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hwajin · 10 months

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☆°. — ᴛɪʀᴇʟᴇss

genre: fluff, smut

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

wc: 3k

warnings: disgustingly cute sex, piv/ unprotected sex/ coming inside, explicit mentions of insecurities (though mentioned in the past and not relevant for the fics' present)

author's note: very self indulgent but i hope it resonates with some ppl, feedback is highly appreciated 🫶

Linen sheets around your body, the warmth they provided a saviour against the cold turmoiling outside. The sky had been gray twenty minutes prior, red and orange leaves having struggled to stay latched onto their trees, having lost the battle eventually to cover the asphalts in autumn colours. There was little rain drizzling from above still, though the sun had now found its way past the clouds drowning the neighbourhood golden. The faint scent of vanilla reminding you of the candle on your nightstand, the turning of pages and a sharpened pencil against them the only sound filling the room — it was peaceful.

"You're so pretty."

Hyunjin’s voice sounded barely as a whisper — anything but would have disturbed the atmosphere; quiet, warm, a sense of carelessness. And yet you jumped in your place, been far too engrossed in the book laying before you not to scare at his sudden voice cutting through the silence. You'd never feel pretty before Hyunjin. Before he's emerged in your life — you weren't sure still, how exactly, all too suddenly and without warning, as though he was a dream altogether — your appearance was something you'd obsessively worry over for the first half of your life, and tried to disregard entirely in the second one — despite blaming your loneliness on the very fact of lacking attractiveness you've come to simply live with the fact, had grown too tired to care, essentially.

You shifted in your shared bed, only a little to direct your focus from the book to Hyunjin, sitting by his desk — the surface as messy as his appearance. Pencils, papers and colors scattered all over, his hands proof of the artistry he's produced for the past hours; hair disheveled, shirt and shorts on his body ruffled up — he looked endearing, like lazy mornings personified, like coziness bundled up within a body.

He'd come into your life unexpectedly, and you wouldn't have believed anyone if they told you about it. About the sudden happiness the relationship with Hyunjin brought, the sudden feeling of securances, of home; of love. You wouldn't have believed someone to be ready to treat you the way Hyunjin did — any other person grew null to him if you only called, prioritizing you over passions and work. You wouldn't have believed to have found a love like this, a lover like him.

You wouldn't have believed to have found beauty within yourself, through him. And it had come naturally. You had never not believed him, never doubted his words — because they've always been spoken so matter-of-factly, so purely. Unexpectedly, too — much like now, while mundanenity lay over your features. Hyunjin carried a gift to search for beauty where other people would mind looking, and finding it effortlessly. More often than not you wished to be gifted with this vision, curious to see the world through his eyes — curious to see yourself the way he did.

Hyunjin chuckled at the way you blushed. You might be believing his every compliment, his every confession of love, though you long didn't grow used to it, or cold. Every tender word, every touch he planted onto your body as though you were fragile porcelain, most price treasure yet never stopped to send shivers down your spine. Wouldn't ever, you thought.

And you still never knew an answer. Flustered now, awkward as he kept looking at you, teasing simply, to test — Hyunjin had always taking amusement and certain pride in making you shy for him, because only he was able to. A shameful caugh left your throat, to fill the silence, to camouflage the speechlessness he'd brought upon you with as little as a compliment — you detangled from the linen sheets, letting the cold engulf you in order to make your way over to your lover, the man who was watching your every step with a knowing smirk as he inspected the blush covering not only your cheeks but the tips of your ears, your neck — it was a little as a mundane compliment, but it was far from meaningless to you, held as much importance as if Hyunjin had proposed right then there.

His hand found home on your bottom, the small of your back when you've stood next to him eventually. His eyes didn't lose your figure, glued onto you as if a look elsewhere would take you away.

"What are you drawing? Flowers?"

Hyunjin enjoyed painting nature; oceans, skies, flowers. Many grazed the walls of your very room, each a different meaning – he’d paint you baby’s breaths on your one-year anniversary, in everlasting love; he’d paint you pink camellias when he missed you, in longing; he’d paint you calla lilies if your insecurities got the best of you, in beauty. Though when you looked at his drawing it weren’t flowers; it was a sketch of you.

“Well, almost.”

Hyunjin's eyes turned to where you were looking, the drawing he's worked on for the past minutes, shy grin adorning his features at his cheesy comment. Your body was grazing the white paper, pencil strokes of your curves, you in the nude, another paper showing your face, a portrait, another one an abstract, more of only your eyes, only your mouth and nose, of your hands, some in colour, some in simple grey, small ones, bigger, doodles, proper paintings. You were scattered on his desk, your body was. Hyunjin's love lay open before you — maybe you didn't need access to his vision after all. His art was entirely enough.

Hyunjin waited for a reaction, squeezing at your hip when there was none, looking up at you, curious eyes beneath the silver strands of messy hair.

"I've been running out of ideas lately, and... it's always nice to draw you... most of these aren't finished and rough-"

"They're beautiful. I... can't believe you'd wanna draw me this often."

"You're the only thing I wanna draw. Ever."

Hyunjin's gaze lay upon you, deep, waiting for you to look at him. You did eventually, turning from away from his art and blushing momentarily at his piercing eyes on your own. A soft smile from both of you — not as much as an upturn of one corner of the lips, both for too flustered to muster up and actually smile, too aware of the tension laying heavily now on your shoulders — and no further words were needed. Would be void if spoken aloud; so you bent down to meet him to meet his lips, hopeful and wanting, inviting when they fell upon your own. Hyunjin sighed into the kiss, relieved, longing. His left hand joined his right on your body, holding you by your waist, caressing you at your hips, tight, secure touches, absent of hesitation. He granted you the same love capsulated in his notebooks with a touch, a grace, a squeeze against your flesh, your whole.

Never breaking the kiss, and you sighed when he pulled you closer to his body, into the space he presented between his half-bare legs. You understood — wouldn't have believed anyone upon hearing to be finding comfort on another’s' lap, without as much as a second thought, though it was so natural with Hyunjin. You let him guide you, large hand by the small of your back, another by your hip; and you straddled him, broke the kiss only to settle down, to get comfortable — and you wished you hadn't, for the side of your lover beneath your weight was almost too much to bear. Love behind his glassy eyes, adoration he only knew in connection to you, only ever felt if you were the matter. Gaze a longing one, jumping from your lips to your eyes and back down to your lips — but a puppy waiting for his treat, staring you down as if there was no other, nothing else existing beside you and your body, your face inches from his own.

You closed the distance again, unable to hold out on it — Hyunjin's lips reddened already, always so prone to sensitivity, to visible reaction to loving antics. His teeth clashed against your own, almost painful but not quite; you weren't careful, deemed to not have the time to — you needed him, and you needed him now.

"Baby... slow down."

It was Hyunjin to pull you back to reality, though not to clear-mindedness – you obeyed his words, not as much a command as a simple reminder; you loosened your grip on his hair, pulled away an inch, only enough to breathe, to sigh into his mouth that didn’t cease leaving open mouthed kisses against your own. Though your thoughts were but a fog, still, holding no clear picture beneath your lids except him, everything about him – pleasure-contorted face, though you merely sat on him, barely even moved atop his body; brows a furrowed line, creasing deeply in the middle, eyes soften and tender to paint contrast; cheeks coloured, in fluster and anticipation, dooming excitement; guiding hands on your figure, reminding of his presence, his attentiveness, his care – he didn’t loosen his grip on you a moment, held you close and tight as his lips moved leisurely against your own. He took his time with you – not too tease, not because he was well aware of your desperation, but because you deserved nothing else. Hyunjin knew you’d whine upon his patience, though it was the very proof of his devotion; his patience held love, his patience held the entirety of your world.

So, you continued slowly, though not any less unable of lucidity, because Hyunjin never allowed it. If his touch wasn’t driving you insane it was his voice, a whimper rolling off his tongue and onto yours, or a sigh leaving his throat for you to swallow. Your lover always receptive, never shy in volume. Or it was his gaze on you – Hyunjin pulled away, occasionally, leaving you empty to catch a look at you before pulling right back, nearer than he was before. He left you no time for coherence, fed you only enough care and affection so you wouldn’t hunger, yet not enough for eventual satisfaction, by any means. Driving you further to insanity, hands groping rougher at your body, easing with soft rubs right after, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to heal momentarily with a lick, a following kiss – Hyunjin pulled on your every weakness, and not accidently.

A chuckle left the man’s lips when your hips – hot and painfully ignored by any type of his attention, leave for his raging erection right against your core – dragged against his own, in any hope of relieving pressure, of searching for friction. Your lack of clothes wasn’t making it a hard task; you were merely in your underwear, the thin material of Hyunjin’s shorts and boxers barely layers to complain about, yet it was far too much separating him from you.

Hyunjin chuckled at your desperateness, though his proclamation of amusement turned into one of pleasure – you grinded with such force, such wanting vigour he didn’t expect, and his own futilely cool act crumbled in his palm, shattered to pieces for you never not had the greatest impact on him, his pleasure, his love. When it came down to it, he wasn’t any stronger than you, not even more patient – his heart was as much slave to you as yours was to him.

Any composure was long forgotten. You’d argue, even, that Hyunjin by now was needier than you’d been to begin with – he didn’t waste time getting rid of either of your lazy attire, a long, slender finger simply pushing your panties to the side before dipping into your wetness, experimentally at first, with new-found enthusiasm then upon your reaction – you hummed out, fingers fisting his lose-fitting shirt, body rolling into his, in search for more. A second finger after a minute or two, a third one moments later and you were grinding against him, needy, loud, head thrown back or hidden in the crook of his neck. Your hot breath against his skin egged Hyunjin on, his digits curling within you, lips turning into a hazy smirk when you whined out, when your teeth sunk into the part between his shoulder and his neck, in helplessness, not in embarrassment over your sounds – you would never deny Hyunjin your voice in pleasure. The stinging feeling on his skin made him twitch in his confines; you felt it, if only subtly, and your eyes found his from beneath, fogged with bliss.

“Want you…”

It needn’t much more – Hyunjin both understood and was ready to comply for he wasn’t much stronger in resisting than you; it wasn’t a minute until his erection lay exposed between your figures, red and leaking already – he could act as coy as he wanted to, though his body would always serve as living proof of your effects on him.

You lined up, still fully dressed, white panties pushed to the side; hovering above him was hard given current position, legs growing tired quickly though Hyunjin supported enough with his hands by your hips, guiding you above him until you felt his tip by your entrance, until you – finally, eventually – sunk down on him, taking him fully momentarily. You moaned out in unison, almost pathetic, definitely frantic – it needed only the feeling of his cock inside you, of your walls around him for the both of you to fall victim to utter senselessness. You had the comfort of each other, though, aware of the similarity in lust and longing, so less embarrassed by it.

Hyunjin had given you a moment to adjust, had used the minute to clear his mind himself; to little avail, though he’d like to believe he gained back a fraction of the composure he had lost along the way. Yet, and it drove him entirely insane, the view of you was powerful enough to make him lose every battle he was fighting with himself – he watched your seemingly struggling face, eyes shut, mouth agape, lost in the pleasure Hyunjin granted. He prided himself on your expression, on your thoughtlessness; and then you opened your eyes again, locking them directly with his own. You both blushed, you both sucked in a breath, at the sudden realization of intimacy, of closeness, or maybe at nothing in particular, at the view of the other, the sight of your lover; your hips started moving, mewls rolling off tongues, eyes closing again in granted relief. Hands on bodies, groping hopelessly, feverishly. Eyes fighting to stay open to watch, to inspect, to remember. Mouths longing for the other, tongues dancing waltzes, sounds of pleasure being swallowed to make each their own. Two lovers on a late noon, two lovers so very engrossed in each other anyone looking upon them would struggle not to believe in souls, the connection of such.

Every flutter of your sensitive walls, every roll of chasing hips, every clench Hyunjin reciprocated with sounds so endearing they got you light-headed, got your urge growing to grant him more, better, greater. None of you were in control, in particular, and yet both of you were fighting for it — though not in selfishness, but for gratification for the other. Despite your cramping legs, positioned uncomfortable on the chair beneath Hyunjin, despite your inability to even move much you did nevertheless, as best as you could, pulling on all of your lovers' buttons — you nibbled at his neck, breathed out against it, swore confessions against his damp skin; everything you knew would drive him needier, more insane. Though he was the same — he throbbed within you, guided your hips along his erection for you to feel entirely, to drag out the feeling of his every vein grazing your walls, of every of his rigid fitting your own like pieces of a puzzle. His hands, though sweaty and strained, held position at your hips, to stabilize, to ease off the pain in your legs. Your own were homeless, playing with Hyunjin's hair right by his nape or pulling at his scalp when he granted a mindless thrust against you, or exploring his body entirely, grasping fingers on his chest, against his torso, on the steadiness of broad shoulders.

You grew impatient. Had never been in the first place and lost some more of it yet, wanted to hold onto the feeling of Hyunjin prodding at your cervix yet urging release. Hyunjin was no different – he had let you move solely on your own before though now snapped his hips into yours, mouth agape or biting at his deep red lips, sucking in breaths and sighs of your name in anticipation. His grip on you would leave marks on your skin, that you were sure of – though you weren’t one to complain. The telltale signs of his high doomed on you; furrowed brows, twitching erection within you, frantic, passionate, messy, wet kisses against your mouth or your neck; the act of pulling you closer to him – and then the words, finally; “Fuck, baby, I’m– …I’m cumming. I’m gonna cum.”, before he did, spilling within you. He hadn’t waited on your release, only because he knew you’d reach it after his own – he had felt you being close, had noticed the fluttering of your walls around him, your calls of his name increasing in pitch and volume, had seen the expression on your face he’d never misread – and he knew his orgasm inside you would bring you to your own, would be the last push down the cliff.

Your muscles spasmed, your legs contracted and Hyunjin held you close, eased the pain off your legs with a tired grip on you. Despite it you didn’t dare get off, though – basking in your closeness, relishing the warmth of body on body, losing yourself in the giggled kisses Hyunjin now planted on your panting lips, the loving confessions spoken against the lobe of ear before it was nibbled on in adoration – affection never stopped after release with Hyunjin, after the reach of simultaneous orgasm; his love expanded the sheer physicality, mere lust.

Hours later you’d lay in bed again, naked then, bare bodies glued to one another, every painting, every drawing of you on Hyunjin’s desk long forgotten, if only temporarily, for the cleverest artist couldn’t possibly copy the beauty Hyunjin saw in you before his very eyes, every day anew; tirelessly.

@es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @wolfennracha @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife @binniesbang

#hyunjin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin imagines #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #hwang hyunjin smut

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messylustt · 1 year

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what you remind them of. spiderverse

you reminded hobie brown of stickers. in a figurative sense, but also a literal. the way you could be placed anywhere and still be recognisable to him. some days he saw a pattern, etched into the way you smiled. other days he saw colours, reflected from the way you felt. blue, orange, pink, green. the changeable nature has him reeling and intrigued. he wants you to decorate his life, or at least his guitar. with your careful fingers, options of cartoon characters or skulls being plastered to one of his most prized possessions. he loved it. the way you’d change, matching his inconsistent attitude. and when the stickers would begin to ware and peel, he never once chose to remove them. because the reminder that you’d stay, his want for you to stay made his ringed fingers dance over the simple stuck cut outs.

you reminded miguel o’hara of sugar. sweet of course, but something his tastebuds had to get used to. he wasn’t a sweet tooth at first. finding your sugary tone and sweet sweet smile something hard to stomach. maybe deep down it was because he secretly craved something of that flavour, that taste. he tried to keep his diet free from you, ignoring his salivating mouth. but he had to give in, he just had to with the way he knew your skin would be exactly what he needs his tongue to feel. his life lacklustre, filled with bland foods and even blander friendliness. you were a breath of fresh air, something he knew he’d grow addicted to. his sweet tooth was now prominent, obsessed with you day after day.

you reminded lyla of tears. something she physically couldn’t compute. the way the water droplets would fall, staining your cheeks and creating a morning dew feel to your eyelashes. when she first saw them, her instinct was to reach out. her code told her she couldn’t wipe your eyes but her want told her she could. so pretty when you’d either cry from joy or sadness. though most of the time alone, lyla would be watching. tears…your tears were something she remembered. strangely it didn’t compare to others. some would wail, sniffle, exclaim. but you would sit, blinking, and letting the tears slowly make their descent down your face, coating your lips in a shimmer that made her want to lean in.

you reminded miles morales of shoelaces. specifically his shoelaces. the amount of times you’ve reminded him to tie them has been endless. your subtle gestures or raises of your brows, has earned him to glance down. sometimes he’d catch you, fingers out as you lean to do them yourself. but he’d never want you to do the work so he’d poke his finger against your head, moving you back. now you’d call him stupid, he’d call you a little neat freak, while stumbling over his untied laces. your smug smile would earn a flustered but still stubborn state from him. but just to annoy you a step further he’d always be tying your shoelaces, neglecting his own in a way of saying ‘your safety is more important than mine.’ which would result in a round about way of you pointing out the ‘safety’ of it while threatening to have them glued.

you reminded miles morales earth-42 of paint. the kind that’s messy and creates large artworks. your face might be stained with colour, your fingers most definitely so. with raised brows and a frown he’d point out your never ending strokes. you’d bring colour to his world, hellbent eventually, as he’d push off the idea for what feels like eternity. but slowly, gradually, would he find your paints staining his skin, matching graffitied art like a tattoo. surprisingly he wouldn’t wipe it away, tracing the mess with a prowler claw. you were a mess, all over the place, he made that clear to you. but what he doesn’t tell you is the way he’s kept your messy paintings for himself, subtly letting you paint and create at his home. he may not admit to it, but you’ve painted your heart, a pretty thing that he’s kept all for himself.

you reminded pavitr prabhakar of shells. the kind of seashore ones found at the beach. it’s a new scenery from what he’s used to. you seem to always have this saltwater scent, fresh and inviting. with smiles he’s spoken to you, listened to your voice like the shells that float out into the ocean, dragging him with you. he likes the feel of the sand between his toes. he also likes the pretty patterns that would imbed themselves into the ground. you were like a shell, pretty and something he always loves to find. he liked to treasure the shells he’d find, keep them safe. collections like the collections he’d want to keep of your words. tucked safe into his pockets. your intriguing secrets with the sound of ocean that you’d hear when you press your ear to a larger shell matched perfectly.

you reminded gwen stacy of neon lights. bright and colourful. you were something that made her eyes widen as she stared. like a club street light, you’d invite people in. even inside the club with the flashing lights, you’d keep people entertained. she always stood by you, soaking in your colourful rays. she may even gain inspiration for her hair, the tinges of pink that would stain your lips made her want to match. you were alive in the night, her favourite pastime just flying through the city with you as her guide. even if it would rain you seemed to shine, your smile only making her eyes reflect colour. you made her feel excited with your hooded gaze. you even met under a neon street sign, ready for a mission in the dark. a mission she’ll never forget.

you reminded peter b. parker of a pillow. comforting and something easy to rest his head on. you’d feel him doze off on your shoulder, maybe even your lap. small dribbles of drool would make you smile at just how easy it was to get him to sleep if you were in his reach. even your clothes reflected comfort, his hands gravitating towards you. he almost always kept you tucked to him like a carry on pillow. a pillow mayday seemed to enjoy too, as she’d crawl all over your shoulders, your secure hands making sure she didn’t fall. she may even think you bigger like a bed, as she’d jump excitedly in your arms. not to mention your soft skin, his fingers tracing over like a silk slip.

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asphodelsandpomegranates · 7 months

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A Family of Your Own (Huggy Wuggy x Reader):

(Fanart found on pinterest, if anyone knows the artist's name, please let me know so I can give proper credit).

When you returned to the factory for another night shift, immediately you were greeted by an excitable Huggy Wuggy who bounced over to you, scaring some of your coworkers.

“Hey, sweetie. What’s got you all bubbly, today?” you cooed as you gathered his enormous head in your arms and hugged him.

True to his nature, the huge, blue furred creature wrapped you up in his long limbs in a hug. Huggy Wuggy always gave the best hugs.

He drew back a little, giving a small chorus of chittering and cooing. In his eyes, you could see a glimmer of apprehension.

“You got something you wanna show me, boy?” He nodded. You giggled. “All right, then. Come on, show me your surprise.”

With that, Huggy took your hand in his and pulled you from the lab and up into the factory floor.

Through the labyrinth of corridors and doors, Huggy Wuggy eventually took you through to the game room. There weren't many workers on the night shift in the factory. It was mainly the few security guards and cleaners that stayed in the factory overnight but the night time scientists like yourself, only ever stayed in the labs until their shifts ended.

The game room was huge with a few different areas that led to the game rooms. A huge train with three coaches sat at the back of the room behind a control panel.

Huggy Wuggy left your side, bolted past the Statues game door and up the steps.

“Hug, what are you–?”

With slight difficulty, Huggy managed to pull one of the levers which began to open up one of the doors to the Wack-a-Huggy game.

You glanced between the descending stairway and Huggy Wuggy. “You want to take me down there?”

Huggy nodded as he made his way over to you. He lowered himself down and crawled down the stairs with you following him.

The both of you went down a long corridor that was dotted with several depicted Huggy Wuggys but all in different colours.

Were there more Huggy Wuggys then this Huggy that you knew about? How come you hadn’t been told about it? You might have to speak with Mr. Pierre about this.

At the end of the corridor, was the trademark arch doorway that the factory typically displayed. Huggy Wuggy went through, cooing at you to follow him.

So, you did.

The room was large and circular with at least a dozen or more holes of a different colour - red, blue, yellow and green. A glass window was displayed high above you on the right hand side but the lights were out. This area was for the factory workers or supervisor to keep an eye on the children playing.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by Huggy making an odd screeching call, along with some chirping noises.

“Uh…Huggy, what are you–?”

You were then rudely interrupted by a small chorus of odd chirping and screeching just like Huggy’s. Somewhere around you, you could hear scuttling as though something - things - were crawling through the walls to you and Huggy.

Immediately, you shrank into Huggy’s side, anxiety crawling through your nerves. But Huggy just purred as though content. Then you saw them. Out from the coloured holes, came four small long limbed, all different coloured creatures. All of them a smaller version of Huggy. Just like the paintings on the corridor outside.

The smaller Wuggys jumped down, landing on the ground in front of you and Huggy. They titled their heads curiously at you and chirped weirdly.

So, your theory about mini Huggys was correct.

The mini Huggys were small, about the height of your knees. They continued to chirp and one of them - the red one - began to move forward towards you.

Slowly, you knelt down and sat down on the floor, keeping your eyes on the little creature. You saw its small black eyes glance up at its huge forebear. Huggy Wuggy made a low growl as though telling the small creature that everything was all right.

The red Huggy then moved a little closer…and crawled into your lap, purring contentedly. You felt your heart leap up at the of this small creature curled up on your legs. You had not been a hundred percent sure if these creatures would be quite taken to you as quickly as Huggy had when you had first met. But here you were, acting motherly.

Motherly…

The other three Huggys soon followed and made to crawl in your lap or into your arms. You giggled as you gathered the yellow Huggy Wuggy into your arms and planted a small kiss to the top of its head. It gave a little happy noise at the unfamiliar yet pleasant touch of your lips and seemed to curl more into your arms.

You felt Huggy Wuggy move to curl around you and his tiny fellow Huggys, also purring. You glanced up at him, with much love in your eyes at the experimental creature. Huggy leaned down and rubbed his large head against yours.

“Thank you.” you said, tears beginning to well up in your eyes. One of them fell and began to run down your cheek.

Huggy made an odd cooing noise as though concerned about you. He leaned in and began to lick away the escaping tear from your cheek.

“Thank you.” you whimpered and leaned into Huggy’s furry form, happy with your new found family.

(The End)

#huggy wuggy #huggy wuggy x reader #huggy wuggy x y/n #huggy wuggy x you #poppy playtime #mini huggy wuggys

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cina-full-moon-xanadium · 4 months

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With the franchise continuing to grow in popularity, I thought I'd give a rundown for new fans of the earliest fist-fighting, bike-riding lone hero Kamen Riders that they might not be too familiar with compared to the modern shows.

Kamen Rider #1

Made with specific intentions in mind about the nature of violence in humanity, the first Kamen Rider often struggled with a distancing of sorts from his humanity that his superpowers gave him; focusing most frequently on the terrible harm he was now able to visit upon his opponents. Conceptualized as the lone hero with these powers, the bug-themed #1 didn't have a 'secondary rider' of sorts to help him out; instead being assisted most frequently by a professional officer who also acted as his liaison with the police. Another well-liked supporting cast member was an older 'uncle' figure who let the main hero stay at his shop. At the conclusion of the series, Rider 1 decided to leave Japan to journey abroad. Kamen Rider #1's show was very popular with children to the degree that, while not intended, it naturally spawned an indirect sequel series and eventually a whole slew of shows that continues to this day.

Kamen Rider #2

While Kamen Rider #1 was not conceived as having any successors, events behind the scenes incited the production of a replacement hero in Kamen Rider #2 who would take over from #1 over the next year. Very similar in design and origins to his predecessor with the same bug design basis and often mixed up with him, this new Kamen Rider was a quirky jokester type of character compared to the typical 'hero' type kids could look up to that #1 was; and often confounded his supporting cast with all the strange things he'd say and do. Rather than dwell on his personal tragedy of what he'd lost, #2 as a character preferred to focus on his own personal hobbies and interests; only going out to battle the enemies when called. #2 notably marked the introduction of a teamup of multiple Kamen Riders at once, though he fought with derivations of #1's suit rather than the original. While not as well remembered as the original Kamen Rider, #2 still laid the groundwork for many elements that the franchise stays true to today.

Kamen Rider V3

As the first departure from #1 and #2's basic setting and storytelling with a very different design, Kamen Rider V3 obviously had some big shoes to fill -- but almost instantly he was a hit, easily becoming one of the most popular Kamen Rider series of his era. While previously glimpsed with #2's occasional scuffles, V3 notably was the first Kamen Rider series to have fellow Kamen Riders fighting with each other; not out of misunderstanding, but out of genuine moral conflict. While some of this would be resolved, multiple Kamen Riders end up dying in this season, and arguably this rivalry is what most influences the typical Main Rider/Secondary Rider relationships to this day.

Riderman

While many Riders feature their transformation belt magically appear out of nowhere, the fourth Kamen Rider notably had a more 'realistic' transformation that required the hero to physically put on his gear. Arguably weaker than many other Kamen Riders due to having a limited powerset derived from now-outdated science, Riderman in his series was characterized largely by a distrust of everyone around him due to his coloured past; naturally leading to many of the show's most memorable character conflicts and fights. This Kamen Rider has an interesting relationship with death, with the ending of the show and post-series media seemingly unable to decide if he's alive or not.

Kamen Rider X

Plagued by rewrites and completely different directions in the first and second half of the show, the first Kamen Rider to constantly carry his weapon with him has nonetheless remained quite popular with fans of the era; in no small part due to the tantalizing relationship he has with a black and red rival he makes early on. While the show would eventually move on from this element, X as a character is informed by the tragedy of losing his father and the hero complex this event forced upon him.

Kamen Rider Amazon

A very sharp change in direction from the more technological Riders that came before him, Amazon in many respects does not feel like part of the Kamen Rider series as much as it does an original series very much doing its own thing -- and one that has garnered its own small fanbase. Amazon featured multiple forested fights and pit the main hero against animalistic beasts rather than what you might expect from a usual Tokusatsu monster. Amazon is frequently followed around by a young boy fascinated by the new world of possibilities the hero has introduced him to, and the relationship between Amazon and this boy is one of the highlights of the series.

Kamen Rider Stronger

This red rhinoceros beetle Rider is a cult favourite among fans for its infectiously confident main hero who makes speeches about the heavens as he charms his way out of just about any situation. This series brought the classic theming back in a big way, with all the main heroes being based on a different type of bug. This series may surprise modern Kamen Rider fans for Stronger only having a single upgrade form, not even having a single other one between his base form and final. Unfortunately, this series failed to be the jab-in-the-arm of popularity the producers wanted it to be; with the Super Sentai series that same year arguably overshadowing it.

(inspired by this twitter thread)

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moonlits-ocean · 9 months

Text

Long Way Home [Part II]

[Azriel x Reader fanfic]

Synopsis: Y/n is the daughter of a healer in the city of Velaris. After a small incident, she moves to the House of the Wind to work for the High Lord, Rhysand. Everyone in the house seems to welcome her except Azriel, the second in command. Even though he is just blankly polite and does not acknowledge her much, she can't help but fall for him. Does Azriel return her feelings or remain unfeelingly aloof?

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Read Part 1 here.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Part II

I started noticing that I got stared at more than usual whenever I came to visit father. Apparently, he had proudly told everyone who came to be treated that his daughter now studied in the House of the Wind and worked for the High Lord himself. I was happy to see him happy, but at the same time embarrassed when I was in the spotlight of attention.

In my most recent visit, there were only a few patients to take care of, and none to stay the night in the infirmary room. Father cooked a deliciously smelling vegetable soup with mouth watering garlic bread for dinner. We carried the food along with a bottle of homemade wine to the terrace of our building. We did this often, sitting under the magnificent sky of the City of Starlight. It kind of became our ritual after mother died, where after all the eating and drinking, I'd lie down with my head on father's lap like I used to do as a small child, and he narrated stories of her.

Our family history was a bit strange. My father was a proud, handsome descendant of the Illyrians, but my mother had been a high fae from the Summer Court. I've heard that most of my ancestors' pairing is similar to that.

Your mother, she had this alluring green eyes, the colour which you see in the depths of a still pond, never letting go once you are pulled into. I can still see how the soft wind caressed her pinkish hair against her skin. He loved to describe her, and repeated over and over again the story of how they met.

The story of how she died was only told once, and he never repeated it again. When I had been two years old, mother was pregnant with my sister. There was an internal bleeding which didn't stop, and sadly, both mother and child succumbed to it.

According to one of my neighbours, father was completely devastated after her death. He even stopped selling his services for a while. He didn't talk to anyone and sulked alone, which was completely opposite to his usual extrovert nature. I don't remember any of this, though. Even with sadness in his heart, he never forgot that he had a living daughter and my childhood was full of happy memories.

Well, mostly.

That night, he was telling me the story of how he used to paint my mother's toenails with colour when she was pregnant and couldn't do it herself—his personal favourite which I listened to every time like I was hearing it for the first time—when a shadow flew across the starry sky and landed in front of us.

It was Azriel.

I pushed myself into a sitting position, squinting at the cloth wrapped parcel which he held in both hands. When my father stood up to greet him, he extended it forward.

"Greetings, sir. The High Lord and Lady send their compliments," he then turned to me. "Hello, y/n."

I nodded while father conveyed his thanks and accepted the parcel. Azriel was about to leave right then, but father insisted on him having dinner before he did so. He hesitated, his gaze dropping at our empty dining plates and wine bottle, but eventually agreed. They went down the stairs into the warmth of the kitchen and I followed.

Father was already making cheery conversation, and Azriel joined after a while. They knew some mutual fae and some members of the Illyrian clan, and began having an earnest discussion.

Azriel was ushered to sit while I set the table and father heated up the food. He always made extra portions because someone could unexpectedly stopped by for a chat and had to be welcomed with delicious food every time. While Azriel ate and they talked, I silently listened from a chair nearby. I felt the familiar squeezing ache in my chest as I watched them, because I could tell that Azriel was not humouring my father out of mere politeness and genuinely wanted to converse. He was never like that with me in the few months I've spent in the House.

I felt prickling behind my eyes, and I excused myself to my room before it turned into tears. Once underneath my warm covers, I let the tears fall and fell into a tired slumber.

I was jerked back into consciousness when I heard the sound of my bedroom door being opened. My eyes were swollen shut from all the crying and I had to fight to open them a bit and see who came in.

It was father. He sat on the side of my bed and gently caressed my hair, noticing that I was awake.

"Azriel left just now. We talked for a long time."

I closed my eyes and sighed, trying very hard not to cry again. "Hmm."

"Has he hurt you?" He asked, his voice low.

I blinked open my eyes in confusion. "Who?"

"Azriel."

I scoffed and shook my head. "I don't even know him that well to be hurt, papa."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's why you cried yourself to sleep, huh?"

I bit the inside of my cheek, not answering. He knew everything anyway.

He stood up and fetched a cold compress for my eyes. I felt fresh tears threatening to spill, and pushed the compress deeper onto my eyelids.

"Does he have a mate already?"

"No. It doesn't matter. They'll feel the bond towards each other soon, anyway. The High Lady's sister might be the one."

"I see."

He was silent for a while. The swelling eased down and I could open my eyes wider. When the compress wasn't so cold anymore, I put it on the nightstand and wriggled back to a comfortable position. Father gently patted my head in a rhythm to help me sleep.

"You'll find a deserving mate too, don't worry," he whispered. "A heart has to eventually find its home."

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Read Part 3 here.

This fanfic can also be found in Wattpad, along with other exclusive parts like playlists and pictures. Here's the link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/358573037-long-way-home

Happy reading! <3

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ruershrimo · 5 months

Text

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 7: conversation

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev | next | m.list

chapter synopsis:

' “I can’t believe you’re leaving us for a boy," she goes, rolling her eyes. She doesn't even blink.

“I’m not.” You are. '

---

Megumi calls you back. You leave for Tokyo again, like a soul yearning for its body.

word count: ~6k; tws: none for now :)!!

19-6-2018

“So you’re really going to let go of them now?” your father asks.

“...yeah.”

“That’s good. I’ll miss that Itadori boy, though.”

You will, too.

In a way you suppose Megumi and Yuuji are very similar. They’d go well together, be good, fast friends and all that.

They’re both undoubtedly good people, no matter how they’ve beat people up before and how different their beliefs may be.

In Megumi’s case, everyone knew how good a person Tsumiki was, her younger brother included. Her kindness and virtue extended itself, inspiring other people around her. But Megumi was a good person, too— polite, patient (most of the time, unless it were Gojo— but who wouldn’t be annoyed by that man, right?), kind in his own way. He cared for you in all sorts of ways in the past, even then you could tell, gentle with animals and objects and your hand. Gentle in his own way. Giving you reminders despite the tiny calumniations sprinkled in (they barely do as much damage as comb bristles can), being sharp because he must have had to, kind because it was in his very nature. Easy on the eyes, tall, deep soothing voice— he ticked all the boxes for that, too. You bet that if things were different, and the two of you had stayed in touch with each other, you’d have fallen deeply in love with it by now. Yet that thought only makes you feel sour now that things hadn’t gone that way at all.

And Yuuji, too— there was no explanation needed for Yuuji. Even Megumi could tell he was a good person. And at some times he was almost like Tsumiki. You weren’t ever surprised that you’d caught feelings for him, because— who wouldn’t? He was always popular, even if he was ignorant of his own charm around others. But he wasn’t just a good guy with a ripped torso, he was honest, perceptive and smart in conversations. Smarter than he ever credited himself for. Smart in a way you could never be— people with cute faces, nice bodies and good social skills were in a league of their own, practically. You’d thought that for a long time.

Did either of them ever know how you felt?

Probably not. Your heart was guarded, intensely so, and you’d never lay your feelings bare and out so easily. You weren’t the type of person to say you loved people as easily as others did, even within your own family.

This, you presume, is probably an acquired trait, now that you think about it. You were much more different as a child, free with praise and love and unabashed affection as well as appreciation for the people around you. What changed?

(Everything.)

You miss 2010. You miss Tsumiki the way you miss your mother’s cooking, miss her the way you miss when you wrote emails and letters and text messages to her with multi-coloured pens or your old phone that eventually broke a year after. You miss the conversations the two of you had, miss how you used to be your parents’ little angel.

And in the end it all comes back to that, doesn’t it? 2010. Nostalgia. Reminiscing on old memories in a way akin to how the elderly do in their youth. That just made you seem more pathetic, because, weren’t you supposed to be making those memories right now, at this time of your life?

You’re a teenager. You should be going out with friends, and having fun, not rotting at home ruminating on the past, with the only friends you’ve ever had hundreds of kilometres away from you (you weren’t sure if you could even call one of them a ‘friend’ anymore), and your acquaintances not close enough to replace them (how could they ever? How could there ever be a replacement for Yuuji?)

In a way you feel your life is miserable: awkward, socially-impaired teenage girl with her only friend practically out of her life at this point; nothing special to your name besides a cursed technique that most times does you more harm than good; stuck not being able to completely get over friends she met at eight who left her as quickly as someone can blink their eyes; with the thinking process of a nagging, stubborn mother sometimes, or if not that then a blurry, mingled train of thought that gets delayed or lost when moving from station to station; someone not of use at all. Not miserable, you think to yourself like a slap to the face, pathetic.

You’re not sure how Tsumiki is now— maybe she has a partner, or better friends than you were, or she’s busy being president of the student council or something (she’d be a sterling leader, of that you’re certain, that girl who you’d always known was bound to go places in the span of her lifetime).

Hopefully, she’s alright, and doing the best she can in life. That’s all you wish for when it comes to Tsumiki.

At this point, there’s no point in wishing to join them, or to linger on them and memories of the past. It’s a mosquito in summer heat, which is why, if it stays, you decide, you’ll just suppress and ignore it until it goes away. Even if you didn’t know how long it would take you to get over them— weeks, months, but goodness forbid a whole lifetime or forever— you needed to accept that you’d be like this for nearly the rest of your life: pathetic, lonely— ah, that’s the word that so very perfectly delineates the situation you’re in— and then some.

So that’s why, when you hear your phone buzzing on your bed like a cicada during a balmy night, you assume it’s someone else. Yuuji must be busy settling in (he’s been texting you, and you took that as a sign that he wouldn’t call), and Megumi must be… —Well. Megumi has made a promise, and it’s not that you don’t believe in him, but it would be better to expect less than what you’d like to in order to evade disappointment.

Must be someone else. A prank call, or a scammer, or something. Or a telemarketer, but you’d be surprised if telemarketers were calling you and not your father. And you were never one to pick calls up mindlessly anyway, so if it were some stranger out to get you or swindle you, you’d just hang up or check the number.

If not either a scam or a telemarketer (well you suppose both of those could be scams in certain contexts), though, then you’d suspect it would be either Yuuji (Yuuji’s the one who has been texting you, after all, conversations strewn over checking in with the other over the past few hours or snippets of advice from you telling him not to bother Megumi very much, and to be cautious and keep himself safe) or Gojo— definitely not Megumi, and probably not Gojo either, but still it was more likely that Gojo was calling you instead of Megumi, so you’re considering it— and you can’t really remember Gojo’s number anyway, so what if an unknown number wasn’t a prank call or something—

You wonder if you should just pick it up instead of burying your head in your study notes and overthinking everything.

But you know it’s definitely not Megumi.

You check the phone.

Well, you’ll be damned.

It’s Fushiguro Megumi.

You know his number by heart, after all. Keyed it in too many times to forget, and it’s not like he’d have any reason to change it. Not with the way he cares for things, inanimate objects, not with the tenderly quiet, secretly caring, emotionally jaded way he maintains them.

“Ah… hello?”

Your heart thumps in your chest and heat flares up in your cheeks with a frenetic speed.

“Hi,” you blurt out, shakily. You’re sure your voice is quivering, yet your mind feels like it’s barely functioning, almost about to drown in a seven-feet-deep pool, so you can’t really tell. You can’t really hear yourself.

You don’t know why you feel like this— no, you know exactly why, actually. It’s because you haven’t gotten over him. Your thoughts are scrambled but you know, for sure, that you’re like this because you want to get rid of feelings like these but you can’t. Or because you’ve been saying that to yourself like a mantra, for so long, even though a part of you wants it to stay— out of what, that’s what you don’t know; maybe desperation or nostalgia or an inability to stop dwelling on days long gone. But you know what this is— you’ve seen the movies, read the manga, watched the dramas. It’s romance. Crushes. Something you’re not quite able to call love yet, something you’re too scared to properly name, still, but something you can understand is one-sided nonetheless.

“…hi. [Name].”

“Hello…”

What happens when two estranged childhood friends with a book’s worth of history behind their relationship that happen to be socially awkward teenagers actually have a conversation semi-beyond what keeps them estranged in the first place?

“Hi— no, wait… how are you?”

Pot, meet kettle, because you’re going off nothing but the fact that you’re at the very least surprised (the other emotions are too complicated to explain) that he’s speaking to you again, and not just on text, but he’s calling, and he sounds like he’s reading off a script, but the script is in a whole other language, somehow, and the uncertain nervousness in his voice is tangible, even for a deep, low voice like his.

Script or not, you appreciate the effort, though.

“I’m good, um… I’m happy you were able to call. It’s been a long time.”

“That’s good.”

There’s silence on the other line; time feels like it’s moving achingly slowly. But you’re mildly happy.

Not happy, maybe, but you definitely feel light, as if you’ve been severed from the heaviness of everything else that has happened lately. This is the first time in years something like this has ever happened.

“Ah, wait, I forgot to ask! Sorry, um.. how are you?”

“I’m doing alright, too. Oh, wait, I should apologise. I didn’t tell you— thanks for helping with my injuries the other day. Gojo told me about it after you left. You… you didn’t have to, though. You shouldn’t have risked your health like that.”

You shake your head. “Don’t mention it. You know why I do this, anyway.” Out of necessity or a need to be useful, you’re not even sure yourself, but he must know, to some degree, right? It seems as if he’d be the one to know the most of this, of you— at least, when matters came to this. “And I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Dr Ieiri probably ended up helping more with the bigger ones once the three of you got back. I mean, she did, right?”

“…no. She said that she didn’t want to waste her time, so if injuries were more minor like mine, she wouldn’t heal them fully.”

“...ah.” More minor? Seriously, doctor? You’d normally not question her judgement over matters that she had more expertise in dealing with, but seriously?

“I’ll be fine, though. Most of the bandages have come off, and all.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

You wonder where he is now, on the bed, maybe, or sitting on the floor. You’ve seen the classrooms, but not the dormitories— you hope wherever he is, that it’s comfortable. That he’s okay.

“We’re going to see a new student soon.”

“Really? Have you met them before?”

“No, but Gojo said she’s from the countryside. But we’re meeting her in Harajuku, for some reason.”

“Oh, Harajuku! I miss it,” you let out a plaintive sigh, “I can’t wait to be back in Tokyo. You know, whatever happens, I still love that city like nothing else. I know how many people hate it, but I love it so much.” And you love it so much in the first place, mostly because of Megumi and Tsumiki. “Maybe she just wants to chase a bit of the sweet city life— I mean, you know how it is when country bumpkins go to the city for the first time… kind of. Or when they love the city— yeah, that’s a better way of saying it. I was like that, kind of.”

“...if you’re worried about the train ride here and want to travel alone, I could always pay for you. Uh… wait—”

“Oh, no, no! There’s no need, uhm— thank you anyway, it’s just—”

“It’s Gojo’s money anyway.”

“Pft,” you snort. Anything to seep out some of Gojo’s money like gluttonous leeches, right? “Nah, I’ll be fine. I mean, I don’t even think I’ll be able to come back in a few years’ time, and by then I won’t even be relying on my parents’ money for this stuff anymore— I mean, I will still be relying on their money, but I’ll be managing it as my own.”

He chuckles lightly over the line, the silent way he shows his emotions, the way that goes unnoticed if one is not attentive to it. It feels like he’s whispering directly into your ear, and the heat on your face (which you weren’t even sure was still there until that point). Your heart skips a beat and it completely, absolutely shocks you. “...the offer still stands.”

Yeah, you can get behind it if he’s like this now. What happened to him, anyway? Puberty hit him like a brick and gave him, like, one more ounce of emotional maturity?

You shake your head like a character in a piece of crappy romance fanfiction. No way. Not now, at least. Calm down.

(...you’re just a girl.)

“Well, no take backs from now on, okay? Even if it’s, like, five years into the future, you’ll still be using Gojo’s credit card to cover for all my travel expenses.”

He does it again, that low, soft, attractive sound. Makes you want to hit him and hit yourself at the same time, and then kick your feet up in the air giddily, and then throttle yourself, if it were possible, out of sheer embarrassment. “Yeah.”

You’re having the time of your life.

“Anyway, how is everything else? Like, are your studies and grades okay? Is the training you do alright to handle?”

“My grades are pretty okay,” he answers, “Not like Gojo cares, honestly. And the training’s fine, it’s nothing I’m not used to.”

“Gojo seems like he’d be a good teacher. When he wants to, he can command respect pretty easily, too. I guess he just… chooses not to. But I saw it yesterday, when you and Yuuji were passed out in the hospital.”

It still strikes a pang of guilt in your chest, your inability to have done anything else besides calling Gojo over for help.

“...I suppose he does.”

“Yeah.”

“How about you? Itadori, he… he can be an idiot sometimes, but he speaks of you really admirably. He talks about how smart you are a lot.”

The thought of Megumi calling Yuuji an idiot of all things doesn’t feel like it falls short from him, but it still makes you frown— though, you realise that that’s just his way of expressing things, because in a way he’d treated you somewhat the same in the past, even if he hadn’t shown it outright or expressed it very vividly. Classic Megumi.

“Hey, he’s smarter than people give him credit for, okay? Wait until you see how talented he is at things other than sports and martial arts. You’d be surprised after trying the meatballs he makes. Would be good if you asked him to give you the recipe sometime; I make them, like, once a week, at least.”

He sighs, “...I will. But the point is, he cares for you a lot.”

“Yeah, beautiful soul, that guy. Loves people the way curious children love nature.”

“That would be a fitting way to put it.”

“How are the dogs?”

“My shikigami?”

“Yeah. Do they have names?”

“The black one is Kuro and the white one is Shiro.”

“You named them black and white?”

“Look, I named them when I was barely six years old, and six year olds aren’t exactly the best when it comes to these things…”

You giggle, “So the name stuck?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

Real cute.

“What about your father? How is he?”

“He’s okay, but, well. I guess we’re not that close anymore.”

“...I see.” He probably can’t imagine a version of you who wasn’t immensely close to her parents. You couldn’t then, either.

“We’ve been talking even less now that my mother’s in the hospital, but at least I get to talk to him before he eats, maybe. I’ve been doing most of the cooking now that my mother isn’t here and my father doesn’t really know how to handle himself in our kitchen without her guidance.”

“Oh… if you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your mother?”

“Cancer.”

You can practically hear the gulp he’s taking, the bobbing of his throat— sensitive topic. “I’m… so sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay, don’t be,” you reassure him, “I should have told you that day anyway. I was just… exploding at everybody on that night. I should apologise— I’m sorry for how badly I treated you.”

“No,” he goes, “No, you shouldn’t. I understand why you were like that that night. And it was mostly my fault, too, so…”

“No, no, I’m serious! Feel free to ask almost anything as long as I have actual answers to your questions and all.”

“Still… I just wanted to know. Sorry if I caused you any trouble.”

“No— you didn’t do any of that at all, don’t worry! I’m alright with people asking about this. Ah, anyway… besides Yuuji, do you have any friends?”

“Itadori and I aren’t friends.”

“Trust me, if I asked him, I bet he’d beg to differ. Yuuji’s like that with people— soon he’ll be more important to you than you could have ever thought at first.”

“Whatever you say,” he sort of grunts, “But I don’t have any friends, I think… except you, maybe. What about you?”

You were honestly expecting him not to consider you a friend at all, and at this point so much has happened that wouldn’t even be that bothered if he no longer thought of you as one but called you anyway out of his commitment to his promises, or as an apology.

“I’m surprised you can still call me a friend,” you say. Calling people instead of talking to them physically does something to your inhibitions.

“...should I not?”

“No, no, I’m happy,” you say over the phone. You’ll forget this conversation tomorrow, at least, when the sun has risen and the night returns back the hold you have over yourself, your composure, to you. You’ll act like this never happened. So you’ll say whatever you want to now, disgorging yourself of years of withheld secrets. “I’m happy that we’re still friends. I think I like that.

“Yeah?”

“Um— yeah, it seems like a good place to start,” you grin slightly. “And I, well. I don’t really have any friends beyond Yuuji,” —You’re not even sure if Tsumiki still sees you as a friend— “Even if I may have acquaintances like Sasaki or Iguchi it still feels like Yuuji’s one of the only people I can give that kind of title to, so, um… the more the merrier?”

“That’s… nice.”

“...it is, isn’t it?”

“Thank you.”

Why? “Okay.”

The two of you go through the next few seconds in silence, time feeling like it’s blending and bleeding into a mix of years and events. You can hear the light, steady sound of his breathing from the other line. If you could, you’d sleep to it— fuck the phone bill, you’ll be the one paying it in your father’s stead this time if it was for this.

It’s comforting, and you don’t want to break it— the quiet. If he can hear you now, can hear how you’re breathing through a smile with your chest only slightly moving, you hope it feels the same as the sound of his breathing did for you. You hope it feels just like home. Like a warm pillow in the one place you love the most that you bury your head into when the weather gets especially cold.

“Fushiguro!”

Oh dear.

Wincing at the sound of the creaking door’s shrill shriek as it's opened and then hits the wall, you know exactly who it is— you’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“Is that Yuuji?”

“Oi! I told you not to barge into my room like that!” Megumi shouts.

“Huh? You’re calling someone? Sorry. Wait, is it [Name]?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Hi, Yuuji.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“Is it alright if we do, Megumi? Just for a few seconds.”

“Fine,” he sighs. You can practically hear that eye roll.

“Yo!” he cheers.

“Has everything been okay lately?” you ask.

“Yeah. We’re meeting a new student soon.”

“Ah, yeah. Megumi told me.”

“—Oh, and my uniform came in! It looks pretty neat.”

“That’s good. Maybe you can send me a picture once you start wearing it, then.”

“I will!”

Things are going better than you thought they would.

21-6-2018

It’s been a few days now.

You don’t know Sasaki and Iguchi well enough to call them friends, but the three of you do know each other. You had never decided to change any contacts with them, and considering that they and you were never closer than acquaintances, friends of a friend— you had never really regretted it. But now that Yuuji is gone— and you know he’s not dead, but still— you wonder whether you should have gotten closer to them, just to be less alone once Yuuji left, even if it could not be the way things were with Yuuji. (“I thought I was a pretty lonely guy, and sometimes I still do. Like— I mean, you’re a lonely girl too sometimes, I think,” he had told you as you patched him up.)

Still, Yuuji and you were two peas in a pod— so they’re bound to ask what happened to him soon enough, especially Iguchi.

You’ll have to start getting used to spending your Thursdays alone. And then you’d have to start getting used to every other day without him, too. If you went to the arcade or watched movies or sing-screamed the lyrics to English songs you don’t know the Japanese translations of without his presence there, you know how it wouldn’t feel the same. In life it’s not what you do that matters, you’ve come to realise— it’s who you’re doing these things with. That’s what puts meaning to it all and makes all things done in your life worthwhile.

The two of them pass you by during lunch.

“[Last Name]? —Oh, hey!” Sasaki says as she turns around.

You almost scream and run away like a mouse fleeing from the eyes of a vicious house cat, tremors in your voice. “Hello…”

“Where’s Yuuji, by the way? The occult club’s going to fall apart without him.”

You pause. “He transferred to another school…”

“Huh?” she goes, Iguchi almost reeling back in shock. “Transferred? But why? We’ve barely even made it to the middle of the year!”

“I… I don’t know, it was something really urgent,”

23-6-2018

Your room is a cluttered mess— lucky as you are that it’s the weekend, the past week has been a rollercoaster that knocked your room’s usual standard of cleanliness off track. Scattered all over your desk were worksheets, notebooks, graph paper pages and foolscap paper, chicken-scratch writing and meticulous notes scribbled all over them to compensate for your absence the day after the incident took place.

It isn’t the time or the discipline you lack— it’s just that it’s going to be awfully tedious. You’ll have to wipe your desk again, and clean the walls, and sort through all your clothes, too, since you haven’t been folding them in any way that isn’t merely fastidious and nearly careless. So as you get to work, you suppose that calling someone wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe you could call Megumi. That would be okay.

For the past few years, you’ve never noticed it. So when you do, it hits you like a bullet train at the fastest of speeds.

You miss him. Not just in the way you miss 2010, the way you miss the past, the way you miss and mourn the person you used to be. It had been so obvious for Tsumiki, but not for him, and now that you know this it’ll be another quiet revelation— another rediscovery of fragments of yourself concealed by memories.

You miss him— all of him; you yearned to be his friend again because he was unlike Tsumiki who you knew cherished you as you did her; you miss him regardless of who he is now, because somewhere inside him is the boy who read dog books and brought you to the school library and ran your finger through water when you burned it. Somewhere inside him is the person who offered to hold your bag as he walked with you through a snowy garden, and helped you when your nose bled.

So it would be okay to call Megumi right now.

“Fushiguro speaking.”

“Hi, Megumi. Are you busy?”

“Not right now.”

“Want to call?”

“Fushiguro!” It’s Yuuji. “Wanna go—”

“I said I’m not going!”

You chuckle, “Be nice. Were the two of you supposed to go somewhere?”

“Nothing important. Gojo said he wanted us to ‘bond’ with each other, so he concluded that we could watch a movie. Some kind of gory horror film or something.”

He’s… actually making an obvious effort not to scold Yuuji that much or call him some insulting, derogatory term this time… wow.

“Ah, yeah. Yuuji likes his horror movies.”

“Anyway, anything urgent you wanted to tell me?”

“No, I’m just… uh—” you laugh nervously, “I’m just a little bored.” Nowadays you’re not really sure what he’d do— scold you, maybe, or roll his eyes so hard that you can hear it over the line, or he may even flash into a quick bit of awkwardness and hesitation through his words.

Or maybe— and this was the worst of it all, he’d ask why you were calling him, and his bouts of awkwardness would have only been something temporary, soon to be replaced once again by anger and annoyance, the same he gives to everyone else— even if you knew he didn’t always mean it, per se. No more special treatment for you.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, uh… I have to clean, and usually it’s not as much as what I have to do today, so I just thought that since the only other person in the house is my father and we don’t really talk much anymore, we could, um… chat for a while. Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Uh-huh, so.” You stand up, leaving your phone on your desk and putting the call on speaker mode. The mountain of papers and books is a wasteland and your desk has been degraded to a landfill— the state of it would make your mother a wailing mess— no, she’d faint instantly as soon as she saw it, becoming worse of a mess than the table itself was. “Anything interesting happened lately?”

“Not really.”

“Oh—! Yuuji sent me a picture of his uniform the other day. Was that one special?”

“Yeah. But they let students make adjustments to the uniform, and he said he hadn’t changed anything, so I think that was Gojo’s doing.”

“Oh, well, that’s Gojo. It suits him, though, right? Not to sound mean or be presumptuous, but…” you chuckle, “When you wear the uniform, you look so formal. It’s not a bad thing— it’s just that Yuuji’s just always been more casual like that. And the red of the hoodie goes with his hair, too!”

“I guess so.”

“I can’t imagine you wearing anything other than the default uniform, though. Not to insult you, I mean, you still look good in the normal uniform, I just— can’t imagine it.” You remark, sorting the materials and books by size and subject. You’ve got to handle some of the drawers, too, now that you’ve started and can’t stop your momentum just yet. You can already feel the dust particles that have gathered on whatever is inside them still, jostling around once you’ve taken them out.

“If you’re going to say it like that, you can just say it outright.”

“No, no! I mean that I just can’t imagine you wearing, like, Yuuji’s uniform. Wait, what do the other students’ uniforms look like?”

“The second years?”

“Yeah. Did they choose the normal ones?”

“Inumaki did. They have three boys and one girl, but only two of the boys wear the normal uniform. Okkotsu has a special uniform in white.”

“Oh, I see,” you nod your head, “It’s a nice uniform, though. I wish I could wear a uniform that pretty.”

“You could always enrol yourself here,” he suggests, “They’d welcome you with open arms.”

“Maybe they will,” you chuckle, “But my mother would be adamant on me staying in the ‘normal’ world. She’s unyielding like that.”

“And your father?”

“Wouldn’t mind, at least I don’t think…” you say, “I’ll have to wonder when to tell him if I do end up in jujutsu high; you never know when he’s mad. He’s always unpredictable like that nowadays and it’s not… particularly pleasant.”

“I see. It would be good if you were here, though. You would be closer to Dr Ieiri that way. And it would do good, because, um… well, I’d like you here. You’d be… good for the people around you here.”

“Ah, you— you would?” you ask, slightly phased— not like he hasn’t been a bit nicer to you since you’ve seen him again (maybe it was the awkwardness, maybe it was the guilt). “Thank you,” you say, the corners of your mouth tugging up sheepishly, heading to the dusty drawer (you haven’t touched it in what feels like years, usually excluding it from your list of things to clean).

After a scrupulous amount of wiping away at the dust outside of and surrounding it, you open the drawer with a slight bit of anticipation— you don’t expect much, but you’re a person who lingers on the past like a ghost that has forgotten how time has passed. There wouldn’t be much in this drawer to reminisce on, you presume, but you still approach it with an eager fascination— you’re the type to do so, after all.

Of everything there, the most noteworthy are two things you grabbed almost immediately— you could never forget how they felt, and the weight that they held in your life back then: a letter, addressed but never delivered to the person you were talking to right now, and a cigarette with a hastily scribbled slew of numbers on it and a lipstick mark on its end.

Oh, that letter. That letter.

From what you remember, you’ve never rebelled against your parents before. At least, not with anything major— for a long time, you were their good girl, and you never disobeyed them, as much as you wanted to at times. You still are, still stuck with that age-old drive to be useful. (But was there even a point in that anymore? At least, was there one with your parents?). You didn’t picture yourself as any kind of righteous goody-two-shoes, but you definitely weren’t a rebel or a delinquent. You followed their instructions and seldom ever questioned what they told you, and so it had always been subtly implanted in your brain that they would be alright with anything you did or said. Yet the first time you did actually start to question them, you realised that their belief in your ‘obedience’ as pure love— and maybe it was; you loved them so much you were blinded and trusted them with everything and did anything they wanted their baby to do— you realised they only treated you so lovingly if you were not an actual person with your own ideals and beliefs.

(But they still loved you, right?)

Even now, you still do obey them and listen to them. If your father needed anything, he could consider it done; if your mother wanted her clothes to be patched up you’d try your utmost best to withstand the pricking of needles and bring it back to her hospital room with bandaged fingers. It was like that with your mother: even if at times it seemed like the only pain she wanted for you was callouses from a pen or pricks from needles, at other times you feel she could have known you’d end up like her, maybe. Maybe she saw it as a curse: the worlds the two of you were born in were different, and she wanted you to stay in yours, lest you die or live in a world of endless pain.

You’ve been doing it for a long time: being dismissive of yourself, prone to self-prostration, subservient; the lovingness of a mother, the sweetness of a teenage girl (you hoped), the kindness of a caring friend. Maybe it was Tsumiki— maybe it was because you’d always seen this in Tsumiki. She was always smiling, always caring; taking on the weight of motherhood before she could carry the weight of her school bag. Hugging you with her saccharine smile; braiding her hair with gentle hands and holding your wrist with her hair tie on it even gentler. (You still have it with you. You had planned to start taking it off more once Yuuji left, but you suppose some habits take longer than a week to develop.) All while having that sickening, fantastical, mysterious sweetness of a teenage girl in what you now understand could have been a hidden misery— because caring for someone like a mother while suppressing the thoughts that spoke to you to act like a child was something you wanted to replicate until you realised you understood it. And then you no longer wanted to recreate it. (Maybe that was the way it was for every woman or girl you knew: watching someone you loved hurt themself or not being able to do anything to prevent it when they started. Life was a cycle that way. A very annoying, frustrating one full of unfortunate circumstances and wrongly-picked out decks of cards.)

“…you know what? I think I may be able to come,” you tell him.

“You don’t have to go against your father for our sake.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I think I know who to ask for help. Thank you, Megumi.”

“Hi, Dr Ieiri?”

“Kid? That you?” she goes, the slightest bit of excitement stark against her usual deadpan tone. “I thought you’d never call because of that old man.”

“Haha, yeah— sorry to disturb you, but, um, Dr Ieiri? I may want to take you up on that offer, by the way, but um, I’m still on the fence. I mean, I know I want to be like you and do what you do but… I don’t know, I’m not quite sure about leaving the two of them alone here and all. But anyway, I just called you because I wanted to ask if there was, you know, any way you could get me to Tokyo somehow. I need to pass something to someone, but, um… I guess I’m going with this with the hope that I’ll change my mind and join you. But I’m… perpetually on the fence for now, I guess.”

“Pft,” she snorts, “You little rebel, I’m in. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you so much.”

24-6-2018

The decision and the plan were made as swiftly as you could.

You decide to tell your father— you wouldn’t want to deceive him, after all. At least, you’d give him a quick notice. And then you’d leave. Like a snowflake before the first day of spring. He’ll probably tell your mother.

“I’m leaving for Tokyo for a while,” you say, “I’ll be back before you can even realise I’m gone. Invitation from Dr Ieiri.”

25-6-2018

“Why?” your father asks, the night before you leave. He suggested going out together at least once before you left. He always knew when you were making white lies.

“I guess that maybe I’m just too much like you, Daddy.”

For the first time in years he hugs you on the doorstep, patting you on the back on the day you’re set to leave. “Make sure you study and work hard,” he reminds you.

“I’m leaving for Tokyo,” you announce.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving us for a boy,” she goes, rolling her eyes. She doesn’t even blink.

“I’m not.” You are.

“You know, your father travelled all over the country to see me again after we’d first met.”

“Oh. Okay?”

“And he’s always been dedicated to his job and dedicated to helping people.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m saying that the two of you are very similar. I’ve lived through this story before,” she states, “And you look just like your father right now.” your mother says. She hasn’t smiled the way she used to— you remember it vividly, that vibrant gleam in her, the liveliest and loveliest of life— in ages and you don’t think she will, not now of all times.

“Really? Sometimes he says I take after you more.”

“You will.”

It doesn’t feel like a curse. Even if it usually would make your heart well up in guilt, it doesn’t feel like a curse.

Maybe she knows that her time is running out. Maybe this is resignation. Whatever it is, you hold her hand first, but you’re also the first one to let the other go, your fingers slipping away from hers. You leave the door for the last time in a while, making another round in your life of that carousel of abandonment and reuniting and departures.

25-6-2018

Dr Ieiri greets you with a calm smile on her pallid face.

“Good to see you again.”

“It’s good to be back here,” you sigh.

It is.

You keep your hand on your other hand’s wrist, holding them in front of you. The cherry hair tie on it feels warm against your skin as you exit the station, summer heat embracing it softly.

taglist:

@bakananya, @sindulgent666, @shartnart1, @lolmais, @mechalily, @pweewee, @notsaelty, @nattisbored

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lovejosephquinn · 1 year

Note

hear me out: thigh-riding while he wears those rugged, blue jeans? (the amount of friction, jesus). I don't know, a little bit shy reader that is not so comfortable sitting on his lap because she thinks she is a bit heavy, and he wants to prove it differently. maybe not as feral, but whenever i see him wear those jeans, i am like oh god

If it's the jeans I think you mean... same, same. 💀 here's some Insecure!reader x softhornybabyJoey to make your thoughts come to life 👀🥵

Under 18's DNI.Word Count: 3k

It didn't quite start as you had imagined it to, you knew you were dating one of the most attractive men you had ever seen, but you were sure that it wasn't to go any further because as always; you didn't feel that you were good enough for him. You weren't like the other ex's or at least the women he'd had been with in the past which he had described to you when you decided to bring that topic of conversation up, which you wish you hadn't afterwards.

Not that you didn't remind Joe every day that he could and would do better than you yet in the most fortunate of circumstances he didn't see it in that way and wanted to prove to you that he really liked you and saw a connection between you both; both mentally and physically. Of course, it helped your confidence grow and it made you let your guard down quite quickly, yet the physical side of things hadn't yet gone past a heavy make out session and as much as you were pining for him, unfortunately you hadn't quite got to that stage in fear of what he may really think once he'd seen you in all your glory.

Of course in your dreams and wildest fantasies, it was in the hope that the things that would inevitably occur, were to go sincerely well. Joe hadn't pushed it and seemed to never ask why you'd managed to go the last couple months without physical intimacy, so you just guessed that he knew your fear, that he could feel the aura radiating off of you and he would stick around until you were fully ready; you were just terrified that you would leave the worry lingering too long and that he would eventually give up, so you either needed to buck your ideas up and get on with it or lose him for making him wait because of your own issue with yourself.

It was after a beautifully set and romantically planned dinner date where Joe had asked you to be his girlfriend, saying that he adored you in every way and that he couldn't see himself with anybody else that you were now faced with having to tell him whether you liked it or not. You'd gone back to his house to stay over the night where he had a bottle of wine waiting for the both of you, blankets and pillows laid out at the ready and a nice dimmed light to set the mood. In other words, Joe wanted it to happen.

It didn't take long before you were laid underneath him, mouths hot and heavy, lips smacking, tongues dancing and teeth scraping, blankets forgotten about piled together on the floor, wine bottle half empty, the only item still in use was the pillow which cushioned your head and slightly tilted you so that you could reach forward to Joe with ease. You had your hands secured tightly in his wild curls, whilst one hand was pressed above your head, tightly holding onto the pillow, the other cupping your cheek, thumb slightly stroking your soft skin, the patch heated a pinkish colour from the warmth radiating from his digits touch.

Time was moving swiftly, along with the erection you could feel bulging through his jeans along your waist, he pressed into you every so often and you were certain it was just a natural flex and that Joe himself wasn't evidently doing it on purpose. You were too busy with your mind fixated on the muscle thrusting against you to realise that Joe had moved down to your neck, slowly sinking his teeth into you so that he could do more than just taste your skin, leaving the prettiest mark you would ever let someone grace upon you. Undeniably, you let it continue to happen, whimpering slightly which made him look up with surprise.

"What's that noise?" He mentioned it like he was in shock and desperate to witness it happen again. At least he enjoyed it.

"It- It felt good." Joe huffed a smirk before returning to his previous stature, his tongue running from just below your ear lobe all the way down to the bottom of your neck making you shudder, your hand gripping harder against his hair, tugging slightly insinuating to him to keep going. He was kissing, sucking and nibbling every part of your neck that he could manage at once, making you breathless with every new touch that came with this new found enjoyment. The more he got into it, the more noise that seemed to erupt from your throat, you were silently egging him on and he was fully aware of the fact.

"You." One nibble.

"Taste." A harder nibble.

"So." Lips pressed with added slurping sounds added.

"Fucking." Teeth sinking in whilst continuing to mark your skin.

"Delectable." Followed by a whimper of his own, your whole heat crying out to be let free by the end of the note that was now playing over and over in your head.

For the first time, you were thrown off guard, completely vulnerable to the state he was leaving you in when you felt his hand guiding itself willingly down your chest, past your stomach and slipping tightly through the waistband of your trousers. Between your stomach and his already stupidly fat fingers, you panicked. You hoisted yourself up faster in trepidation not watching or remotely concentrating on his reaction to what looked like it was Joe being denied square to his face.

"Shit- I- I'm sorry." You whispered.

Joe tilted his head, looking like a rabbit in headlights, his hands held up to either side of him, startled and confused in the obvious dazed horny state that was intermittently overtaking his brain. Your knees immediately rose up with you to sit at your chest where you had forced yourself into making your own safe space, which in turn made you look undeniably pathetic.

"What happened? Did I hurt you? Is everything okay?" You had for sure killed the mood, making Joe bark out the questions from your sudden hysteria.

"No." You stuttered, shaking your head realising the interrogation that was being hurtled at a hundred miles an hour toward you making you feel like you could vomit at any given moment. "No. Not at all! I just-"

"You just what love? What's the matter?" Joe grabbed a hold of your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, gripping tightly only once urging you to let him know what's been playing on your mind since things started becoming serious.

"I- I- I'm not like the other girls you-"

"Babe..." It's like the weight flew from his shoulders. "Is that it? I thought you were changing your mind on being with me." Sometimes men are worse than women for overthinking things, it's true...

"Don't be silly Joey."

"You're the one that's being silly. No you're not like the other girls because you're better than them, all of them, I see you differently, I feel differently and I assure you, you're perfect to me." The always softly spoken and genuinely regarded statement's that came from Joe's mouth were perfect, it's like he always knew what to say to make you feel better, he could be telling the strongest lie ever and you'd still swoon over the way it came from his lips.

"That was amazing of you to say, but I just-"

"What?" Joe leaned over in reassurance to press a kiss against your cheek, his thumb massaging over your knuckles soothing you in a haste attempt to delve further into the truth.

"What if you don't like..." Your free hand gestured up and down your body which made Joe's eyes instantly watch where you pointed. "This." You bit your lip as you caught Joe's gaze with yours, heavy and deeply upset by your response.

Joe chortled a laugh straight at you, not what you were expecting but at least he was taking this well. "Fuck right off baby, do you really think I would of asked you to be my girlfriend if I had any doubts whatsoever." Good point well made. "Here I was thinking that you had changed your mind on me asking you to be my girl and all along it was you being a silly billy."

You rolled your eyes, a chaste smile attaching itself to your lips, your anxiety dissolving and weight being lifted from your shoulders slowly but surely.

"Did you already know?" You needed to see if he really did.

"Know what?"

"That I- we hadn't gone any further because of what I said?"

"Kind of had an inkling since you're always putting yourself down, but I really fucking liked you so I was willing to be patient." You nodded slowly, before being brought forward, your face landing in the crook of Joe's neck in an attempt to bring you some form of comfort. Instead of resting yourself, the scent of him alone which filled your nostrils beautifully made you begin to kiss him out of no where, just as he was using your neck as his very own blank canvas before.

"Oh fuck." Joe grunted out in a suddenly loud bellow when he felt your own teeth sink into his skin, your tongue being used to appease the little mark you had left reflecting that of your own.

Joe's hands immediately fell to your waist, lifting you slight in an attempt to bring you to move on top of him, you put your weight down in recognition of what he was trying to do.

"Joey, I'm too heavy for that."

"We don't have to-"

"As long as you think I won't crush you."

He shook his head in disbelief, taking a hand from your waist and patting down onto the material of his jeans on his lap to show he was personally inviting you, not a care in the world and that he just wanted to have you right where he desired you. You let yourself move with the help of his hands and before you knew it you were straddling his thighs, nothing more to be said. Your lips collided together more ferociously this time, the stupidly comprehensible sexual tension between you gnawing it's way through your core.

He was doing it on purpose this time, trying to create at least a little bit of friction between the clothes that could be only described as a cock block. Joe hadn't so much as even flinched when you came to sit on him, not even when you had put your weight down onto him so you were abruptly feeling quite content where you were and knew there was obviously nothing to worry about.

Joe broke the kiss, panting between blinks whilst earnestly staring at one another, his lips parted to speak and he looked like he was about to say something and he immediately did when you looked away.

"Are you going to let me see you?"

"See me?"

"See you, like really see you."

You sighed apprehensively. No time was going to be a good time for you, but now you were here, there was no time like the present.

You edged yourself off of his lap, standing before him in the most unguarded position, in front of your new boyfriend, unready but willing to grant his wish. Joe put his arms up against the sofa cushions, relaxing himself, a smile beaming from ear to ear; eager to watch you undress for him.

You removed your clothes bit by bit, taking your time and watching his cheeks blush the more skin that began to show on you.

"Fucking hell baby, you are so beautiful." He looked at you in awe, as if he were the one that were nervous, face fully reddened as he rubbed the sweat from the palm of his hands onto his jeans. Making a sudden move to stand himself, quite obviously to undress himself, he got as far as taking off his shirt and before it even had a chance to hit the ground, you pushed him back down onto the sofa, the unforeseen move threw him off guard instantaneously.

"Give me a second, woman. I'm not fully naked yet." He chuckled.

"I know but I've always liked those jeans..." Joe scrunched his face up, the smile still firmly plastered to his face as you put a foot up to push his legs apart, then when you were happy with the distance of the man spread, re-joining him back to his eye level, this time getting straight on top of him, straddling only one thigh this time; settling perfectly a top his leg.

"Perfect for grinding on and after all, you look good in them." You bit your lip as you let out the most ugly girly giggle you could muster, making him look like he could of melted into a puddle at your retaliation.

"Who's this naughty girl and what has she done with my love?"

"She's still here, she's just showing you a different side." A deep, low chuckle hitched from his throat followed by a soft moan when you pressed your lips against his, tilting your head to the side to find a better position to gain a more open mouthed kiss. Your hips found themselves beginning to slowly move against the material, your slit spreading evenly to feel his jeans pressing against the part where you wanted it most. You groaned into Joe's mouth, finding that each time you made a noise, it only made him moan that little bit more back. His hands shot themselves against your hips once more, guiding you along to help you move, lifting up his leg in turn to create a more intense chafe against you.

The jeans were now hitting onto your clit, the edge of it sensitive and aching to feel more, needing more. Joe's lips pushed you back, breaking the kiss once more, not that you needed it but giving that you had already gotten this far, Joe released one side of your hip to spit directly into the palm of his hand, keeping it secure and dipping his fingers into it to push between the space where he could cop a feel of what he was longing for. The rest of your clit was softly covered by his index and middle finger as he moved with the thrusts of your hips. Tiny, dainty little circles pressed against you making your head fall back in more relief than anything.

"Oh Joe. Oh my-"

"Yeah, you like that? You look so good grinding on my thigh. You feel amazing too." You looked down to witness what was happening beneath you, your cunt chasing the friction, etching for more pressure to be added to your delicately almost pleasurably stinging bud.

"Feels amazing." You muttered, biting your lip in mid air as you pushed down harder, making his thigh trapped and unable to move between your body and the sofa, the cushion flattening itself from the pressure you put against it. Joe altered the position of his fingers, using his thumb on your clit now to gain more speed as he flitted it against you fast, rubbing right at the spot which made your body squirm against the movement.

"God you're so damn sexy." He muttered, if you blinked you would of missed the way you sure you saw his cock throb against the tightness, it was begging for freedom; and fast.

Moans were flying from you left right and centre, you couldn't quite bring yourself to stop it from the ache that was intensifying at a ridiculous speed. The material felt so rugged, so beautifully perfect and made to be ground against, fulfilling one of your many fantasies that you'd be sure to tick off of your mental list once this was over. Everything was becoming too much for you, your thighs were shaking, your breath was shuddering and just underneath your lip was forming a self made bite mark from where you had gotten way to excited over this whole ordeal.

"Joe- I think I'm going to-"

"Yes baby, yes. Do it, look at me. I want to see you-"

You directly looked into the beautiful brown eyes you'd fallen in love with, his hand movement messily shaking over your clit as your hips moved frantically, sliding perfectly from the combination of your slick and Joe's helpful spit remedy. You saw white before you, it wasn't like you had imagined; it was better. Your pussy throbbed uncontrollably under his touch, like he had you spellbound. Being able to orgasm just from this had your thoughts racing on how easy it would be to do it in other ways, after all, you were down bad for him and the attraction made it easier to come to terms with.

Your pornographic sounds filled the air whilst you were busy riding out your orgasm, you felt a sudden jerked movement come from Joe, a form of sharp grunt exhaling sharpish from his lips.

"Everything okay?" You were the one smiling now, all nerves banished and you were ready for more. You moved back slightly, a little giggle when you witnessed the wet patch you had created on his thigh. Your hands moved quickly to unbutton his jeans, making you look idiotically eager to return the favour.

"I wouldn't worry about me love, this was about you."

"But I-" Joe interrupted before you could even finish your plea.

"Seeing you that way. I-" He furrowed his brow, biting his lip before blowing out a sigh. "I might of um, finished a little too soon."

Your hands came to cover your face, only showing your eyes that were now in a squinting motion from trying not to let out the worlds biggest belly laugh.

"It's okay, you can laugh at me. I couldn't help it. You just looked so damn good and I couldn't hold it in."

"Well I'm glad I'm not the only one who came easy." You both began to laugh in unison, it was perfect that you could be yourselves around each other when moments ago the situation was panning out extremely different.

"Give me five minutes, we're not done yet." He raised an eyebrow toward you as you removed yourself to allow him to go clean himself up. A look of pure thankfulness in your eyes, he wanted you, all of you.

#joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn x reader

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blackpatrxnum · 4 months

Text

(too many) thoughts and headcanons on life post mockingjay for hayffie and everlark

- it's just pure fluff with some hurt/comfort thrown in there, whoopsie -

Haymitch becoming Katniss' caretaker is so beautiful, I truly see him keeping sober after the war - maybe he bingedrank once back at twelve because the old demons are hard to chase away, but the next day when he sees Katniss depressed he realises he is far more useful sober. He had to take care of her, he still had a purpose. He is slowly helping her get better, maybe accompanying her to the woods for the first few times. He's just there

And even though Peeta goes back home, moves in with her, loves her, keeps the nightmares at bay... Haymitch keeps coming back, keeps making dinner for them, keeps going on walks, teasing, fussing a bit (it seems like he's learnt a lot from effie)

One time, when Peeta and Katniss both have influenza, Haymitch goes full doctor/dad mode - and for the first time, a highly feverish Katniss calls him dad. I'd see Haymitch stopping whatever he was doing for a sec and fight back at smile and then giving Katniss a kiss on her forehead and telling her a less charged version of stay alive.

Eventually, I think that Effie would come to 12. She'd move into Haymitch's house and at first, that feat would bring Katniss and Haymitch even closer. Effie was everywhere, she nagged and she prodded, she got on his nerves. So Haymitch sometimes runs away to Katniss' house, he took solace in the other's kindred spirit. They'd have a laugh, she'd let him bitch about her. She liked Effie but she didn't know her well enough yet. I think in these instances Peeta would be either at the Bakery or he just knew to let them have their time, he saw what they were to each other, how important they were for the other's well being.

But then, during the last months leading up to Prim's death anniversary, right around the time Katniss starts closing in on herself, getting broodier - moodier. Haymitch and Effie's relationship changes, after months of living together, learning their tricks and ticks; they fall in love, properly, absolutely. Haymitch gets lost on the high of the honeymoon stage. It also serves as a bit of a coping mechanism to keep the nightmares and horror from the war at bay.

It's not that he ignores Katniss, or Peeta for that matter. He's just... less aware, looks at everything with rose coloured glasses. After a long time, they are fine, content. The past is past.

Katniss feels like Effie is EVERYWHERE. She's the only one out of the three victors that isn't as happy with her presence. Effie loves Katniss, she considers Katniss as hers but Katniss isn't there... yet. (I feel like this would steem from her own relationship with her biological parents' - her dad left, he couldn't help it, he died but he always took care of her and her family, he taught her how to survive / SEE THE PARALLELISM WITH HAYMITCH TELLING KATNISS TO STAY ALIVE / but her mum... she abandoned her, from a young age, Katniss had to make do, she put bread on the table, she protected Aster and Prim, and her mom at the end, once again, CHOSE to leave her behind)

So yeah, Katniss is naturally wary of Effie, pair that with her Capitol self and it could be a recipe for disaster. At some point, they'd have a row - she says stuff that hurts Effie to her core - and Haymitch hates that. He tries to mediate but he gets "scalded". Katniss starts to avoid them, him. She gets worse. The demons are louder than ever.

And Haymitch two weeks into it, finally has to take matters into his own hands. They fight like they've never done before. Katniss yelling "You're not my dad" stops them in their tracks, 'cause at some point Haymitch really forgot. He just thought they didn't do the mushy shit and say it, there was no need for more acknowledgement after that feverish night. She was his to protect, she was his to care for, she was his to love.

It'd hurt him more than he'd let on.

They'd sulk, for a bit. Haymitch would storm out, but he'd also be the one to patch them up. I think they'd talk. It would go well, even though they're not such open books. They'd compromise. They'd acknowledge in the open air what they meant for the other. They'd move on. I think this would be the point when they start working on the Tributes book; because Katniss needs to do something with all the grief inside her. The woods and the happy family was not cutting it anymore.

And the four of them would sometimes get better, other times' they'd get worse. But they're always there for each other, like proper family. After sometime Katniss would leave behind the flight/fight mode. And yeah, life goes on.

I see her relationship with Effie getting better, to the point that sometimes she goes to her instead of Haymitch for stuff. Because she knows she won't leave. She learns to accept her flaws, she learns to love her happier and more optimistic demeanor. Effie also lets Katniss see, finally, the other side to her - the more human, vulnerable side that only Haymitch was privy to. Peeta's always seen through the cracks tho, so it doesn't surprise him as much. Peeta does know he's hers. Katniss learns to see herself as hers too.

And Peeta's and Katniss' wedding comes. They're forced to make a bigger spectacle than what they wanted to. Mama Effie and Papa Haymitch come to the rescue and fight to get them as much privacy as they can. Effie plans the whole thing to their liking.

I think she'd insist on adding a bit of Capitol tradition to it: the bride and the groom spending the night before the wedding apart. At first Effie would spend the night at Peeta's and Katniss' house, to keep him company in case he has an episode. And Katniss would go to Hayffie's. But Peeta makes a funny comment "It's not like you and Effie are getting married too, there's no need to make you suffer through the night alone" and Haymitch...just gets this little twinkle in his eyes. They accept with the promise that if Peeta has any troubles he'd come to them. So Katniss is the one that spends the night at Hayffie's.

They'd have a mostly quiet night in, Effie has more outward nerves than anyone else. The next day, Effie wakes Katniss up with her "big big day". But in a flurry she's gone to Peeta's, to make sure he gets dressed and is right on schedule. It also gives Katniss and Haymitch a bit of space to sneak out to the comfort of the woods for a bit. They make sure to come back before Effie catches them. She comes back to help Katniss get ready, she's teary eyed. Haymitch too, when he sees Katniss coming down the stairs. She looks soft, beautiful.

Effie leaves with Peeta, 10 minutes before them. Haymitch is in charge of getting Katniss to the justice building, that's when she asks him to give her away. And he does. The whole thing is perfect.

After an evening of partying, they bid their farewells. And go to have their private toasting. Peeta and Katniss want this part to be just theirs.

It's winter so at Effie's and Haymitch's the fire is roaring too. And she gets... curious; she's never been privy to that part of twelve customs so Haymitch takes the hands on approach and shows her how it's done. Effie understands what he's doing halfway through, Haymitch can see the recognition in her eyes. The slight stopping, the widening and surprise in her gaze. But she lets him go on, doesn't stop him even when he leaves enough space for her to make a run for it during the last part. He says wife, she says husband and she kisses him with all her fervor. All the love she has for him, all the love she's kept from him during their time as escort and victor.

She still makes him promise they'll have a proper party after a year.

They don't tell the kids what they've done tho. That ceremony is only theirs too.

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hwajin · 1 year

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★༉‧₊˚✧ — 𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖗

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 001. — 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 | 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟-𝐡𝐲𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: smut, hints of angst

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: wolf-hybrid!chan x fem!reader

𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘: he's scared to show you his real colours, his true nature; yet it's your biggest wish, your deepest desire. you'd care for him, you'd tend to him, you knew you'd be good to him — he's scared you'd leave.

𝖜𝖈: 3k

𝖈𝖜: this one's quite soft but big dick chan, mentions of fights and injuries, mentions of self-doubt/ insecurity, unrpotected sex, cumming inside, creampie

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: here we go!!! we're starting out quite soft into kinktober but i promise the upcoming fics are much nastier so stay tuned!! hope you enjoy this first fic, feel free to leave feedback <33

— series masterlist

It was a full moon. Chan had taken precautions, had distanced himself days prior – to protect you, not to hurt you. He wasn’t himself when silver rays shone upon the earth, lost himself in his urges and instincts – if he could prevent you seeing him in such state, he would take any possible measure to.

You never much understood him. You weren’t stupid, you were well aware that there was truth behind his words – he was part animal, not fully human, and there was little he could do against the instincts of his other half. He was a wild animal, at that; a wolf, dangerous, rightfully fearsome. And yet you couldn’t bring yourself to be truly frightened, not by him. Not when Chan had showed you parts – if only minimal – of the primal part that lived within him. Emitting sounds so deep and carnal no human could compare to it, acting sometimes like a puppy at your feet. He never went as far as altering appearance, let alone transforming before you; though you knew it took him effort to stay entirely in his humanly form, especially during times of utter content – especially in times of pleasure and bliss.

You didn’t believe that sex with you was straining on the man, necessarily, though you knew that it took him great concentration and preservation of self-control to not lose himself in you entirely, to not slip into his carnal side during times of intimacy. He was often silent entirely, eyes only focused on your own while pounding you into the mattress – only after you had admitted your insecurities to him – “Do I not make you feel good? You’re always so quiet.” – he had explained that, on the contrary, you made him feel so good that with every of your touch and sound and gaze he was on the brink of letting his instincts take over him. Not in ways dangerous to you, in ways rather subtle, yet inhuman – growls and purrs, showing tail or ears, growing fur. You’d been fascinated when he first revealed this information to you; you had asked, momentarily, if he could let you see. He’d been frightened, had not understood your desire to see him in his real state – letting go this way meant letting urges win, meant forgetting himself in his role, meant a wolf in a room with a human, meant danger. You’d argued that he was a half-wolf, after all, that his humanly part wouldn’t vanish, that, except on full moon, he wouldn’t go full predator on you. It hadn’t been a long argument, since Chan had not let it be one – he had shut off the subject, had denied the possibility of it entirely. You’d be in far too much danger, he’d feel guilty for the rest of his years if you’d get remotely hurt.

It was a full moon, and you worried about him. He had been on edge the past days, had let you know he wasn’t feeling his best. You hated being away from him in times of bad condition, hated that he didn’t let you care for him the way you wanted to. Eventually, after all he’s told you, you couldn’t fear him. You knew to hold your distance during full moon, but you believed that, if only he let you, if only he let his guards down and trusted you the way you trusted him, that you’d prove him wrong. That his vision of your face drooping, a scream emitting your throat and your feet starting to scramble to get away from him as fast and far as possible if only you saw his appearance altered and animalistic was misguided, plagued only by insecurities of his own. You’d love him, tend to him – you couldn’t fear him.

During nights like these you never found sleep. It wasn’t so much Chan’s nature as his sheer absence that drove you insane – he never much shared his full-moon-stories, thinking it would freak you out, he would freak you out. He was always sure to let you out of his affairs as best as he could, despite your begging and pleading to let you in. To open up to you fully, to trust your love enough to be honest about every part of himself.

The moon shone in silvers onto your wooden bedroom-floor, drowning the room in shimmer, making you feel lonely this night. You watched it, big ball of white light on dark-blue sky, thinking of Chan – the moon had changed meaning for you after knowing him, meant love and promises and agony now. You watched the night change, watched the moon change course, watched it wander on deep sky, setting slowly in the west the later the night got. Soon it disappeared entirely, first rays of sun hiding behind thick clouds, and you lay awake. Couldn’t even think of sleep until receiving a message from your boyfriend – he’d always hated how affected you were by the matter, felt himself guilty for you losing sleep.

Rattling against your bedroom window, as though droplets of first rain. Then again and a third time, in intervals unnatural for precipitation. You stood to check, tired and dazed, eyes only half-lidded – and then you spotted Chan, looking up at the second floor where your room was positioned, motioning towards your front door when he caught your figure. You were frantic, suddenly; he looked hurt as much as you could see from your place above, limping slightly and bent over in pain, seemingly. You hurried, body suddenly energized, the lack of sleep now forgotten. You ran down wooden stairs, bare feet plopping loudly with each step, fiddling with the lock of your door, opening finally to meet Chan, indeed, hurt. He stumbled into your place, bringing up enough strength to limp towards the couch and plop against it only.

And he looked different. Rougher, somehow, bigger. More hair grazing his body, his hair a mess and two buds protruding from it – ears, you were sure. You didn’t believe he was yet showing himself to you, not fully; though you recognized he couldn’t bring up enough energy to hide from you entirely, either, leaving only marks of his carnality.

You ran over to him, took seat next to his body – he was panting, back leaned against the head of the couch, hand holding the side of his torso. With every breath he took there was a rasp in his throat; deep, threatening almost. Otherworldly.

“I- I’m sorry I barged in like this. Didn’t know… where else to go.”

His voice was low, oozing with exhaustion. It stung your heart to see him this way, to experience him in such weakness – not for your own sake, but for his. It hurt seeing your lover hurt, hurt feeling helpless, unknowing what to do; you simply sat and stared, unable of speaking, let alone acting your part. And you couldn’t help but focus on the differences in his appearance a second time this early morning – canines when he talked, eyes a different colour when he suddenly lay them on you.

“Fuck… I’m sorry, you shouldn’t see me- like this.”

Chan must have taken your stillness in a matter negative so grunting his way out of your sofa, until you finally collected thoughts and urged him to sit down again. He felt warm when your hands met his shoulder, warmer than usual, figure steadier than it normally was under your skin. He jumped under your touch, golden-hued eyes shooting you a gaze of fear, of worry – yet he sat back down, if due to his tiredness of the confidence your eyes returned you weren’t sure. He plopped down defeated without fighting much, closing his eyes again, regaining rhythmical breath. You were ought to do something, anything.

“What- what happened? Are you hurt, do you have a wound to clean, something? Do you need water? Wait, let me- “. Chan shut you up with a hand on your wrist, just as you were about to make your way to the kitchen; you looked at him, worry pooling behind your lids. As though the seriousness of the situation only now caught up to you.

He looked at you, head turned towards you, eyes tired, shimmering golden. You liked seeing more of his natural form, hated this was the situation it needed to make it happen.

“I don’t need anything, don’t worry. I’m… there were some assholes, probably young wolves who couldn’t control themselves, so we got into- it wasn’t much a fight, but they got my side a bit.”

Your hands momentarily urging to lift shirt, to see the bruise, though Chan stopped you from it.

“There’s no wound, don’t worry.”

A small smile was plastered on Chan’s face – you believed him to tell you the truth, though you knew him enough to question if he was downplaying his condition. Laying a hand on his own holding his abdomen, caressing rough skin, surprised for a moment at the unfamiliar feeling.

“Let me see. I can bring something cold, and some water. Let me… let me take care of you, I want to take care of you.”

Your other hand on his cheek, your eyes tender. And Chan would be an idiot to further deny your delicacy, your love for him. He lifted his shirt, revealing blue and purple bruise, making you gasp. You hurried to get a bag of beans from the freezer, pouring a glass of cold water, bringing it to his lips, making him drink. You held the coldness against the damage on his skin, careful, not to apply too much pressure. You touched him tenderly, fixing his hair and wiping traces of dirt or dried blood, and he melted into your touch. Never thought it would be this easy, never thought you’d be one patient enough to deal with him this way. Thankful, adoration warming his insides.

“Chan… let me see you. Fully. You’re… too weak now to hide yourself, am I right? Just... stop fighting yourself when you're with me.”

Your voice cutting through the silence, your words normally calling for protest from the male – though he gave you a look, contemplating, before he leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes, sighing out; and you lost your breath. Ears where you had expected them to be, attentive and alert, hair growing on his body though it was less fur as he had explained it, simply more hair, after all, tail peaking from behind his back, grey and fluffy. Barely noticeable, though somehow he had grown bigger, too. Not by much, yet his hand felt heavier, his arms thicker, his chest more hefty. Minimally, yet you noticed.

You never wanted to take your eyes off him.

“Babe, you’re staring.”

His words came in a chuckle, and you snapped out of your trance.

“You just- you look…”

“Scary?”

Your eyes finding his, and you hated the way he looked at you. Genuine worry, meaning what he said. Still he thought he could repel you somehow, still he thought you weren’t ready to accept him the way he was.

“You look pretty. I don’t understand why you ever hid from me.”

His gaze softened. His eyebrows lost tension, his hand holding yours loosened its grip – you leaned in, pressing your lips onto his, finally sharing closure, finally without primal struggle on his part. His lips as soft as you knew them, his hand on your cheek though rougher, heavy; you didn’t mind it, enjoyed the change. He was pulling you into him in manner of relief – no control when kissing you, no hiding, no fear. You accepted him for who he was, weren’t scared of him, at that – it drowned his head in dizziness.

He was motioning you to find home on his lap, big hand on your waist, seating you onto him in swift motion. Lips never breaking apart, always keeping soft rhythm against another, exchanging breath and sighs, smiles. Your hands curling into his hair – the man emitted a soft whimper when your fingers caressed the bit behind his ear, and you backed away in pleasant surprise.

“You’re sensitive here.”

A smile of fascination on your face and a look flustered on his, a hum in agreement following before Chan connected his lips with your own again, to hide from the sudden embarrassment, or maybe to heal his longing, to stuff the small hole he had dug himself in his heart, with unwarranted fears of unacceptance. He had found a home in you which had always existed, which had always been wide open for him – he had simply struggled to find his way inside.

The way you played with the back of his ears, now knowing it to be a spot favourite of his, drove Chan sheerly insane. He picked you up, standing from his seat as though no weight on his hands at all – he’s always been stronger than mere humans, though it felt as though his strength, like most things about him, increased in his otherworldly form. You had never felt this light in his arms before, had never seen him this utterly relaxed while making his way upstairs, towards your bedroom. Not one vein protruding, not one grunt leaving his throat – your weight in his arms was nothing for him, and the sheer thought got your mind into a frenzy.

He lay you onto the bed, carefully, your back meeting the mattress softly, barely noticeable. Your hands had started growing thirstier even before you had reached your bedroom – they fiddled now with the hem of Chan’s shirt, eager to have it off, eager to see him fully, to bask in his body. He understood, complied – his shirt was gone and he made work on your own top, leaving you both bare from the waist up. You kissed, unable to contain yourselves from affection; it felt different now, more intimate, more personal. Chan’s fur everywhere around you in softest matter, his ears moving with his body, moving in reaction to your own, his tail wagging – it was more intimate, he was closer.

Chan hooked his fingers into the waistband of your sleeping shorts, discarding them, leaving you bare – you rarely minded enough to sleep with your underwear on. He got rid of his own cloths, revealing himself fully, entirely in the nude; and you gasped at the sight. He was bigger, both in length and in girth. Not by a lot though enough to realize the difference clearly, to squeeze together your thighs and salivate in anticipation. Chan smirked knowingly at your gaze, almost chuckling when he caught you staring shamelessly; only after he leaned into you your eyes found his, your cheeks and ears darkening a shade in embarrassment.

“Don’t worry babe, I’ll go slow. You can take it.”

His tip aligned with your slit, sliding experimentally, caressing clit before prodding at your entrance. He gave you a look, questioning, silently asking for permission; your back arched into him, your fingers moulding into his skin as you nodded your head in needy agreement, and he pushed in. He surely was bigger, filling you up more than normally, girth stretching your walls an amount you were unfamiliar with – though you everything but detested it. You arched into him to ask for more, hips gliding along his ones when he bottomed out, when he fitted himself into you fully. The stretch burned, though it was pleasant, you were sure you felt him graze your cervix though the sting was mind-fogging – you wanted him fully. It needed you to squeeze his shoulders for him to start moving, slowly, pulling out all the way to the tip before pushing into you again, hips soft and patient, deep instead. And he saw stars. You felt so much tighter, so much warmer and wetter somehow, so much closer. Closing his eyes and moving against you, in and out, sounds so sinful emitting from where your bodies met, mixing with your sighs and pleas, your nails against his back or in his hair, already figured out his weakest spots, your legs wrapped around his middle tightly, pulling him in, asking for more – he forgot himself in everything that was you, losing control over his body, over every of his sense if it meant to focus on the feeling of you, his hips fastening, almost pistoling into you, and you mewled.

“Chan… slower. Too much.

His hips stuttering in their movement, his body falling forward, face into your neck – no one except you could make him this way. He was different when he was with you, didn’t recognize himself. Not a dangerous animal, no blood-thirsted monster whose fate was written in the stars. With you he was soft, tender, cared for. With you his instincts as though decreased. A whimper against the crook of your neck, heavy sighs, his lips having found rhythm again, slow and deep against you.

“M'sorry, you just- fuck, you just feel so good. Feels nice if I- don't have to keep myself in my human form.”

Your hands in his hair, petting the spots you now knew elicited most pretty sounds out of the man. His hips stuttered again, his hand finding it’s way to your clit. His fingers felt rougher, applying more pressure onto your sensitivity – your head buried into the pillows in response, clinging onto him harder, finding yourself suddenly begging; for release, for more, for eternity.

“I’m close baby, come with me. Want you- need you to come with me.”

His voice husky, raspy in his throat – your hips bucked against his, muscles soring though you didn’t pay it any mind. Your thighs started trembling, a choked sob in the back of your throat and you saw white, came with the intensity of a million waves, the dam within you breaking, flooding your every fibre. And he followed suit – couldn’t not when you clenched around him, when your walls tightened around his length, sucked him in entirely. He fucked his orgasm into you and you milked it out of him, riding out your high, basking in the way his release felt most warm and full within you. Chan pulled out to watch his semen drip out of you and onto the sheets, your thighs sheeted in sweat and shaking, your body spent, your gaze fucked-out. Only later in the night you’d worry about cleaning up, about towels and showers and holding the other close – new-found greed filled both your bodies now, instead, and you deemed to stay up until the sunrise tonight.

@reianagarcia @mixtape-racha @bbyboychanyeol @jenshinee @artisticbirb @fire-08 @lxverss @unlikelysublimekryptonite @aiko0invalid @laughatdanger @salfetkablog @saintriots @boi-bi-ahaha @summer3sworld @bangchans-angel @jenos-eye-smiles @alnex05 @imwithurmother @yangjeonginswifee @hydroyaksha @starlit-rin @channiesgoodgirl @lizzetmv @poody1608 @fandems @stanskzsstuff @cypher-girlx @kayleigh-28 @jetblackbelle @agnes-king @seoseoya @lipstickandloveletters @es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @felixinameadowandthesuniswarm @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife @viviixlyy @having-an-internal-crisis-rn

@hanjisungsgirl

#kinktober #bang chan smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #bang chan x reader #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios

2K notes · View notes

azrielsshadows42 · 8 days

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A Court of Scales and Fire VI

A/n: The story should start to speed up from here, umm, but I have found myself in a bit of a predicament, I have no idea how to introduce Everest to the other characters, so if you guys have any ideas, please don't be afraid to let me know.

Word Count: 4161 And I know nobody cares but, my character count for this (Including spaces) was exactly 22222

Warnings: Swearing, Eris hate from the ic (Inner Circle), protective Cassian, Eris is a bit of a prick, snakes, over-thinking

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

Italics = thoughts

Bold = Draconic

Both = Telepathic communication (Colour will vary)

Y/n's Pov

I stood there a little stunned at how blunt Eris had been. That's ridiculous, you'll stay in Autumn, track them down and then I shall assist in getting them back to Elethairia. I was expecting more of a back and forth you know, like I don't trust you! You don't have a choice! My Court, my rules! My mission, my inhibitions, I'm going there with or without your permission Fire newt! Then we'd have a few rounds insulting each other, Cassian would cheer me on and eventually I'd have to get all up in his face like Listen jerk face, I don't care who you are, I've got a duty to fulfil, and you're not gonna stop me! Then, like a total badass, I would walk out onto the pavilion, Everest would fly into view in slow motion behind me, so it looked like I was the one with wings at the right angle, I'd jump of, land on Everests back and we'd ride to Autumn against the sunset.

I may have taken some creative liberties with that last part, but it would've been really cool if that did happen. While I was busy imagining how the interaction should have gone, everyone was looking at me. "Sorry, did you say something? I zoned out" Disappointed Azriel noises "Y/n" My focus went to Rhysand as he spoke to me, his expression was solemn. Who the fuck died in the five seconds I disassociated? "It's your choice, whether you choose to stay in Autumn or not" Oh, I did

It took me a second to realise they actually wanted me to give an answer, while they were all looking at me which I think is a little inconsiderate, who can make a decision with that much pressure? 1, 2, 3, 4 Fi-, five pairs of eyes just waiting for your response. Granted Amren wasn't actually looking at me, but her presence is intimidating. She should honestly count as three pairs of eyes all on her own.

On to more serious matters, I do need to decide if I stay there or not, staying there would be more convenient for me, and them, no one would have to winnow me there and back, but from my training I know that the main Autumn building is the forest house, which the majority of it is underground and is heavily guarded thanks to the former High lord's paranoia, perhaps that had changed since Eris ascended the throne, but I don't exactly feel like taking my chances with him. Being underground meant no windows that Everest could use to sneak in.

Ev, what do you think?

I think we need to find them and get home, I'll stay out of trouble See, I want to believe her, really, I do, but she doesn't have the best track record.

You know that Fire Newt is a High Lord, right? Specifically, the High Lord of the place we need to be in, meaning you can't do anything to him for attacking me despite the proximity. Judging by her grumbling lack of commentary, I could tell that was exactly what she had planned to do.

Fine. I promise I will not bite, scratch, hunt, or burn him. Nor will I drop him off a cliff, because according to your stupid high fae laws, that somehow counts as me killing him, even though gravity is clearly at fault, making it natural causes. She knows that's not how it works, but Everest has been adamant that cliff dropping should not count as murder ever since I explained to her that someone buying the last salmon while we were there to buy some doesn't count as stealing.

"I'll stay in Autumn" I could see Cassian tense in the corner of my eye. Rhysand and Feyre looked to each other, communicating through their bond. They locked eyes with me simultaneously which was a little unnerving, Rhysand was still unsure about me but I could tell that despite her mates worries, Feyre believed that I was telling the truth by the look in her steely eyes as she said to me "Be careful, he's dangerous, sleep with one eye open"

I began to wonder if I'd just made a deal with the devil. What exactly had Eris done to make them all react this way? Even Azriel hiding in his shadow puddle tensed at the High Lords offer. I got the feeling that he didn't like me very much, neither did Rhysand which both made sense, but I just felt like Azriel's dislike for me ran deeper.

Despite this, he still didn't like the idea of me going to Autumn and that raised my guard more than anything. "I'll send word to Eris, in the meantime, you should start preparing" There was a strange ominousness to his words that crawled up my spine. What the hell am I getting myself into?

-Time skip, 2 days-

Each member of the inner circle had come to me to give some kind of warning or bit of advice, all of it ran along the lines of, be careful, he's dangerous. Other than Cassian of course, whose advice was "if he tries anything, fuck him up and come here, we'll create an alibi for you" And while that plan would be ineffective, it was funny and soothed some of my anxiety knowing I could count on him if shit went south.

Today I would be willowed to Autumn. Oh, during the two days of preparations I learned it's called winnowing, not willowing and I have been saying it in my head wrong the entire time. I personally prefer my version, but I digress.

Everest was not particularly pleased with this development and demanded that I wear something she could hide in to avoid having to take a trip more than halfway across the continent. I wore a fur coat that was a little baggy on me for her to slip in, she hid around my neck with her tail curling around the top of my arm.

Rhysand walked in with Feyre on his arm, both dressed impeccably in distinctly Night Court attire. "Are you ready?" His voice was deeper than usual, just slightly, already slipping on the mask to speak to Eris. "As ready as I can be"

Rhysand would obviously be taking us there, Feyre was coming for diplomatic reasons, which as far as I've observed meant that Feyre told Rhysand she wanted to go as well, and he was all too happy to hang the stars for her. After about an hour-long argument, it was decided that Cassian could join for, as he so stoically put it 'my protection'. As if the sparring we'd done the past two days, and my years of training and experience wasn't enough.

Rhysand winnowed us there in the blink of an eye, and it was only as I felt Everest's claws dig into my shoulder that I wondered if he could sense her with his magic. I had put on a glamour to mask her magical signature, but I was unfamiliar with winnowing, would he feel her presence? It seemed either all my worries were for naught, or he was a good actor, for once we reached Autumn, he made no comment.

We all approached the entrance as one, I could see Fire Newt and another fae standing there. The High Lord was looking at my coat as if it had offended him and panic struck through me at the thought that he might sense her.

"High Lord Eris, General Madoc" Rhysand greeted them cooly, Feyre standing by his side mimicking his almost bored expression while Cassian stood like he thought the leaves were out to get him.

Eris greeted his fellow High Lord and Feyre, but pointedly ignored Cassian and I. The tension hung thick in the air as silence broke out, I almost flinched when Cassian shifted his footing making the leaves crunch. Everest moved, accidently tickling my neck and I masked it as a shiver, though thankfully Rhysand had chosen to break the spell that had befallen us.

"I expect updates on any progress, and we will be back in a week to ensure Y/n's well-being, there will be consequences if she is harmed here" The threat in his voice was clear. Just like that, they were gone, and I was left with Fire Newt. I should probably start calling him Eris in my head, otherwise I might call him 'Fire Newt' out loud, which I don't really wanna do. Actually, yes I do, but not while I need to be on his good side, I can call him that to his face when I'm back home.

The silence was becoming awkward as I waited for him to say something. "There is a room waiting for you. You are to settle in then join me at dinner so we can discuss a course of action" His words were clipped, as if I was making him late for something.

Eris turned swiftly, his coat flaring out behind him, but Madoc stayed in place, so I wasn't sure if I should stay, or follow. I was about to ask but small dainty footsteps sounded from inside. A lesser fae with a furred orange tail appeared in the doorway shyly, her head was bowed, and her dress was covered in stains. "This is Daphne, she will show you to your room, if you need anything, she will bring it to you"

She gave me a small smile and then started walking down the hall to a grand staircase. The entire floor was carpeted in red with golden embroidery, torches lined the walls giving it that homey glow, like candles. The walls were a dark spruce colour, and every door was had intricate engravings of different things, trees mostly, but some were of the woodland creatures like foxes, squirrels, and swans, it was beautiful but also, eerily quiet.

The entire way I had seen not a single other fae, the loudest sound was my foot falls, it felt like I'd stepped into a vacuum so nothing could be heard. Daphne stopped in front of a door with an autumn leaf, she opened it, motioning inside.

The room was furnished nicely, it had a four-poster bed with entirely too many pillows and a blanket draped over the bottom, it was so so soft. The room did in fact have a window, tinted with red, orange and yellow, giving the evening light that shone through a few extra tones. It was smaller than my room in night, I was actually a little thankful for that, it didn't seem as hollow. There was a desk with an obnoxiously fancy quill in ridiculously expensive ink and a velvet chair lay before it. A little gaudy in my opinion but was certainly better than what I was expecting.

I had honestly forgotten that Daphne was in the room until she cleared her throat softly. "Is there anything you need?"

"No, no everything is perfect, thank you, Daphne." She nodded her head politely and left the room on silent feet, closing the door behind her. Not even the hinges made a noise in this place. As soon as the door had closed, Everest wriggled out of the coat, immediately exploring the room, the thing that interested her the most was the ornate lamp, carved in the shape of a tree with more tinted glass as a covering to act as leaves that sat on the bedside table.

Everest landed on it, her claws making a soft clink as she did. She lay down, absorbing the heat it radiated, her scales slowly shifted colour, melding to the shades of the lamp until she looked like she was part of it. Show off

Everest's only response was a happy, satisfied purr as the lamp warmed her stomach. I looked around some more, opening the cupboards and drawers. Autumn clothes both male and female were there, ready to be worn. The dresser contained a small assortment of jewellery and clips. A brush made of acacia laid neatly on the right side, a comb on the left.

It was not long before a knock landed on the door. "Lady Y/n, I have been sent to tell you that it is an hour before you are expected to be at the dining hall, your servant will show you the way when the time arrives." My servant? Does he mean Daphne? Was she really expected to be my servant? Her hesitant demeanour made sense now.

I don't know about you, but I'm hungry, and I highly doubt I'm invited to dinner, I'll have to catch my own food, again.

You realise you're a dragon, right? You're supposed to catch your own food.

Everest growled at that. You realise you're a fae, right? You're supposed to be my food.

You don't like the taste of fae, you prefer other meats, but you'd rather eat exotic fruits if given the choice. I shot back.

Just shut up and primp, you have a prince to seduce. She teased. I saw the way he looked at you.

So did I, he looked like he wanted me dead. He's a High Lord, not a prince, and I'm not going to be seducing anyone. It didn't matter what retort I gave, she had already dived out the window, blending in with her surroundings and closed her end of the bond.

I didn't have time to question Everest's where she found that particular line of thought, I had to figure out what I was going to wear to dinner. After going in circles for a good five minutes, I knocked on Everests walls.

I need your help to pick out an outfit I heard her long, drawn out, suffering sigh reverberate through our connection.

Fine, go ahead.

I don't know whether I should wear Night court clothes, Autumn court clothes, or my armour.

...Does it matter?

Of course it does! They may have an alliance, but it is strenuous at best, so wearing Night court attire might be disrespectful. If I wear Autumn court clothing, there might be a traditional way to wear certain things, and wearing it wrong could be offensive, or worse, he could think I'm trying to mock them. But if I wear my armour, it could be seen as a threat. Now do you understand my predicament?

No, not in the slightest, you're such an over thinker, making everything so unnecessarily complicated She closed her side of the bond again, more firmly this time. Cassian was right, courtier work sucks.

I was about to start undressing myself when I got the feeling I was being watched. A tingling sensation from my upper back travelled up my neck, down my arms and to the tips of my fingers. I recognised that feeling, a smile broke out on my face as I opened the window. "Night Shade!" My two snakes, Night and Shade, named after the plant their venom was made of, slithered inside. "By the mother, I've missed you guys, my arms don't look like they're mine without you there." I offered both my hands to them, and they climbed up, crossing over each other behind my head, before coiling themselves around my arms, once again merging with my skin to become tattoos.

I'll wear Night court attire, that's what they like best, and they've had to travel a long way to get here. I knew that technically, they're not alive, they don't need food or water, they don't tire, and they don't have minds of their own, they're made entirely out of magic, but I'd made personalities for them in my head, and based on that, they preferred Night court clothes, it matches their scales.

Eris's Pov-when Y/n arrived in Autumn

I stood outside the forest house beside Madoc, the past two days could not have gone by any slower. I had gotten a response from Rhysand a mere hour after my proposal, what in the name of the Mother could she have needed to pack that required two DAYS to do it?

It was early evening now, the sun had just started to set causing soft shadows to be cast across the ground like blankets. Rhysand winnowed in with Feyre on his arm, both dressed like they were going to a sophisticated event instead of a three minute drop off. Had to give it to them, they had style, though it was dulled by the company they kept, the brute followed along slightly behind the witch, looking around like he expected an ambush.

I knew Rhysand made sure there was space to walk up to him as a power move, so that they could take their bloody time strolling up to the doors with bored expressions to grate on my nerves, and any other time, it would have, but right now, I was very thankful for the few moments it afforded me.

The witch wore a fur coat, white and grey with flecks of black, I assumed it was to fight off the Autumn wind, and she looked beautiful, but it didn't suit her, it gave her skin an ashen tone that I did not like. There were much better alternatives for warmth, like me, for example, I could warm her much quicker and much more effectively than that poor attempt at comfort.

What am I thinking? I thought the strange thoughts had ended in Night, this needs to stop, now. I greeted Rhysand and Feyre, ignoring her and the brute, I accepted his demand for updates and barely registered his threat as I noticed the witch shiver in my peripheral vision and chose to be ignorant of the way my hand twitched toward her, convincing myself it meant nothing.

Rhysand and his company left, it was just me, her, and Madoc. I stared at her, wondering if it was too late to send her back, call it off, anything so that she wasn't staying near me, making me act a fool.

"There is a room waiting for you. You are to settle in then join me at dinner so we can discuss a course of action" I tried to keep my voice professional, like how I talked amongst other High Lords, but it came out too curt, too harsh. Anything I said would just fuck things up further, as I had apparently lost all control of my vocal cords, so I left, striding quickly to my bedchambers.

My pace slowed once I reached my door, it was engraved with two baying hounds and a small acorn in each corner. I slipped inside, feeling like an imposter in my own home. I leaned against the door breathing deeply, trying desperately to get my thoughts in order.

Once my heart was beating at regular speeds I got up and started shuffling through my armoire (Fancy French word for a closet). I spent the better part of thirty minutes pulling out different cloaks and shirts, laying them flat against me to see what would look best to Y/n. Not that that mattered of course, I wasn't trying to impress her, merely appealing to my audience.

Madoc knocked on my door, reminding me that I had an hour left to get ready. I had chosen a dark under shirt with gold buttons, but I had yet to choose what should go over it. I considered the one with golden fire embroidery but decided against it, thinking it might make me seem juvenile, flaunting my abilities about, she knows very well what they are. Wearing the celebratory one would be entirely too flashy for a dinner, so I ultimately decided less was more, choosing one of my simpler over coats but no less elegant.

I finished prepping myself, making sure there was not a hair out of place. Madoc greeted me at the door to the dining room, and we walked inside. A smaller table had been moved in, seeing as it would just be the three of us, I didn't want the Lords bombarding her with irrelevant questions, many of them were firmly stuck in their ways and would scoff at the idea that a female could be useful beyond cleaning and child rearing. I took a seat at the head of the table, Madoc to my left, and a seat for the witch was left open on the other end. The room felt very empty without a large table to fill it. Traditional Autumn foods filled the table as she drew near, the massive arched doors swung open slowly.

Once she entered, the torches flared, the distance made her look small, details blurred, but I could still clearly see that her outfit originated from Night, my jaw tightened at the sight. I could see matching snake tattoos coiled around her arms, the rest of their bodies hidden beneath her dress. They reminded me of the snake under the mountain that had seemingly come from nowhere and bitten me, it sent a creeping feeling up my spine to my neck where the serpent had sunk its fangs into.

As she got closer, this dress admittedly suited her much better than that dreadful coat, aided by the firelight, her skin now looked warm instead of ashen. "High Lord, General" We both nodded back to her, and I motioned toward the empty seat. Once she was seated, she folded her hands over her lap, waiting for permission to begin eating. "Please, help yourself"

I tried desperately to ignore it, but I couldn't help but take notice of what she did and did not select. The mashed potatoes and roast beef along with the tangy coleslaw made it to her plate, but not the steamed broccoli or baked gem squash. She prefers savoury food. We eat in silence, it was a little awkward but not terribly tense, once finished I sought more information.

"Exactly what weapons are these people smuggling from Elethairia?" She looked up at me and our eyes locked for the first time tonight, it sent tingles through my traitorous body and my heartbeat picked up.

"They've been smuggling all sorts of weapons for centuries, but what we are concerned about is the newest ones, a type of stone that can store magical energy, problem is, some of them don't have a limit, but the more magic stored inside, the more unstable it is."

"How come you are only concerned about it now?" It seemed suspicious that this was suddenly a problem, why hadn't anything been done about it before?

"Like I said, they've been doing this for centuries, they've gained experience and size, they have more than one base of operations and apparently the guy who runs it is scary enough that they'd rather live a life in prison or die than talk. It feels like fighting a hydra, you stop one and two more show up."

Depending on how many they have, it could be extremely dangerous, people are still recovering from under the mountain and Hybern's war, having explosions everywhere will make this worse, the court can't handle much more, Beron really did a number on these people. If only I'd been stronger, gotten rid of him sooner, stopped the tyranny so fae could hope again, stop fighting each other for the scraps Beron dangled in front of them. This is my fault, and I will fix this.

"I plan to find the shipment, and bring it back to Elethairia where they can be activated in a safe place so that no one can use them"

"What about the fae responsible, what is to happen with them? Are they supposed to go free?"

"They can be dealt with later, the main priority are the explosives" My face hardened. She was planning to leave them here where they could harm Autumn civilians while she ran off and played hero?

"I promise, once we have the opals out of their hands, I can come back and assist with arresting them, but they've already desolated one of our larger towns, almost five thousand died, I think you can see why this takes precedence. You can decide how they are to be punished seeing as this is all taking place in your territory."

Yes, begrudgingly, I could see why obtaining the stones was more important than obtaining the people, and the sooner one happened, the sooner the other could follow. I nodded showing that I understood. "Will you be needing anything else?"

"No, all good, everything is ready, and I'll be out of your way as soon as possible" My heart clenched and tugged at my insides to do or say something to prevent it. I found that I once again had no control over the words coming out of my mouth.

"Perfect, we can start first thing tomorrow" She froze, and even Madoc looked to me in question

"I'm sorry, we?" Too late to turn back now.

"Yes, We"

Chapter 7

ok, hope that was good, but I have a question, do you guys like that I colour code the mind speak dialogue? I originally did it cause I noticed I had a lot of unseparated dialogue, and it might get confusing, but I now realise it also might be distracting.

Taglist: @imma-too-many-fandoms @rcarbo1

A/n: Did anyone get the game of thrones reference right at the beginning?

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satoruhour · 1 year

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Megumi as a bf in hs drabble? Your writings are so good!

a/n: i think you meant high school, right anon? i allude to the fact that they’re actually in jujutsu high but i don’t say it out to keep it general but if you want another just send in another ask 😭 reader is left-handed in this but it’s just a brief moment! / thank u for the kind words / 0.5k

“megs, c’mon, sleep time is over,” you yawn from your place on the desk, switching off the quiet but incessant alarm that eventually woke you up. you would’ve loved to stay asleep longer, especially since the atmosphere in the school library was so quiet and tranquil, but homework was still homework, something that couldn’t be done by lazing around.

you’re more surprised at megumi’s lack of urgency, though, because you know the boy to be anxious about submitting homework and assignments on time, but now, with his back facing the window of the library, you wish for one more moment of seeing the sun rays draw invisible lines on his face.

megumi who only knew strict studying and reading over notes 24/7, had become soft around you, asking quietly for five more minutes. megumi let you doodle on his notes with your colourful pens and he let you mess up the sequence of them because you forgot to note a fact down. his grumpy nature had mellowed out and soon holding pinkies turned to intertwining your fingers together. sometimes he let you play with his dogs, fingers tingling when they meet yours in the soft fur of them, and he tells you things he wouldn’t tell anyone, like how reads the newspaper and likes weezer.

there were so many things megumi was learning about himself with you by his side, like how love wasn’t the most terrible thing in the world.

“megumi,” and megumi feels his heart jump at his name being sounded from your lips, the way the three syllables fall is like a blessing to his ears, just like what his name meant, “baby, wake up, we need to finish this before gojo-sensei kills us.”

you reach out across to squeeze your hand into his resting position and you smile when his curls back around yours, “he won’t. he has a soft spot for us.”

“and how would you know that?” for a boy who said he didn’t like pda, who swore love was for lame people and who wore a permanent scowl on his face, plants a gentle kiss on the back of your palm (with crimson cheeks) and finally raises his head that sends your feet kicking below you.

“because we’re the only two students.”

you burst out laughing in the library, which honestly isn’t filled with anyone at that point, but megumi takes your second prompt a little more seriously, stretching his arms above him before getting back into homework. he has to sit beside you though, dragging his things over to your side of the table while fighting back a smile.

maybe this line of education was worrisome, learning about the dangerous things in the world and learning how to get rid of them with your crazy teacher who had terrible methods of teaching. but when megumi’s left hand meets with yours when you’re both writing important notes down, cold hands seeking refuge in the warmth of yours, you think that maybe everything will be okay in this complicated world of yours.

thirsts and drabble requests are open!

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vanillabeanmachine · 3 months

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𝚆𝙸𝙿 𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢 #𝟷

𝙽𝚘 𝙻𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙶𝚘: 𝙰𝚗 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠 𝚒𝚗 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙰𝚌𝚝𝚜 -- 𝙰𝚌𝚝 𝙸

Hello everyone 👋😊 I've been working on No Letting Go for a while now and am excited to share that I'm almost ready to post Act I, which currently stands at approximately 14.5K words. This seems to be shaping up as the average length for each of the four acts. As I continue to polish and refine No Letting Go, I’ve decided to start sharing snippets every Wednesday. This will not only give you a glimpse of the content but also some of the behind-the-scenes thought process. Stay tuned!

[...]

The recorder was not the same that Daniel had once owned in 1973. Indeed, Daniel couldn't quite recall the exact model or brand of his original device, nor the circumstances of its disappearance—had it been shattered in a sudden fit of rage? Perhaps it had vanished, lost in the swirling chaos of his drug-addled days? It was equally plausible that it lay forgotten in some distant apartment, nestled under a thick layer of dust, untouched and unthought of for almost half a century. Moreover, Daniel wasn’t certain that this Suga model had even existed in 1973. A wave of nostalgia had swept over him one day as he had strolled down Camden High Street, leading him to purchase this particular piece on a whim. Initially, it hadn’t worked at all, prompting nights spent poring over YouTube tutorials and hunting down obsolete tech parts on eBay in an attempt to restore it. Eventually, he had given up on pure restoration, instead cobbling together a functioning unit by marrying the surviving vintage Suga skeleton with the guts of a modern machine – a Frankenstein’s monster of resurrected technology that, despite its changed nature, still swallowed down tape with a voracious appetite.

He could have easily acquired a functioning Suga online, or even opted for a modern tape deck. Yet, Daniel cherished this battered machine, with its scratches and dents marring the case, the rust on the sprockets that added a squeak when rewinding tape, and the worn buttons that spoke of frequent use. It was a tangible relic of a human past, an artefact that Daniel clung to—not merely as a tool but a reminder of a life once lived.

Daniel meticulously arranged his tools for the evening—the Suga recorder, his sleek MacBook Air, a battered .99 cent notepad with its edges crumpled and pages unevenly torn from the binding, an elegant Montblanc Meisterstück pen, and a well-worn half-full leather cigarette case that had journeyed with him from the '70s.

Armand waited as Daniel organised, his expression the picture of serene detachment; yet beneath this stoicism flowed an undercurrent of acute attentiveness.

Armand's reddish-brown colour-of-dawn gaze, typically distant, tonight held a piercing clarity and focus entirely directed at Daniel. It was as if the full essence of his immortal being had chosen to anchor itself in this singular interaction. There was a palpable familiarity in Armand's intense stare, a comfort that Daniel recognised and found strangely reassuring.

Yet amidst this familiarity was a void—a poignant sense of loss, something indelibly altered. The once-constant press of Armand's mind against his own, a psychic echo that had lingered in Daniel's human consciousness, had vanished now with his vampiric transformation. The Dark Gift, poetically named but harsh in its realities, had not brought Daniel enlightenment or a renewed closeness to his Maker but a barrier, severing the connection the pair once shared. Where there had once been a flowing stream of thoughts and emotions, a psychic murmur that had connected him to Armand, there now existed only a silence—as if a door between their minds had been firmly shut and locked. This new silence was not peaceful but a cold absence, a reminder of what they had both sacrificed for Daniel's immortality.

Armand's intensive gazing at Daniel was justified now more than ever. Perhaps, in this new reality they shared, all that remained to bind them was the mere physicality of their being—something that Daniel found inexplicably more alluring now than ever before.

While Daniel clung to the remnants of his human past and habits still, Armand had always appeared unburdened by such earthly ties, having long shed them like leaves in an eternal, ageless autumn. But as Daniel now stood entrenched in this new existence, he began to perceive that what he once thought of as an uncanny stillness in Armand was not a marker of death but a vibrant, pulsating life, more profound and intricate than he had ever imagined possible.

The gravity of Armand's presence was magnetic, drawing Daniel inexorably in, as if each moment spent in observation tethered him more firmly to a spellbinding eternity. Daniel was acutely aware of the need for caution, knowing all too well how effortlessly he could become entangled in an everlasting gaze upon Armand. In such moments, time could dissolve into irrelevance—akin to Narcissus, spellbound by his reflection in the serene embrace of a forest pool. It was the mesmerising dance of light across Armand’s rich, dark skin, the lush curls that tenderly framed his face, and the impeccable symmetry of his sharp, angular features that seemed destined to rest in the contours of Daniel's palm. The striking yet harmonious contrast between Armand's finely sculpted upper lip and the plush fullness of the lower, coupled with the intoxicating memory of their kisses—

Caught in a dopey smile, Daniel realised Armand had observed the slip when a knowing look crossed his features. Perhaps the psychic bond they once shared was no longer necessary; Daniel's emotions were still as transparent to Armand now as when Daniel had been still human. And yet, frustratingly, Armand remained equally an enigma to Daniel, close yet distant in the same breath.

[...]

Author’s Thoughts™:

Indeed, the Suga KC-920 is a different model from the recorder Daniel used back in 1973. I deliberately chose a different tape recorder from the one shown in "Don’t Be Afraid, Just Start the Tape." This choice is meant to enhance the theme of an "odyssey of recollection," emphasizing the unreliability of Daniel’s memory. It reflects his efforts to piece together fragments of his mortal past, his reliance on nostalgic constructs, and his commitment to maintaining a connection to his former human self—no matter how shaky the foundations that connection is built on.

I'm very proud of the line describing the tape recorder as "a Frankenstein’s monster of resurrected technology that, despite its changed nature, still swallowed down tape with a voracious appetite."

Daniel's choice of a Montblanc Meisterstück pen—which retails for between $460-680—for use on a 99-cent notepad creates a conceptual contrast. This disparity is further heightened by his combination of a modern MacBook with an archaic tape recorder. This deliberate mismatch across items of differing economic and temporal values introduces an element of dissonance—it feels almost jarring, and in a way, disrespectful? Using a luxury pen on low-quality paper subverts expectations of propriety and value, while opting for obsolete technology over more efficient modern alternatives suggests a conscious rebellion against practicality. I wanted to set up space for a future commentary on value, utility, and nostalgia, and highlight a bit more of this tension between the past and present in Daniel.

I wanted to explore the impact of Daniel and Armand’s severed mental connection. Daniel's transformation into vampirism brought with it the loss of his psychic link with Armand, a shift that necessitated a new way of Daniel perceiving and connecting with Armand. Since he no longer can feel Armand’s emotions directly, Daniel becomes reliant on interpreting Armand’s physical cues—a necessity that alters the nature of his gaze. This redirection of focus towards the physical can be seen as a form of objectification, where Daniel's longing is intensely projected onto every visible detail of Armand, focusing not on his emotions or his interiority, but rather his most striking features instead. This gaze is not merely observational; it is charged with desire and a nuanced romanticism, making it palpably lustful. Daniel's gaze is transparent to Armand.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #devil's minion #daniel/armand #armandaniel #armanddaniel #No Letting Go

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