig into your hips, making sure to leave marks, and his teeth are sunk into the soft skin of your neck.

(Invest in some high collars.)

However, when Maul feels the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders, he needs you to make the decisions.

He's resistant at first, not believing he deserves it, but he needs you to praise him. He has no preference for whether you're rough or gentle, but he needs to know he's being good for you.

He's also surprisingly obedient. To him, giving himself over is a show of trust, and maker knows you've already fought hard enough to gain his.

The fastest way for Maul to enter subspace, he has found, is with his head between your legs.

Just say the word and his tongue is pressed to your clit, so eager to draw pretty moans from you.

He can get lost in his task so easily, entranced by the sound and taste of you, not even realising that he's overstimulating you until your hands tug at his horns.

Gazing up at you with dilated pupils, already floating in his headspace and seeming almost distressed that you'd pull him away, it's too easy to indulge him and let him keep going.

At the end of a session with him, you always insist on aftercare. Once again, it's something he struggles to acknowledge his need for, but the first time you clean him up with so much care, murmuring how well he did, and guide him to curl up beside you, he couldn't imagine ever turning it down.

He's also getting more used to giving you aftercare when he's been domming. It was a struggle to know what you needed from him at first, but he's better at being careful when he cleans up any scratches you might have, at praising you, and at accepting the way you wrap your arms around his waist as soon as he lays down beside you.

Like many things with Maul, it takes patience before you can see the true him, but it's worth the effort.

And when he lays in bed with you tucked into his side, smiling contentedly, he's never felt so lucky.

[crescenthistory]

c5 with paul atreides please 🫶🫶

ah, paul atreides, my favourite childhood best friends to lovers man. hope this is what you were imagining, love<3

Prompt: C.5 "There will not be a day where I am not there for you"

Words: 3.5k (oops)

Warnings: canon typical political unrest and tension, paul and reader have a lot on their shoulders, reader gets sick, implied chronic illness/flare-up/autoimmune reader but can be read as a normal fever (i'm indulging myself okay), hiding/avoidance, confrontation if you squint, hurt/comfort, they are in the unspoken stage between best friends and lovers, confessions of love, crying session, cuddles and kisses

The days on Caladan felt numbered.

Everywhere you looked, the subtle reminders of impending change crept in like shadows. The halls of Castle Caladan, once warm and full of life, felt quieter now, more solemn. The sea beyond the window still whispered its familiar lullaby, but even that seemed muted, like it was holding its breath, waiting.

Thus, you waited too, feeling the weight of the future settle over the estate like a shroud. Arrakis loomed on the horizon, distant but unavoidable. You could see it in every furrow of Duke Leto’s brow, in the way Lady Jessica moved with a deliberate grace that betrayed her own hidden tension.

Most of all, you saw it in Paul.

Your closest friend, your confidant since childhood. He carried the weight of all that was to come more heavily than anyone. It showed in the slight weariness under his eyes, the way his normally steady hands trembled when he thought no one was looking. He hadn’t spoken of it directly to you, not yet, but you knew him too well to be fooled.

The Paul of your memories – the boy who would laugh with you in secret corners of the castle, who would pull you into the sea on a whim, clothes and all – was slipping away, bit by bit. In his place stood a man, shoulders squared with responsibility, eyes far too wise for someone so young. It was a transformation that frightened you, not just because it meant losing the boy you once knew, but because you weren’t sure whether anyone could truly withstand all that waited him. Whether anyone would even notice how much it was wearing him down. Anyone but you.

It was why you were careful, watching him as you always did, trying to gauge when the weight would become too much. You had become a fixture in his life over the years, someone he could rely on when the pressures of being Duke Leto’s heir seemed too heavy to bear. A constant.

The days leading up to the move to Arrakis felt heavier, their passage marked by subtle shifts in the air. Paul was being pulled in so many directions – meetings, preparations, plans – and you saw him less and less. Worry grew in your stomach, but, as always, the two of you cut out time for each other, even if only a quiet hug for a few minutes in a corner somewhere.

Which is why, when you first felt the dizziness creeping in, the strange bouts of fatigue that left you breathless and weak, you kept it to yourself.

At first, it didn’t seem like much. Just a few moments of light-headedness, easily dismissed. You brushed off the way the room swayed, grounded yourself by gripping the edges of tables or leaning discreetly against the walls. When Paul looked at you, concern flickering in his eyes, you waved it away with a smile, pretending it was nothing. He had enough to worry about – you refused to add to it. Not when he was already carrying so much.

As the days passed, though, it became harder to hide. Your body betrayed you in small ways – your steps slower, your hands unsteady when you reached for things. The ever-present ache in your bones was becoming harder to ignore. You found yourself avoiding the castle’s common spaces, spending more time in your room, curled up in bed, trying to will away the growing sickness that had taken hold of you.

Even the servants noticed, their eyes lingering on you with concern as they brought trays of food you barely touched. It was not uncommon for you to grow sick occasionally, there was a running joke around the castle about your weak immune system, and usually the servants would let Paul know if you stayed in your room. This time, though, you gave them strict instructions not to speak of it to anyone, especially not Paul. He didn’t need to know. He didn’t need this on top of everything else.

You could handle it. You always handled it.

Yes, you kept it to yourself. Unfortunately, to achieve that, you also kept to yourself.

***

The evening sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the walls of your bedroom. You had not left the room in two days. The curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the golden light that you usually loved. Today, the brightness hurt your eyes, each beam of sunlight sharp as it hit your feverish skin.

You had barely eaten, your appetite vanishing as the sickness rooted itself deeper. It was more than just the fatigue now – your stomach churned, and your head pounded with every small movement. Beams of pain adorned your lower forehead, temples and eyesockets, and no amount of massaging seemed to help.

You told yourself the words Paul had always whispered to you on days like this; it will be fine, it is temporary, you are safe. You just need some rest.

It didn't have the same effect.

As you shifted under the blankets, trying to find a more comfortable position, you heard a quiet knock on the door. You froze. The knock was too familiar – soft, hesitant, but with a certainty that told you exactly who it was. Your tried to bite down a groan all the while your heart squeezed.

It was Paul.

This was the longest period of time you had gone without seeing each other in ages, and not from a lack of trying on his part. You knew his schedule by heart and had purposefully lived around it for the past week before you finally caved and retreated to your bed to get over this bout of sickness. Even there, you had the servants tell him you were elsewhere, should he ever ask them.

It was not that you did not miss him terribly nor a disdain for him seeing you sick – you had worked together to get over equating sickness with weakness in your head. However, a part of you clearly still saw it as a burden, because your heart ached at the thought of worrying him with this.

You could not hide forever, though, and now here he was. You felt oddly unprepared to face him as you scurried up, fixing your hair and trying to put on a more assured smile.

When you didn't respond to the knock, the door creaked open slightly, and Paul slipped inside. His eyes found you immediately, and you could see the worry in them as he took in your pale face and the heap of blankets surrounding you that seemed to scream I am hiding from the world.

"Hi, my love," he whispered, and you responded with a greeting yourself, sounding weaker than you had hoped.

He closed the door quietly behind him, his movements deliberate and calm, but you could sense the tension beneath his composed exterior.

“You’ve been avoiding me." His voice was low, soft but with a quiet accusation woven through it.

You swallowed, trying to summon the energy to continue to smile, to pretend like everything was fine. “No, no, I haven’t been avoiding you,” you lied. “I’ve just been… resting.”

Paul’s brow furrowed slightly, and he crossed the room with slow, careful steps until he stood at the edge of your bed. He looked down at you, his gaze searching, as if he could see through the weak façade you were putting up. He sat down beside you on the bed, body angled towards you, and reached for your hand.

His touch was gentle, cool against your feverish skin. “Resting...” he echoed, his thumb brushing across the back of your hand. “Because you're sick. Why didn’t you tell me?”

You flinched inwardly. Of course, he knew. He always knew. Paul was nothing if not observant, especially when it came to you. You had been foolish to think you could hide this from him for long.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you admitted, voice barely a whisper. “You have so much going on right now. With Arrakis, with your father… I just didn’t want to add to your burdens.”

Paul’s expression softened, though the worry in his eyes remained. He shook his head slightly, as if unable to comprehend what you were saying. “You think you can ever be a burden to me?”

You didn’t respond immediately, because a part of you did feel like a burden, no matter how irrational it may be. Paul had so much on his plate already – how could you possibly ask him to worry about you on top of everything else?

Paul’s hand tightened around yours at your prolonged silence, attempting to ground you, pull you out of your spiraling thoughts. He sighed, a soft, weary sound, and then he spoke, his voice tinged with a quiet desperation you hadn’t expected.

“You are not a burden, my love. There will not be a day where I am not there for you – you just have to let me.”

The words hit you like a wave, gentle but powerful, their weight sinking deep into your chest. Paul’s gaze never left you even when yours flickered from nerves. In that moment, you saw the truth in his eyes. He wasn’t just saying it to comfort you, he meant it with every part of him. There was a fierce honesty in his voice, a promise.

"I'm sorry, Paul," you began, unsure of how to phrase yourself. "I just really did not want to worry you more than you already are."

“I was more worried when I didn’t see you,” he continued softly. “When I didn’t know what was wrong. To not know how you are or what is going on hurts more than anything else.”

Your breath caught in your throat, guilt and relief swirling together in a confusing mixture. You hadn’t realized how much your absence could affect him. Paul always seemed so steady, so unshakable, but now, as he sat beside you, his hand still holding yours with that familiar tenderness, you could see the vulnerability in his eyes. There was a fear there that you wanted to smooth away, the fear of losing you, of not being able to help.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, dragging your intertwined hands closer to your body. "I didn’t mean to make things harder for you. Quite the opposite, actually.”

Paul sighed again, this time softer, and he shifted closer, so his side was flush against yours. You moved some of the blankets around so there would be no barricade for him, your breathing somehow already easier at his presence. His hand left yours only for a moment, but you immediately missed the warmth of his touch. He reached up to cup your cheek, tilting your face so you were forced to meet his gaze again.

“You could never make things harder for me. You are what make things easier” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “You are my anchor. Without you…”

He trailed off, but the weight of what he didn’t say hung in the air between you. Without you, he’d be lost. Without you, the pressures of his future, of the impending move to Arrakis, might consume him entirely.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them away, not wanting to cry in front of him. Paul saw the flicker of emotion and leaned in closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. His breath was warm against your skin, his closeness comforting in a way that words could never be.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was a whisper, eyes searching yours. "Be honest."

You let out an almost teary-laugh, overwhelmed by emotion. "Terrible, quite frankly. My body is aching and I feel like I'm on a boat."

Paul hummed, thumb still brushing your cheek. "Would it help to lay further down?" He always knew.

You tried to nod, but frowned when the movement caused you more pain. Paul immediatley leaned forward to kiss away the furrow of your brows, knowing the tension usually worsens your headache, and then went to help you lay down in a better position. With your heads laid on the same pillow, Paul held your waist with one hand and your face with another, trying to massage out any tension.

“You don’t have to protect me,” he whispered, voice low and steady, wrapping around you as much as his comforting embrace. “Not from this. Not from you. Even now, with everything – especially now actually – you are the one thing I need.”

His words settled over you, soothing the ache in your chest, yet stirring something deeper, something raw that you had tried so hard to suppress. The weight of everything – the move, the sickness, your unwavering care for him – all of it was bearing down on you, but hearing Paul speak with such sincerity, seeing the tenderness in his eyes, it made something inside you break. The kind of break you could only do around him, because you knew in your heart you were safe to do so.

You exhaled shakily, feeling the tears that had been threatening to spill finally break free. A small sob escaped your throat before you could stop it, and suddenly, it was as if the floodgates had opened. The tears came in earnest now, unbidden and unstoppable, all the emotions you had kept hidden pouring out.

Paul didn’t flinch, he didn’t pull away. Instinctively he pulled you closer to him, gathering you gently into his chest, his movements slow and careful, so as to not hurt or startle you. He held you close, head against his chest, his warmth enveloping you, his heart beating steadily beneath your ear. He moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he whispered soft, soothing words you couldn’t quite make out over the sound of your own quiet sobs.

You had not realised just how much you had been holding in until this moment, how badly you had needed him. The world outside felt too heavy, too uncertain, but here, in his arms, you felt safe. The weight you had been carrying melted away, leaving only the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

“I’m here,” Paul murmured softly, his voice soothing, as if the words themselves could hold you together. “I’m right here. I'm not going anywhere, I'm with you.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, letting the sound of his voice calm the storm of emotions inside you. The soft, rhythmic strokes of his fingers in your hair, the way his hand pressed gently into the small of your back, holding you against him. Everything about his presence was grounding, reminding you that you are not alone. You never had been.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered after a long moment, your voice thick with emotion, though the tears had finally begun to slow. “I didn’t mean to–”

“Shh,” he interrupted gently, his lips brushing the top of your head in the softest of gestures. “You don’t need to apologise.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes still glassy from the tears. His face was close, his expression softer than you had ever seen it. His usually composed features, now filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. His thumb brushed a stray tear from your cheek, and he offered you a small, reassuring smile.

“I was just trying to give you space,” you said quietly, your voice hoarse from crying. “You’ve been dealing with so much, and I didn’t want to add to it.”

Paul’s brow furrowed slightly, as though he fundamentally could not understand how you could view yourself or your relationship that way. His hand still rested on your cheek, his touch light but steady.

“I know what’s happening around us is overwhelming,” he admitted, careful, like he didn’t want the weight of the words to fall too heavily between you. “But I’m not leaving Caladan behind to face Arrakis alone. I need you with me. In spirit as much as in person.”

“Oh, Paul,” you breathed, his name slipping from your lips like a quiet confession. You searched his eyes, unsure of what to say, unsure if you could even find the words for everything you were feeling. You moved one of your hands that was clutching his shirt up to trace his face.

You could see in his eyes that he knew everything you wanted to say. He had always known.

“I’ve always needed you, my love,” he whispered, his gaze unwavering, the intensity of his words cutting through the quiet of the room. “Not just now. Not because of Arrakis. I’ve needed you for as long as I can remember. Please just let me.”

The tears that had begun to dry on your cheeks threatened to return, but this time, they weren’t tears of sorrow or guilt. They were tears of relief, of knowing you never had and never would be alone in your care for him. Paul is there for you, just as you are there for him. Paul will worry for you, just as you were there for him.

"I'll let you, if you let me." There was a slight teasing smile on your lips, though its effect was lessened my the glossiness that remained in your eyes.

"I swear to."

You hummed, ducking your head back down to hide in his neck, breathing both him and the moment in.

“I'm afraid of it,” you admitted softly, your voice trembling. “Afraid of just how much I need you, even if you need me too.”

Paul’s expression softened even more, if that was possible. He gently tugged your face back up to meet his, so he could rest his forehead against yours and cup your cheek. His closeness was dizzying – but you much preferred this form of dizziness. You felt tethered to him in a way you had never felt with anyone else, like the two of you were the only ones in this vast, overwhelming world who truly understood one another.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmured, lips almost brushing yours due to your proximity. “Not with me.”

Your breath hitched, your heart racing against his as you looked into his eyes. His thumb brushed across your cheek again, his touch as soft as ever, and before you could stop yourself, before you could dare to think twice, you closed the gap between you, pressing your lips to his in a tentative, gentle kiss.

Paul responded immediately, his hand moving to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a slow, deliberate tenderness. The kiss wasn’t rushed, wasn’t frantic – it was filled with years of unspoken longing, of quiet moments that had been leading up to this. It was a kiss that felt like home, like something you had been waiting for without even realising it.

When you pulled back, your foreheads still resting together, both of you breathing softly, you felt the weight of everything lift, if only for a moment. It all faded into the background, leaving only the two of you, together, in the quiet safety of this moment.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, echoing the unspoken promise between you. “Not without you.”

Paul’s lips quirked into a small, almost boyish smile, the kind you hadn’t seen from him in so long. He pulled you into his chest again, wrapping his arms around you in a tight, reassuring embrace. You could feel the tension leaving his body, as if holding you like this had given him the strength he had been searching for.

"Take care of me, Paul?" you whispered, knowing now that this is what he needed.

He sighed, relieved, whispering a yes, please into your hair before placing a series of kisses there, holding you unbelievably tighter. His hands went back to massaging your neck and temples, moving languidly as he did anything he could think of to make you more comfortable in the moment.

For a long while, neither of you said anything. You simply stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside your door quiet and distant. This was the kind of rest you had truly been needing.

“I will always be here for you,” Paul whispered against your hair again, as if he needed to reassure himself of it. “I swear it.”

"And I you, my love."

You held him closer, letting your eyes drift shut and your body aches ease. You let yourself believe him. Because you knew, deep down, that this wasn’t just another comforting assurance. It was a vow, one that would last long beyond the move to Arrakis. 

No matter what storms came, no matter what weight the future held, you and Paul would face them together.

[elvisabutler]

purest of them all

fandom: austin butler rating: m pairing: biker austin butler x female reader word count: 3425 warnings: possessive behavior. p in v sex ( unprotected ). biker austin. sex in front of a mirror. virginity sex. implied past oral ( m and f receiving ). implied depression-ish on austin's part. stomach bulges caused by cocks. me mildly fudging what a first time feels like though truthfully they come in all shapes and sizes. author’s note: welcome to day 12 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, virginity kink/innocence kink with austin butler. so i went biker austin with this because uh i was really struggling with this prompt and that's where the writing flowed. consider this kind of a precursor to the day two fic of show 'em. beyond that, i do hope y'all enjoy and if you uh saw the naked version of this fic. no you didn't. i also am mildly unsure i stuck to this prompt. but i think i have mentioned austin is a little harder for me to write nowadays for a number of reasons so it kind of was me going with what i could write versus deleting ten more drafts. also this is one of two fics getting posted today, because hey, cold had me down for the count for a while so why not feed y'all twice in one day.

You're not the type Austin usually goes for and he figures maybe that's a part of your charm. Figures that if you were like every other woman who's wanted to crawl onto his bike, he'd have taken you to bed and been done with you. Sure, he'd have treated you right but Austin— wouldn't have stayed the night. He wouldn't have allowed himself to fall so head over heels for you that he'd give you everything you could even think to ask him for.

You are a light in the tunnel that is his life, a goal to strive for and a promise of perhaps making it on the straight and narrow. You were also perhaps one of the most innocent people he had ever met, one of the purest people he had ever met. An angel wrapped in sweaters and comfortable clothes to suit your mood. An angel who for some reason likes to spend almost all of your free time with him, brightening his days as much as you can. Tonight is no exception though for once he's not doing anything club related and can just focus on you.

The two of you rarely go on public dates, something about how he doesn't want people to use you against him and doesn't want you to be hurt until you've decided you truly want to be a part of his life as it is now. Until you realize just what being with him in this period of his life truly entails. Part of your charm may be that innocence and pure light that emanates from you but it's also something he couldn't bare to ruin in any way that was less than pleasurable.

Still, he makes exceptions for important dates and what was more important than your anniversary. Those sort of things deserved a proper date with you curled against him inhaling his natural musk and cologne. He could move his head and smell your shampoo and just this once he could allow the both of you to enjoy a simple date. Nothing could have prepared him for the present you were going to give him tonight.

The thing about you that you've told Austin before is that you're a virgin. At the time he had laughed a little and made a joke about that's why you were so sweet and innocent only to earn a subtle slap to his arm and a warming of your skin that had him kissing any embarrassment you had away. It's not that you hadn't wanted to lose it, but when one grows up religious you either are promiscuous in spite of your parents' desires or you aren't. In college you had thought it was going to happen eventually, that you'd meet someone that maybe you'd fall in love with and they'd take your virginity or perhaps you'd lose it at a party or just some way that wasn't too heinous.

Life happens though and you were always too busy, even through law school you found yourself so busy and with nary a moment to yourself. You suppose it's funny how you met Austin so soon after finishing law school and finding a job. If you were the type to believe in fate you'd have said that you were destined to meet Austin then and only then. You're not, though and it's merely a coincidence— a happy one, mind— but a coincidence nonetheless. Whatever the case was, over the past year you've realized that you and Austin need each other— not in a sort of codependent way but one where you bring out the best in each other.

He's never pressed for you to have sex with him, sure the two of you have fooled around, with him between your legs his tongue on your clit and you between his legs, tongue tracing the veins of his cock and inhaling the unique musk from between his legs. But going all the way hasn't been something you've ever felt he needed you to do— were required to do to keep him in your bed. Perhaps that's why you found yourself finally read to actually go all the way with him. Perhaps that's why you felt the need for everything to be special. It's not that you needed to be. But after the amount of waiting Austin has gone through and after the patience he had shown you, it only seemed prudent to make sure both of you could take your time. It seemed like a good idea to allow him to show you the pleasure you had only been given hints of before.

It's for all those reasons that you found yourself opening your door in a new dress with a simple pair of matching white underwear underneath. Austin would enjoy the laugh, you think, his virginal girlfriend all dolled up in white panties. Probably make a joke about how he didn't think you could still wear them after all the times he had tasted your release on his tongue.

Austin's gaze has your heart fluttering inside your chest. The man who always looks so tough and tries to keep himself shuttered is looking at you as if you've hung the moon, the stars and everything in between. If you look hard enough there's even a hint of hunger for you but it's gone in a flash as he smiles. "You look nice."

A shrug is your only response as you step outside and pull him into a hug as you shut your door. "It's date night, why wouldn't I?" You smile back and bite at your lip. "Aus?"

His eyes for a moment stop flitting around the area, checking for anything that could cause you harm before he stares you down. "Hm?"

"After dinner, do you mind staying the night? I— I have a surprise I think you might enjoy." A surprise you hope he'll enjoy. A surprise you hope both of you can enjoy against your sheets or against the wall. A shudder passes through you at the image as Austin frowns, moving to take off his jacket.

"Here take—" his mouth opens to speak only to have you swatting his hands away. "Got it, you don't want the jacket. I— Of course I'll stay the night. Especially if you have a surprise for me. You know you didn't have—"

You cut him off with a short kiss, shaking your head. "It's our anniversary, I wanted to get you something. Besides, I think— You'll really like this surprise."

Without missing a beat, Austin wraps his arm around your shoulder and kisses the top of your head, pulling you close to his chest as you both start to walk to his bike. "Can I get a hint?"

What happens for most of the dinner is Austin trying and failing to guess just what surprise you had in store through mouthfuls of food and through causal brushes of his hand against your body. The brushes shouldn't have you on edge and yet they do, igniting embers low in your abdomen as you see Austin pout like he's just a normal man.

That— That more than anything confirms that you're making the right choice by giving this to him. He may be a biker and may be the sort of man you could have never seen yourself with before but at his heart he's still just the guy who treats you better than anyone else has before. If one earned another's virginity he would have earned yours in spades.

Normally when you ride back, Austin has you behind him, always wanting to feel your arms around his waist squeezing tight when he takes a tight turn or when he goes just that little too fast. Tonight though, tonight he chooses to behind you, his arms and body enveloping yours in a way that you've felt when he hugs you. This though? This is something else entirely, the vibration of the motorcycle earning a gasp or two from you as you press against Austin's front. You swear you feel him getting harder against you and you nearly groan from the knowledge. Instead you try and focus on Austin's body heat and what you plan on doing with him the second you get home.

The ride feels longer than it ever has before and yet when it ends you both leisurely slide off his motorcycle as if you're both not so keyed up that you're practically vibrating despite the lack of a motor between your legs. Speaking isn't something you want to do, not until you're inside and Austin doesn't appear to be much better. When the door finally shuts you watch as he leans against it, resisting the urge to touch you.

"So, what exactly is this surprise?" Your answer won't change anything from the look in Austin's eyes and yet you can't help the way you cast your eyes down, mildly embarrassed. It's best to rip the band-aid off, isn't it?

"I— I want to have sex with you. Like— full penetrative—"

Austin cuts you off with a kiss that you gasp into, the way he crossed the distance between the two of you startling you. His tongue caresses yours, soft and gentle almost as if he figures you might break if he goes any harder before he pulls away. "You want my cock in that—"

"In my— uh what do you call it? Gorgeous pussy?" The words leave your mouth casually as if you had told Austin the weather outside and the look on his face has you giggling lightly. His mouth is open just ever so slightly allowing you to see that pink tongue of his and practically see the way he's salivating for you. "That's what you call her, right?"

There's an innocence in the question that has Austin pulling you in for another kiss and pressing the full front of his body against you. It is what he calls her and yet you're asking him to make sure. You're asking him as if you haven't had your hands in his hair yanking and crying out when he mutters sweet nothings against it. A whine leaves your lips when you try to grind up against him only to have his hand on your hip stop you. "You're sure? Babe— If you're not— I can't stop myself if I start."

Your hand moves down between the two of you and Austin has nary a minute before he feels your hand cupping him through his jeans. A groan leaves his parted lips and you are powerful. Maybe it's just the rush from hearing Austin's groan but maybe that's what losing your virginity is supposed to be, realizing you have the power to bring someone to their knees just because they love one body part of yours so intensely it could burn them. His cock feels so heavy in your hand and your chest heaves not once, not twice but three times as you mouth at his jaw, his stubble tickling you just a tad.

"This is your surprise. I— I want to feel you inside of me. Feel how it is to take your cock inside more than just my mouth." If there's more words inside your head or in your mouth, they're completely eviscerated by Austin's simple action of picking you up with a grunt, shifting your body weight so that you can try to wrap your thighs around his waist. All you hear is Austin mumbling something against your neck that sounds like "all mine."

Austin's low and almost choked off moan when he starts to pull up your dress after he's gotten you on the bed. Your whites panties are exposed bit by bit until Austin sees them fully and freezes. You had had planned this down to the point of making yourself seem as virginal as possible. You made yourself seem like the purest of them all just for tonight. He hates to ruin the panties but he can't— he can't wait to drag them off your body and instead just slides them off to the side, marveling in the way you shiver at the motion.

"I gotcha," Austin pants as he starts to slide with painstaking slowness into you, watching your face for any minute changes to tell him he's hurting you. "You're— Can't believe you're letting me do this for you." To you, he means but he knows you'll understand the sentiment.

"Why— wouldn't I?" Your breath catches as he thrusts completely in, earning a moan as your body takes in the burn and stretch of his cock. "You're— You'd never hurt me."

Intentionally or unintentionally, if you're being honest with yourself. It's one of so many reasons you knew you could trust him with this. The reason you could trust him to show you the unique pleasure that comes from your first time being fucked by another person. He could coax you through any pain and discomfort you feel.

A low growl leaves his lips that he tries to muffle against your neck. Hearing these words come from you feels like praise and it spurs him to do even better, to make sure even if you leave him you'll never forget this night. His hand moves down to play ever so lightly with your clit even as his cock brushes against it with every thrust.

"I wouldn't. I'd never hurt someone who looks as gorgeous on my cock as you do," Austin murmurs, watching as your eyes roll back into your head for a moment. "I dreamed about this. Woke up with my hand on my cock, wishing it was you. You're taking me so well, babe. Natural. You're— fuck— you're a natural at this."

You don't try to speak, instead letting the way your pussy clenches at the praise tell Austin just what his words are doing to you. He smiles even has he grunts, delighting in the reaction. "You like hearing that? Like hearing how you feel like you're made for my cock? How I'm so fucking thankful you waited to give this to me? How I'm honored?"

His fingers brush against your puffy clit softly and yet it feels as if he's pressed a live wire down against it, your thighs clenching on either side of his legs. It's too much and yet too little all at once. You try to move away, try and tell him that this is too much and yet Austin's a little bit ahead of you. "Let go, I'll— I've got you, remember? You're giving me this on our anniversary. I'll— Let go. Let me see you come on my cock like I've only ever dreamed of."

Somehow those are the magic words for you, somehow like a command you find yourself leaning back, head thumping against the pillow behind you as Austin fucks you slowly through your orgasm, watching as pleasure he's seen before on your face take on a new form in this one instant. If he wasn't already almost irrevocably in love with you— he would be now. This would have had him on his knees worshipping you until you fell into his arms. Instead he watches you come with a silent cry with him following not too far behind as your pretty pussy clenches around him. He looks at you nearly fucked out and the mirror hanging on the wall and gets an idea.

His hand presses against the bulge he can see in your stomach and he marvels in how you practically keen at the sensation, your head flopping back against his chest. You've always been responsive but this is another thing entirely. It's another thing entirely to see your face in the mirror, pleasure covering every inch of your face.

"Babe, I want you to look at us. See what you look like with my cock inside you," Austin murmurs against your neck, lips pressing wet kisses all around it. He watches as you move your head back down and try to focus on the mirror, gasping as you see the outline of his cock pressing against your lower stomach. "You see it? See how full of me you are? See what I'm doing to you."

Words are supposed to be your strong suit but you can't help but stutter out your response. "I— That's— Aus— You're right there. I can—" Your words stop for a moment only to be replaced with a low whine as he presses down. "You're— God, Aus, just, I can feel you. Why does this feel good?"

Because it shouldn't, you think. It shouldn't feel good and yet somehow it heightens every sensation you feel and somehow helps to overcome the occasional tightness you feel from this being your first time.

"I told you. You— It's like it was made for my cock." His answer is almost breathless, as he watches and feels the bulge as he thrusts. "Want— You need to see how much you're mine, how I'm making— No one is going to fuck you like this."

You shake your head almost violently in agreement. "I don't— oh— want anyone to. Just you. I want—" A whine leaves your lips after one particularly sharp thrust. "Old lady. Wanna be her."

Somewhere in the back of your head, you realize you sound incoherent with those words, but from the way one of Austin's hands tightens on your hip you figure he understands exactly what you mean. A shaky exhale leaves his mouth before he tries to nuzzle at your ear, hand petting your stomach. "Say that again."

"I wanna be your old lady." Except it still sounds half slurred as your pussy tries to clench around him, the feeling of his hands setting fire to every inch of your skin it touches. "Yours."

Austin ought to say something, ought to tell you that's the words he's wanted to hear for ages from your lips but he doesn't. Instead he nips at your earlobe and forces you to look up at the vision of the two of you in the mirror. "All mine? Never gonna be anyone else's?"

"No." You utter, watching your tits bounce with each thrust of his cock. You watch the sweat drip down your skin and slide against his body. You don't want to be anyone else's and this confirmed it and settled it. You're Austin's until he's through with you or one of you dies. Maybe it makes you silly and stupid but in this moment you're so in love with Austin Butler that the idea of not being by his side isn't one you ever want to contemplate.

Austin's hand that's been settled where his cock could be seen moves up to your chest, grabbing ahold of your breasts and forcing your body to stay upright and looking straight on into the mirror. He can see how you're panting, how your lips are spit slick and how your hair is a wild untamed mane that he caused. He did this to you, you've allowed him to have you look so debauched that he doubts he'll ever forget this moment of seeing you laid bare for him in front of the mirror with a white dress and white panties on the bed behind you. His eyes drift to from your almost forgotten about dress to you and back again before he feels you clench around him, whimpering something about how it's too much.

"Shh, I— I'm almost there. You've been so good to me, babe. So good to me." He praises you, his thrusts getting a little sloppier until you feel the warmth of his release inside you. Both of your legs are a little wobbly but somehow he manages to get you both to the bed. A groan of discomfort leaves your mouth as he starts to pull out, the sensation feeling as if you're being left empty even as you know the brush of his cock against any part of your swollen pussy or clit or labia is too much right now. You reach out when he stands up, trying to get him to come back to bed only for him to return with a warm washcloth that he uses to gently clean you both up before flopping down next to you.

Without missing a beat you move to snuggle against his chest, his heartbeat a steady drum in your ears before he speaks. "I'm not letting you go."

You place a kiss to his chest, right where his heart is. "I don't want you to."

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @slowsweetlove, @kxnnxy, @meetmeatyourworst, @purejasmine, @stylespresleyhearted, @powerofelvis, @amydarcimarie, @thegettingbyp2, @austinswhitewolf, @richardslady121 if i have not included you know it’s not meant to be a slight, it’s literally i don’t know if you want to be tagged as far as austin fics or elvis fics, drop me a comment or a message and i’ll add away tbh.

[st-eve-barnes]

Fix you

(Modern Aegon x Fem Reader)

Based on the prompt "You're just as broken as I am"

I've had a very bad mental health week, writing this thing was like therapy.

Warning: 18+ for smut. Dry humping, fingering, masturbation, teasing, orgasm delay, degradation/praise kink, light Dom/Sub undertones, hair pulling, biting, ... Alcohol use and mentions of depression. Angst/Comfort.

Word count: +3600

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All my fics are also on AO3

***

Aegon was one second away from pouring himself another glass of vodka when the knock on the door disrupted his plans. He thought about ignoring it for a moment, not feeling like seeing anyone tonight. He just wanted to get drunk and spend the rest of the evening in bed masturbating until he passed out, and then masturbating some more.

But whoever was at his door was persistent, knocking a couple more times, each one a little louder than the last, making him sigh deeply.

“Alright, I heard you already!” Aegon yelled, annoyed as he rose from the couch to open the door. He opened his mouth to complain some more but the words died on his tongue when he saw you.

Your eyes looked red, as if you’d been crying, you seemed nervous and on edge, looking everywhere except at him, “You alone?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, any sign of irritation was gone from his voice,”You alright?”

You didn’t look alright but you nodded your head all the same, dismissing his question.

“Can I come in?” you asked instead.

“Of course,” he moved aside to let you step into his apartment.

You noticed the half empty vodka bottle and the cigarettes on the coffee table first, only then did you notice how disheveled his hair was, his t-shirt wrinkled, as if he just came out of bed.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt anything,” you spoke as you turned to look at him.

“You’re always welcome to interrupt my plans, sweetheart, you know that,” he answered, voice both rough and soft,”What can I do for you tonight, huh? What do you need?”

“You,” you breathed, hands grabbing at his shirt to pull him closer, your lips crashed onto his in a deep, hungry kiss. Aegon reciprocated right away, grabbing your neck to hold you in place and kiss you even deeper. The taste of alcohol and desperation on his tongue made you feel high.

He guided you towards the couch and you pushed him down, hands on his shoulders as you straddled him, neither of you willing to break the kiss.

Aegon moaned into your mouth when you rolled your hips against him but then his hands moved to your shoulders to gently push you back.

“Hey, slow down,” he breathed.

“No,” you shut him up with another kiss and then pulled your shirt over your head, exposing your tits to him. Any protest he was about to start died before it came to life, his mouth latching onto your nipple and sucking hard, making you arch your back, a quiet satisfied sigh leaving your lips.

This was what you needed, what you’d been craving all day long, his mouth and hands on you, making you forget about everything else like only he could.

His one hand moved to your other breast, squeezing it just right while the other moved up your back, caressing your skin and pulling you closer to him. You moved again, dragging yourself over his cock, making him harder with every roll of your hips. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Aegon moaned softly, bucking into you while he started kissing your neck.

Your hands were already fumbling with his pants, trying to get him out. Seeing you so impatient and hungry for him was turning him on beyond reason, and he’d been horny as hell even before you stepped into the room. This was so much better than the night he had planned, so much better than fucking his hand again.

“Aegon,” you whined, you needed him closer, deeper. More, anything, everything.

“It’s okay, baby,” he kissed your jaw and nipped at your earlobe,”tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

You pulled his shirt over his head, caressing his stomach and chest in the process before putting your lips on his neck, licking and sucking on his skin until he was rutting against you like an animal in heat.

“Fuck me until I can’t think anymore,” you begged him.

Your words made him snap, exactly like you hoped they would. He pushed you off of him to lay you down on the couch, swiftly discarding his pants and pushing your dress up, a smirk on his face upon seeing your wet cunt and no underwear.

You eagerly pulled him into your arms and his lips found yours in another sloppy kiss.

“You’re so fucking slutty for me, aren’t you?” he teased, grinning from ear to ear when he felt your whole body shiver at his words,”That what you want, sweetheart? To be my filthy little slut?”

You nodded and dug your nails into the skin of his back, making him groan into your mouth.

“Yes,” you managed to breathe,”Yes, please.”

“Beg me for it,” he teased, giving his cock a few lazy strokes before putting the tip at your entrance,”Tell me how bad you need it.”

“I need it bad,” you whimpered,”I need it so bad, Aegon, please….let me have your cock, please. Make me feel better, please.”

He wanted to tease you more, have you so desperate and so wet for him until neither of you could stand it anymore. But the tears in your eyes changed those plans.

He pressed his forehead against yours and slowly pushed his way into your heat, making your eyes close in a blissful sigh.

“That better?” he asked, his voice was soft against your skin, his fingers even softer as they caressed your face and gently moved your hair back behind your ear, letting your eyes meet. His gaze was so sweet and loving, it was more than you could handle.

Much to Aegon’s surprise you pushed his hand away.

“No,” you shook your head firmly, moving your hips to encourage him,”None of this soft shit, alright? Fuck me like you mean it, like you want to hurt me.”

That changed his demeanor instantly.“Oh, you want it to hurt? Alright, I can make it hurt. If that’s what you want, greedy little slut.”

He grabbed your hands and moved them over your head while he pulled his cock out only to drive in again in one hard and deep thrust, knocking the air out of your lungs for a second.

“You like that, huh?” he growled into your ear while pounding into you hard, his lips were on your neck again, sucking on your skin until it burned.

“Yes,” you moaned, meeting his thrusts with your hips, drunk on that stretch of him, so deep inside you, fucking away every bad thought you’d had.

Aegon was moaning with you, struggling between keeping that control or just giving himself over to his own desires. You felt so fucking good around him he could stay like this forever, locked in between your legs with your pussy gripping him so tight and so good. If there was a heaven this must be it and he thought maybe he was ready to die right now.

“God, you take me so well,” he breathed against your ear, one hand on your tits again, squeezing hard,”This pussy was made for my cock…No one else…no one else feels this good…fuck…”

His free hand pulled at your hair, exposing your neck and pulling until it hurt, which only turned you on more.

“That’s it, moan for me, let me hear you, baby,” his filthy words in your ear were quickly pushing you towards that much needed release and Aegon was right there with you.

His thrusts now short and hard, but just as you were about to cave he pulled out, making you whine in frustration.

With one rough pull you were up on the couch, on your knees with your back pushed up against his chest. His hand grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled hard until his lips were back on your ear.

“You think I’d let you come that easily, huh?” he teased.

You whined again and tried to wiggle your ass against his cock. He was rock hard and leaking all over your thighs but he didn’t budge, holding you in place.

“Touch yourself for me,” he breathed into your ear,”I want you to feel how wet I made you.”

You bit your lip and let your hand sink down between your legs to touch your clit, moaning at the first contact.

“Good girl,” Aegon whispered and you could feel his lips curl up into a smile,”You’re my good little slut, aren’t you?”

“Hmm,” you responded with a soft moan, your head falling back on his shoulder as you continued circling your clit.

“Keep going, beautiful,” he kissed your neck,”Let me hear those sweet moans.”

You could feel his cock pressing against your ass, your fingers working yourself faster and faster.

“Aegon,” you breathed.

“What’s wrong, baby? You close?”

You nodded and bit down on your lip.

“You’re not gonna cum, are you?” he pulled your hair again, placing his lips on that favorite spot right below your ear, his voice hot and heavy when he whispered,”If you cum I won’t fuck you.”

You let out a desperate whine and stopped moving your hand, earning you another pull at your hair.

“Did I say you could stop?” he growled again.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, putting your fingers back on your clit.

“That’s better,” he smirked,”Now finger yourself.”

“Aegon,” you whined.

“Do it,” he ordered, his teeth grazing your jaw,”Do it and maybe I’ll give you my cock. But only if you’re good. Think you can be good for me, little slut?”

You slipped a finger inside yourself without any more protest, surrendering to his words while you closed your eyes and softly nodded.”Yes, I can be good for you.”

Aegon kissed your neck while his hands moved down to your hips, holding you close to him, his cock stirring against you. 

He was barely holding it together but seeing you take orders so well was too much of a turn on to stop.

“Add another finger,” he told you.

You obliged, biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning too loud as a second finger slipped inside of your cunt with ease. You were dripping wet and so ready for him, so close to that edge you could topple over any second now.

“Don’t slow down,” Aegon teased with another smile on his lips and then his hand moved over your inner thigh until he found your clit.

“Fuck,” you hissed when he started circling your overly sensitive bud,”That’s…not…fair.”

“Oh, you want me to stop?” he pulled his hand away with a smirk but you were quick to place it back between your legs.

“No, don’t stop!” you begged,”Please…please, don’t stop. Please let me cum…”

This time he was the one to pull your hand away but only to replace it with his own, two fingers sinking deep inside your pussy while his thumb moved over your clit.

When he curled his fingers there was no stopping it any longer, your legs were shaking as your orgasm took over.

“Please,” you begged, not wanting to give in before he said it was okay but also powerless to stop it.

“It’s okay,” his breath was warm against your neck,”Let go…cum for me, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

It was all you needed and you clenched around his fingers with a silent scream as you came so hard you could see stars.

Aegon talked you through it, continuing to fuck you with his fingers until you were completely sated,”That’s it, my sweet girl, my pretty little slut, you did so fucking well for me.”

Your body slumped against his, your heart racing in your chest as you gasped for air. Your mind gloriously blank and your lips curled into a dreamy smile. Aegon’s arms were around you now, hugging you close and giving you time to come down from it.

As soon as your breathing had returned to normal his hand moved into your neck to turn your face towards him, taking your mouth in a slow deep kiss.

His other hand moved down your lower back and over your ass, spreading you open for him and placing his cock against your entrance.

He was breathing heavily into the kiss,”Gonna fuck you hard now, that alright?”

“Yes, fuck yes, please.”

He drove into you with one merciless thrust, one arm around your waist and the other on your neck, holding you still while he slammed into you over and over again. You wanted to stay in this moment forever, locked with him for eternity in pure bliss where nothing else existed.

It didn’t take long for him to find a rhythm that left you both panting and riding towards that high. Aegon’s mouth was on your shoulders, kissing and biting your skin as he fucked you into oblivion, finally giving in and losing himself in you. 

There were no more words this time, only the feel of your tight wet heat engulfing him so perfectly. He was so deliriously addicted to you, nothing else in this world would ever come close to how you made him feel. Desired, wanted, needed, loved.

Your moans grew louder with every snap of his hips, you were so close, so fucking close to that high and you knew he would get you there. His cock filling you up so perfectly, as if he was made to do this, made to ruin you.

Your arm moved over your head to grab at Aegon’s neck, pulling his hair, holding yourself up while his cock drove you towards the point of no return.

He grunted into your ear and you knew he was close. You had fucked each other so many times over these past months, you knew all his moans by heart.

“You close, baby?” he breathed into your ear, checking to see if you were with him. He wasn’t going to cum if you weren’t with him.

“I’m close,” you confirmed in a moan.

His fingers moved down to play with your clit, you didn’t need much, a few more thrusts and that was it. You were clenching hard, taking him with you over that edge, both of you falling and clinging to each other to prolong the moment. Aegon pulled out just in time to spill all over your ass with a satisfied whimper, his face buried into the crook of your neck.

He held you afterwards, like he always did, letting you come down in his arms. It was one of the only times you could stand his tenderness. 

He waited for you to pull back first and then grabbed you some water and helped clean you up. Neither of you bothered to get dressed again after that, feeling completely comfortable with each other.

But something about you was different tonight, you still seemed on edge, even now, after everything.

Aegon noticed how you kept casually touching him, your hand resting on his leg or playing with his hair, anything to not have to let go of him. He recognized it like no one else could, that bad head space, the thing that brought you to him to begin with.

You tried to fight it but you failed, grasping onto nothing, that delicious high quickly fading and making room for something else, the thing you’d been trying to run from.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Aegon pulled you from your thoughts.

“Fine,” you answered but you were gulping down the vodka as if you hadn’t had a drink in weeks.

“Hey, slow down,” Aegon pulled the bottle from your hands and placed it back on the coffee table,”What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“I don’t come here to talk, Aegon,” you dismissed him and ignored the hurt look in his eyes.

“Fine, whatever then,” he sighed,”Wanna watch some Netflix?”

“No,” you shook your head and looked away from him, closing yourself off. Aegon knew when that wall went up there was nothing he could do but wait until you let him in again.

He ignored you and turned on the tv anyway but after a few minutes of browsing he gave up. Nothing on there interested him in the slightest.

“What can I do?” he tried again.

You stayed quiet for a while.

“You can fuck me again,” you then answered and you moved to straddle him again but he grabbed your wrists to stop you.

“No,” he refused,”I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why? You can’t get it up again? Is that it, pussy?” you tried to challenge him but Aegon was having none of it.

“Just stop.”

You pulled free from his grip and angrily pushed at his chest but he just grabbed your hands again, a bit more forcefully now, and held them close to his heart.

“I said stop!” he raised his voice.

Your eyes met his but instead of being met with anger or frustration you only saw compassion and love in his soft blue eyes. It was enough to finally break you, tears spilling from your eyes.

“I can’t,” you cried,”I can’t stop, Aegon, I can’t…if I stop I feel it all and it hurts so fucking much…”

“Come here,’ he let go of your hands to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug and letting you cry against his chest. You welcomed the softness you usually declined, suddenly needing it more than anything and Aegon was happy to oblige.

His hands caressed your hair and your back, soothing you and letting you cling to him for a long as you needed to calm down while he whispered sweet comforting words into your ear.”It’s okay, I’m right here, I’ll hold you through it, it’s okay, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed after a while,”I don’t mean to take it out on you, you’re the only good thing I have.”

“That’s…really sad cause I’m not that great,” he joked, relief flooding his veins when you laughed through your tears.

He leaned back to look at you, cupping your face with ons hand. “You’re just as broken as I am, aren’t you?”

You nodded,”Probably more.”

His eyes remained on yours, his expression soft and intense.

“I can’t save you, sweetheart,” he then whispered,”You know that, right? You can’t put that on me.”

“I know, I know” You tried to bite back your tears but it was a futile attempt. Aegon caught them with his thumbs before they fell down, gently caressing your cheeks in the process and you leaned into his touch.

“I can’t fix you and you can’t fix me,” he then added and he smiled weakly,”I think we’re both broken beyond repair but…I can hold you through it, or fuck you through it, whatever you need.”

You looked into his eyes to find that warm loving look staring back at you, like you were the best thing to ever happen to him. It made you want to cry even more. You didn’t deserve him.

”Sometimes I think I’m just using you” you confessed softly.

Aegon just smiled at that. “Maybe I don’t mind being used. Not when it’s you.”

HIs hand moved down to your neck and he leaned in to kiss your lips, sweet and so soft it made you melt into his arms. You kissed him back and caressed his stomach.

“Do we make each other worse, Aegon?” you then asked.

“Probably” he admitted,”But…all I know is I don’t want to stop, don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”

“What do you want to do then?”

He took your hand in his and lifted it up to his lips, kissing your knuckles.”I want you to stay the night, help me finish that bottle of vodka and crash into my bed. And then in the morning I’ll fuck you again.”

He smiled at the way your eyes lit up.

“But only if you’re good,” he added with a smirk,”Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Yes,” you nodded and snatched the bottle of vodka from the coffee table, took a long sip and then handed it to Aegon who followed your lead this time.

You took the opportunity to break free from his hug and sink down on your knees in front of him, your hands moving over his thighs. You bit your lip with a smile when you noticed he was already growing hard again.

“What are you doing down there?” Aegon asked, suspicious,”I’m not gonna fuck you again tonight, I already told you.”

“I heard you,” you teased, looking up at him through your lashes.

“I told you to be good,” he warned you,”Otherwise I won’t…shit…fuck…what are you doing?”

His words died in his throat when you gently nuzzled his inner thigh, your breath hot against his dick.

“Maybe I want to see how good of a slut you can be for me,” you teased while circling the head of his cock with your tongue.

“Fuck,” he breathed, gripping the cushions of the couch with both hands.

”Think you can be a good boy for me, Aegon?”

”Oh, fuck yes, I can be good, I’ll be so good, I swear.”

You pulled away for a moment to give him a teasing look,”Are you sure?”

“Yes,” his voice was weak, reduced to nothing but a needy low whisper,”Please, I promise, anything you want, just…please don’t stop doing that, please, baby, please…”

You swallowed his moans down as you took him into your mouth completely, sucking him off as if his dick was giving you life, which wasn’t too far from the truth, and making him forget about everything else that hurt.

Aegon already knew he would break his promise tonight, he was going to fuck you again before the sun went down.