#him fumbling them so bad hes such a hopeless.

[trueebeauty]

hello~ could you make an oneshot of Gun x reader when we had a very bad day and hold all the emotions until we came home, hearing his worried voice, we ran into his arms and bursted into tears like a baby 🥹

thank you so much ☺️

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ notes ; ofc!! I added my own little twist to this if you don't mind!!

You fumbled with your keys, hands shaking as you finally unlocked the door to your shared apartment. It had been an awful, stressful day and you had barely held it together on the way home, fighting back tears the whole way. Mrs. Johnson, usually a sweet lady, had been having a particularly difficult day with her dementia. She had repeatedly accused you of stealing her jewelry, growing more agitated and combative each time you gently reminded her that her daughter was keeping her valuables safe at home. Then there was Mr. Thompson, who had stubbornly refused to take his medication, insisting that you were trying to poison him. By the time you had finished assisting Ms. Chen with her evening routine, carefully following the special instructions for transferring her from her wheelchair to the bed due to her recent hip surgery, you were physically and emotionally drained.  "[Your Name]? Is that you?" Gun's deep, comforting voice called out from the living room. Hearing his voice shattered the last of your composure. Dropping your bag, you ran to him, collapsing into his strong arms as the floodgates opened and sobs wracked your body. Gun held you close, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Shh, it's okay, I've got you," he murmured. "Rough day at work?" Not trusting your voice, you simply nodded against his chest, burying your face in his shirt as you let out all the pent-up emotions from the day. Gun tightened his embrace, rocking you gently. In the safety of Gun's arms, you finally released the stress and frustration you'd been holding in all day, crying until you had no tears left. Through it all, he simply held you, whispering words of comfort and pressing kisses to your hair. "Just give me two seconds with each of them," he said seriously. Stopping your crying, you remove your head from his chest and look at him, "They're old," you say. Gun shrugs, "You’re right, half a second should be more than enough." You snort before you push against his chest, "How are you not in prison?" "I did nothing wron–" Gun stops when he sees your disbelieving face, "What, don't believe me?" You shook your head, "Not a chance." "You wound me, [Your Name]," Gun clutched his chest dramatically. "I'm a model citizen, I'll have you know." You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Is that what they're calling reformed delinquents these days?" Gun grinned, pulling you closer. "Reformed? Who said anything about reformed? I'm just better at not getting caught now." You couldn't help but laugh at his audacity. "You're impossible." "Impossibly charming, you mean," he winked, pleased to see your mood lifting. "More like impossibly hopeless," you retorted, but your eyes shone with affection. "You love it," Gun said confidently, pressing a quick kiss to your head. You sighed, snuggling back into his embrace. "Heaven help me, but I really do." With Gun, you weren't afraid to be vulnerable. His love and strength were your safe harbor, and you knew that no matter how hard your job or your life could be, he would always be there to support you.

[flmed]

thinking abt jo's exes ..

[mandowifey]

What happened after reader and miguel’s lovemaking??? Morning after scenario is?

Sunrise

Miguel O'hara x Fem!Reader

Warnings: dark!Miguel, noncon, creampie, forced orgasm, captive reader, standing sex, lots of praise, kissing. Just general dark and hopeless energy with smut. This is part of the Dark!Miguel series I am doing.

Word count: 1.9k

Miguel o'hara masterlist

× × ×

When your eyes first opened, you were hit with the stark realization that this was not your home. You also noticed that you were naked, covered in a dark red sheet with a large form snoring softly beside you. As the events of last night sparked in the back of your brain, your hand clapped to feel the puncture marks on the side of your neck. What happened had been real, and your assailant was still with you.

Staring at the man - Spider-Man, you recalled - you began to carefully slip out of bed. The sounds of his slumber remained steady as your limbs slipped from under the sheet and touched down onto cold, tiled floor. This place was quiet aside from Spider-Man's snores and your heart pounding in your ears. Tip toeing around the bed, you searched the dark bedroom and located a t-shirt on a dresser. Yanking it on, you rummage through the drawers until you find a pair of red boxer shorts and promptly step into them.

You step towards the open door in agonizing silence, forcing your limbs to move as slow as possible to avoid accidentally waking him up. Not looking back, you step along the front of the house and past the open kitchen and living area. Due to the limited light, you couldn't make sense of any furniture aside from the kitchen island and a microwave that read '6:48'.

The front door had to be somewhere along this wall, so you hoped. Blindly groping your hands out, you find a flat surface and follow along it, wishing that it'd shape into an exit so you could flee. Being in the dark, barely dressed, and in a strangers house wasn't an ideal situation, but you'd be dammed if you didn't try to run.

Something juts from the otherwise flat wall and indicates a door frame. You draw a gasp, then fumble as your fingers press to the shape of a handle. Thanking every god known to man, you grope along the door in search of the lock, perspiration gathering on your temples and back of your neck. Every second felt like an hour, especially standing out in the open like this.

"Sneaky."

The voice comes from behind you, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You can make out the shape of him now, and his voice brings you back to the night before. "Stay the fuck away from me." You hiss, still trying to find the lock. He chuckles, his heavy footsteps loud as he prowls to you. The dark only heightened the prey instincts to run, but the rational part in your mind - the part untouched by fear - told you that was a bad idea.

"You were close to getting out, I mean." His voice was like warm velvet. "Doors here open on a pressure control on the wall - I'm guessing you were looking for a lock." Miguel's voice became louder as he approached. "Smart, but not quite enough. It's a shame. Wouldn't have minded starting the day with a jog." Your stomach twists when he chuckles. This situation, your panic, it was all some amusing joke to him.

"Fuck you."

You can feel his presence looming over yours, catching a flash of red as he closes in.

"Okay."

Large hands capture your hips, and you're lifted off your feet, held against the door. Now that you were not paralyzed, you began to fight. You become an animal, claws and teeth, shrieking curses as you swing out at him and hit at anything you could. The impacts have no effect, and the man simply chuckles as he holds you in place. "So kitty has claws. That's cute." When you swing in the direction of his mouth, your open palm strikes his cheek and silence follows.

"Huh." A breath fans your face as Miguel chuckles. "Wanna see mine?" His mouth was near your ear, drawing goosebumps and sending a shiver down your spine. Before you could tell him where to shove it, lips press over your own and smother your words. Miguel encompasses you, kissing you like a long-lost lover. Your taste and the way you squirm and push his shoulders had him hard already.

Kicking your legs, you try to turn your head away from him, letting out disgusted groans. Miguel licks into your mouth, and your tongue tingles strangely. That was when you recalled the venom and how he'd bitten and paralyzed you. Heart racing, you slow your struggle, understanding that having some control was better than laying limp like a doll for him again.

He breaks the kiss and nips along your jaw. "Good girl." His hands work in tandem, one pushong up your (his) shirt, and the other effortlessly yanking off the boxers you'd stolen. Dropping his head, Miguel latches the heat of his mouth around your left nipple and you wheek in surprise. The suction sent a shiver through you, briefly stunning you before your senses returned. "S-stop-" you croak, a hand in his wild curls and trying to pull him off. "Please-"

Miguel hums and licks over the pert bud before popping his mouth off. He wordlessly kisses your ribs before licking a path up your body to your lips. He seals his mouth to yours as he adjusts your legs to wrap around his hips, sitting you against the bulge in his briefs. "Feel that, hm? That's what you do to me." His words were husky, breathless as he begins to grind up into your bare cunt. Your head spins with disgust and shame as the friction begins to dampen you. Head turned, you resume pushing at his shoulders.

"Please let me go," you gasp, "I just wanna go home." Miguel smoothed a large palm to your throat and wrapped his fist around it, not squeezing just yet, but the message was clear.

"You are home."

Tears sting your eyes as you squirm, your knees trying to shut but only succeeding in squeezing his hips. "Shh, shh." His mouth finds yours, kissing you and pushing his tongue down your throat. Bringing a knee up, Miguel keeps you seated against his thigh so he could use his free hand to tug his briefs down enough to spring out his aching cock.

In the dark, you couldn't see it, but knew what you were up against. This time, you weren't going to be paralyzed, and you were scared it would hurt. Fisting himself, Miguel released your throat and held you up with one hand on your hip. "Open wide, princess." There is a sickening smile to his words. Miguel drags the swollen tip of his dick through your folds and nudges your clit. You tense, then clamp your teeth into your lip, not wanting to validate this disgusting behavior.

"There you are," he sighs as he aligns with your weeping hole. Before you could begin your protesting, Miguel forces inside of you in a burning stretch that makes your head drop back against the door. Mind going white hot, you dig your blunt nails into the meat of his forearms and choke out another soft 'stop' as he begins to bottom out inside of you.

The tip nudges your end, and you shudder. Miguel groans softly against your neck, peppering you in delicate kisses. "Such a good girl." He sighed and took his time leisurely dragging his cock in and out of you, loving the way you squeezed around him. "All wet, just for me." Miguel nips your pulse and you give a strangled sort of sob. He had a way about him that somehow managed to hit all those special buttons inside of you. While you hated him and were afraid, you found yourself sinking against him and struggling less.

"That's it," Miguel groans as he begins to rut into you, his pelvis impacting your thighs and causing you to bounce rapidly against the door. Each strike knocked out a whine and a gasp, your eyes fluttering as the swollen head of his dick rammed across your gspot with pinpoint accuracy. He filled you to capacity, stretching you to your limit and plugging you so full you would remember his presence inside of you when he was finished.

Digging your nails into his shoulders, you rake your fingers down his biceps and make him hiss against you. He mutters in Spanish, causing goosebumps to raise on your skin. "Gonna cum for me?" He sounded drunk, wasted on your pussy and how good you felt for him. "Gonna coat my cock? Hmm? Fall apart, just for me baby girl. I wanna feel you squeeze me again." He grinned as he moved and pecked your open mouth, his tongue flicking between your parted lips.

Stars flashed behind your eyelids, and your noises grew from pitiful sobs to loud, shrieking groans. Had he drugged you? Did Spider-Man have some sort of brain manipulation power? Disgust could come later. Now you were focused on chasing your release. "F-fuck," you squeak out, chest heaving as he continues to strike deep inside of you. Miguel's own noises came louder, which you assumed indicated he was close too. He kissed you again, swallowing your groans as he fucked up into you relentlessly hard. The super human stamina coming in handy, he hadn't slowed down once since starting.

Your brain became fuzzy, forgetting for just a couple of wonderful seconds that you weren't being forced on against your will. You shriek out, hugging your legs around his hips as you cum. Miguel grunts and drops his head to your neck, more focused on yanking you down into him as he bucks. Your milking walls were too much, his thrusting became unwound and uneven as he suddenly pushes all the way inside. His cock throbbed hard, and you felt a searing warmth inside your body that coated your innards in sheets.

Panting, Miguel kisses your neck and jaw, cooing as he keeps your bodies connected. "Don't wanna waste it," He muttered, nosing your pulse point and nipping it gently. "Such a good girl, you did so well. You're beautiful when you cum, princess." Smiling, he leans his head back to look at your face, watching as you went from basking in your after glow to disgust. Your head turns and your eyes close, feeling a sting in your eyes.

"Shh, shh. There's no time to cry. Sunrise is in 7 minutes." He pecked your lips and you grunt as his cock drags out of you. There was a rush of warmth that spilled out after him and he chuckled. "I'll clean you up afterwards." Miguel doesn't set you down and instead carries you towards the bedroom. You were boneless, legs like jell-o and head fuzzy as he opened the curtains and sat on the floor with you on his lap. The two of you still bare as you watched the city and the sun as it began to crawl from the horizon.

For a long time, you appreciate the sunrise for what it was and how little of a fight you'd put up against Miguel. Your thoughts are distracted when he presses a kiss against your scalp, those strong arms wrapping around you and securing you against his broad chest.

"Can't wait to spend every day watching the sunrise with you."

Every day,

You felt your heart sink into the pit of your stomach, and when your eyes stung again, you didn’t fight the tears.

[beiasluv]

heyyy so i was thinking what would happen if neteyam went to jake for advice on how to ask the reader out, i just thought it'll be a cute moment :) you don't have to write it if u don't want to, completely up to u 💓

have a lovely day gorgeous 🫶

a father’s advice? neteyam x reader

a/n: that’s actually so cute / ye grammar mistake cuz I’m too potato / hope you enjoy, gorgeous gorgeous girl 🤍

masterlist

saying who’s got the most rizz in the family is hard, their blood is strong. but one thing neteyam can’t deny, is that his father is the original rizz

how did he managed to pulled off neytiri? he don’t fucking know. the daughter of the chief while he is a ‘dreamwalker’ to them? he got them rizz

neteyam, being the golden child he is, is determined to follow his father’s footsteps.

and who else could he ask advice from? lo’ak? nope, that boy would never miss a chance to make fun of him, if he would go for his assistant. plus, he got rizzed up by tsireya, he down real bad.

kiri? nah, she has her own world and neteyam respects that. letting her be her free-spirited self would be the best option.

spider 👁️👁️ what does that boy know? does he even have a girlfriend? *ahem* i guess we’ll never know. he got the lowest rizz game in the family, with all due respect from neteyam.

tukkk, SHE IS A MINOR AND A CHILD.

neytiri? i guess? bet she would be more of a pain in the ahh if he would go to her for advice. being a mom she is, she would definitely judge neteyam’s crush and all of his dream would crash down. no, we don’t want that.

jake, it is.

but how? how to make it the least awkward to approach his dad about stuff like this?

he tried to give his dad signals and signs everyday but he doesn’t seem to pick them up. he even started to doubt if his dad is the real player, cuz them boy is clueless😭

“dad?”

“yes?” jake replied with his back facing neteyam.

“how do you er…like send a sign?”

“neteyam, i thought we went over this already,” he sighed. “press your collar when speaking, and say ‘over’ when you are done talking”

“oh!” he scratched his neck. “okay, sorry, dad.”

neteyam was hopeless 😭 but to get a girl, he can’t just give up easily

he tried again, now, with a little help from his sister

“dad,” he walked quietly into the marui where his dad is resting.

“what?” he grumbled.

“erm…last time…when…” his words fumbled around each other, while kiri came into the marui.

“when what? get to the point,” he shifted the blanket off his chest and sat up.

“dad, he is asking you how to ask a girl out,” she said nonchalantly as she looked through the drawer. “you’re welcome, bro,” with a swift of her tail, she was out the door.

“oh, well,” jake chuckled loudly. “have i heard correctly?”

“well, yea..yes.”

“c’mere, son,” he patted the mattress. “let me show you.”

jake would be so proud. he would laugh uncontrollably for like 10 minutes cause neteyam got him worried there.

but his son ask, he will reveal

“now, welcome to “the way of rizz 101” class with jake sully,” he joking said. “there are many ways to ask a girl out, alright, but there is a main pattern you must look out for.”

“number 1: set the mood. it is the most important, alright?” he ruffled neteyam’s locks. “you could never go wrong with setting the mood, look for spots, lighting, and the feels.” “guess where we got down, the tree of souls, yeah, magic, am i righ-“

“ew dad, please.”

“okay, listen to the experts, son,” he laughed. “number 2: make it personal, PER-SO-NAL”

“yes, i understand, I’m not dumb”

“no, son, it’s really important. don’t reuse your letters, never get her the same gift. DO NOT never ever use the same pick up line. AND definitely do not use the same pattern for every girl.” (amen to deja-vu from olivia rodrigo, guys)

“number 3: be yourself,” he patted his son back. “don’t be afraid, if she doesn’t accept your offer, don’t let it consume you.”

“how can i do that?” he retorted.

“what is she like?”

“she is the only girl i have ever laid my eyes on and they were stuck! can’t imagine even just one other girl that i have felt the same feelings i am feeling right now.”

“that’s the spirit, atta boy,” he chuckled. “then, i pray for eywa that this is the way.” “eywa will show you the way if she is the one for you,” he smiled softly.

“and a honorable mention, do not ever make a girl cry over your stupid mistakes, alright?”

“how would i know?”

“you would feel it, respect her, respect her as a goddess, hell yeah, adore her, like eywa,” he added. “she is gentle but deadly, the spirit of life. always ask for consent, always. when you are mated for life, you both become equal.”

“let her guide you, and let you guide her,” he held his palms together as one. “now, how to rizz a girl up is not useful without your effort,” he patted his son’s head and pushed him up.

“go get the girl, atta boy!”

today is a great day to go touch grass 😳 i mean- take care of yourself 🤍

@rosaryos / @bumblinbumblvee / @loudcolorwolfgarden / @nyotamalfoy / @fangirl-2610 / @astablacksword / @lokisblueskin

[livelaughlovesubs]

This is all it takes to please you?

Reposting my old fics cuz I’m too lazy to write new ones (also cuz I saw someone requesting it >:0)

Dom!reader x sub!Mark - reader is gender neutral

Warning: errr, finger sucking, spit, degrading, cumming untouched, chocking, dacryphilia

He is usually so loud, so hyperactive, but now he is just whining against your fingers. What a sight to behold! Closing his eyes as he kneels in front of you, tongue fumbling with your digits. Those soft lips carefully wrapped around your knuckles. Passionately sucking on them, the wet muscle coating every inch with his spit.

"Just like that, don't use your teeth.” You gave him some hints while sitting on the chair, the two of you were in the room where he always snips his enemies.

"Mhm~" who would have thought that this would be so effective, both arousing and keeping him quiet. He moaned softly against you, basking in the attention you were providing him with. This simple act was enough to rile him up, a tent building in his pants.

"My, you get off to this?" It was a mocking question, the slightly degrading meaning behind your words making him shudder. "Nnngh~ hah." he couldn't really answer you with your digits down his throat like this, it was logical, but he was been too good up until now so you had to play dirty. “What a bad boy, you won't even try to answer my question? I think I need to be a bit more rough on you." His eyes widen in opposition, he wanted to argue with you but still couldn't.

How mean you were, so unfair! Suddenly you started to force a third one inside, adding more force to the already existing pressure.

You fucked his mouth, trusting your fingers in and out of him. Fingernails brushing against the back of his throat. He gaged on your digits, chocking and whining. "hmm~! Ga-gah." his hands were gripping your arm, not sure if he is trying to push you away or keep you from leaving his mouth. “You like this?" You asked him with an affectionate and playful tone. He didn't waste a second to nod his head, watery eyes looking up at you like a hopeless puppy.

Begging you to keep going. Mark was really into it, feeling it from the core of his entire being. Body shuddering whenever you press against the walls of his throat. Tears about to spill as his moans increased, letting out groans and whimpers. The pleasure building from within him until he reaches his orgasm, cumming in his pants like some basic whore. A teasing smirk appeared on your lips when you noticed the wet spot, chuckling while you cooed at him, "you must be really into it~ fucking pervert, want to keep going?" It was a dumb question, of course he wanted to keep going! Already forcing you down his throat again while a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

[mattsturniolosmuse]

Chook x Reader

Summary: Chook is a tough guy. He is careless, reckless, and feared amongst many. That was until he saw you. You made him feel things; things that made him weak and hopeless. You put him in his place, leading to a long, but pleasurable night.

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, dom! reader, sub! Chook, swearing, drug use, alcohol use, cowgirl, overstimulation, slight orgasm denial

"And you get me my fucking money, you hear?" Chook said to the eshay, who was trembling under his hold. The eshay nodded, running, not walking away. Chook walks back into the party, avoiding elbows and girls who wanted a hook up.

He stands in the corner by the drink table. He watches as girls came and filled up their drinks, batting their eyelashes at him. He just waved. It seemed like every girl wanted his attention.

Except for you.

And that made him mad. He watched as you danced. You danced like no one was watching. Your hips swayed, your hands held above your head, your hair shaking loosely around your shoulders.

He watched in jealousy as another guy started dancing with you. You shimmied away from him.

Good job, pretty girl. Chook thought to himself, nodding. He stomped out his cigarette and walked towards you.

"Hey, pretty baby." He said. You didn't dance away, your eyes locking with his. His hands began to sweat, his breathing became shallow.

Stop! He thought to himself. He does not let his guard down, especially for a girl.

"You want to get out of here?" Another guy asks you. Chook glares them down.

"Ahem. Taken." He says to the boy. The boy walks away. You whip towards him.

"Hey! I can deal with my own problems myself, dick wad." You say to him. His heart stops. He fucking loved you. You were just his type. Fiery, ferocious, and party loving.

"You got any weed?" You ask him, and his dick throbs in his pants.

And she likes drugs.

Chooks fingers fumbled as he tried to grab a joint out of his pocket.

"H-here you go." He says, handing you the joint. Your fingers brush against his, not thinking anything of it.

But for him, it sent tingles all the way down his body, jolting through his cock.

He groans, leaning into your ear.

"Come on, let's go." He says. You shrug, following. He grabs your arm, dragging you through the party, outside to his car. He hands you a lighter, and you light the joint as you get into his car.

You take a puff, letting the smoke roll off of your tongue and through your nose. You put your feet on the dash.

This made Chook angry.

"Get your feet off." He says quietly.

"Or what?" You ask, jutting your bottom lip out. He finds himself a nervous wreck again. He didn't know what was happening. He never, ever let himself get this way. Period.

"So, where we goin'?" You ask, taking another drag from the joint.

"Uh, anywhere you want." Chook says. You offer him the joint, and he takes it. Lipstick stained the tip of the joint, and he immediately thought of your pink lips around his cock.

"Well, we can go to your place." You offer, taking the joint back after he had taken a drag. He nods, dumbfounded.

>>>><<<<

You follow him into the house. You look around, jaw dropped. Graffiti covered the walls, even the couch and all the furniture. He sits down on the couch and you sit beside him.

"Nice place." You say, still looking around him. The one wall said "Ca$h" in big, blue letters.

"Yeah." He says, admiring the way you look. Your jean shorts barely covered your ass, your top was made of black lace, and it seemed you weren't wearing a bra. He could see your nipples. Your eyes landed on his, noticing he was staring at your chest. You smirk.

"Hey, you're Chook, aren't you?" You ask, having heard of him from some friends. You straddle his lap, hands resting on his chest. Chook gulps.

"Y-yeah." He responds dumbly. You grind into him slowly. Chook throws his head back in pleasure, finally gaining the friction he needed. You notice his need, beginning to grind down on him faster and harder.

"You know, I'm really into bad guys." You say, grinding down on him once particularly hard. Chook yelps.

"A-are you?" He asks, grabbing your waist. You nod. You inch your face closer to his, and close the gap.

The moment your lips touched, it sent a jolt through Chook and down through his cock. He moans loudly, his tongue slipping past your lips and fighting with yours. You pull away, a string of saliva connecting the two of you.

"Lie down, Chook." You whisper. He does, his head resting on the arm rest of the couch. You unzip his jeans, pulling them down along with his boxers. He gets the memo and sits up momentarily to take off his shirt.

"You wanna undress me?" You ask, licking your bottom lip.

"Y-yeah, I do." Chook says. You nod. He gently lifts your lace top over your head, revealing your breasts and hardened nipples. Chook whimpers as his shaking hands move to undo your jean shorts.

You lift your ass off of him so he can slip them off easily, and he does, pulling your black thong down with them.

"Gonna ride you." You say, pumping his dick a few times before lifting your hips up and sinking down on him. You let out a high pitch moan, and Chook gasps.

"God. Feels so good." Chook moans, squeezing your waist, surely leaving bruises for you the next day. You balance yourself by putting your hands on Chook's chest, and begin bouncing up and down, sometimes grinding down into him.

"You're doing so well for me, Chook." You moan, arching your back. Chook moans at your words, not trusting himself to say anything.

He shouldn't be like this around you. He was a tough guy. Not one who lets a girl take him over.

Chook's cock twitches inside of you, signalling he was close.

"I'm gonna cum." He moans.

"Me too, hold it for me." You moan. Your legs begin to get tired, so you rock yourself back and forth. Chook loses it.

"Please! I need to cum, please. I'll be a good boy, I promise." He moans out, tears leaking out of his eyes.

"Cum, I'm right with you." You moan. He shoots his load inside of you the second the words leave your lips. You keep going.

"Stop! It hurts." Chook groans.

"Take it, you're gonna fucking take it." You moan, your orgasm coming close. You squeeze your eyes shut, and when you open them, you had released.

You lean down and wrap your arms around Chook.

"Be my girl?" Chook asks you, panting. You nod, kissing him.

He hates how you have control over him. But at the same time, he loved the way you did.

[scaranation]

༊*·˚ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒’ 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐓

header art by @/kkaags on twitter

Pairing: chess captain!Ayato x reader

Content: fluff, headcannons, modern high school au, ayato is slightly a red flag on this one

You joined the chess club as a newcomer to the game, where Ayato introduces himself as a fellow beginner. You think he's just terrible at chess - after all, how could he lose to you so often? However, as time goes on, you begin to question if you're the one who's been playing into his hands all this time...

a/n - was just rereading ayato lore and remembered he plays chess, so i wanted to write about him doing it in a modern chess setting where he's absolutely whipped for the reader 😭 i cant stop writing about desperate genshin men im so sorry

chess captain!ayato, who’s been harbouring a small crush on you ever since you stepped foot in campus. despite taking different classes, you’d always be the centre of his attention, even if you rarely interacted with him.

chess captain!ayato, who’s elated to see you join the club. the moment you confess to being a beginner, he flashed you a smile before asserting that he, too, was new to the game.

chess captain!ayato, who revelled in the gleeful look on your face whenever you won a game against him. he’d take care to fumble right into your victory each time, just to feel his heart flutter when you smiled.

chess captain!ayato, who’d play exactly as you wanted when you tried book moves for the first time. oh, you were attempting a scholar’s mate? he’d ‘accidentally’ fall right into the trap, feigning shock as you smugly pushed your queen to F7.

chess captain!ayato, who ignored the incredulous looks everyone else shot him when he blundered his way through every game with you. as a highly accomplished player - winning all the tournaments he competed in - it certainly was a sight to see the kamisato ayato open with pawn to H4.

chess captain!ayato, who would only play at his true level when you weren’t looking. his favourite hobby was to push the worst move possible and watch your thinly veiled happiness as you won yet again, pretending to be annoyed when you teased him for his ‘stupidity’.

chess captain!ayato, who would leave ayaka to run the club as his vice captain whenever he was busy in a game with you. he enjoyed the expression on your face as you thought, the light twitching of your lips to murmur ghostly syllables to yourself. he liked to imagine how those lips would feel on his.

chess captain!ayato, who would desperately try to prevent you from realising he wasn’t exactly as bad as you thought he was. when you were talking to your friends about how absolutely hopeless he was at chess, he’d shoot them a silencing look to staunch their shocked expressions. if you tried to look up previous records from tournaments, you’d somehow find yourself in conversation with him and forget about what you were doing entirely.

chess captain!ayato, who’d nod eagerly and let you ‘coach’ him in chess. he’d smile so delicately as you bid him good luck before a tournament, whilst everyone else idly wondered why on earth the feared ayato would need help to be reminded of piece value.

chess captain!ayato, who’d be too immersed to notice you if you walked in on him playing a proper game. you’d be stunned at the way his fingers gracefully snapped the pieces into position without hesitation, the subtle clink of lacquered wood against the board reasonating through the room as he claimed piece after piece. he was nothing like the foolish, impulsive player you’d versed countless other times.

chess captain!ayato, who’d study his opponents with an almost terrifying look of sheer calculation. his eyes would skim emotionlessly over the board, lithe hands almost flying between the pieces and the timer. occasionally, a cold smirk or two would escape - indicative of his incoming victory.

chess captain!ayato, who’d look so wounded when you found out - acting like you’d caught him cheating on your non-existent relationship. you’d only feel embarrassed at having thought you were better than this absolute menace of a player, whilst he apologised time and time again before (timidly) asking you to play one more round.

chess captain!ayato, who’d then offer to properly teach you outside of school hours. of course, he didn’t view them as tutoring sessions - he saw them as dates. or, perhaps, just opportunities for him to admire your face until he reached the stage of his plan where he could ask you out, and you’d be too equally infatuated to refuse.

Checkmate.

༊*·˚

[loversofthegrave]

teenage sammy grappling with his intolerable attachment to his big brother one shot<3

1998, South Carolina

Summer hits full on like a hammer, shrivelling the last spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. John has them situated this time in South Carolina in the middle of a buttfuck nowhere trailer park. Sam huffs out a whoosh wafting a strand of his shaggy, greasy hair and scuffs his knock-off beat up converse into the dry dirt, the path leading up into their new home for the next week or two.

John recites his customary speech, Dean nods, ‘Yes sir’ as Dean always does. He’s John more often than dad these days. John gave Sam a name when he was born then left, like a background actor in a movie, cut from the film roll. The rumble of the impala and he’s gone.

Spider plants hang from pots on the wide trailer porch. Chipped ceramic ornaments of butterflies and lizards were placed outside. Inside, the shabby floral wallpaper and checkered armchair. The tattered cotton curtains blowing gently, and the cross hung on the wall, wonky. It was like a polaroid from the 70s, all orange hues and clashing patterns.

“What a dump,” he said gritting his teeth.

“It’s not so bad,” Dean shrugs “Kinda cozy,”

Dean’s eyes like hawks observing their new home, finding quick exits, salting the windows and doors. Safety first, look out for Sammy, like the good toy solider that he is.

Sam knows Dean can’t help it, the urgency, the attentiveness, to keep safe, guard his little brother. Sam would be lying if he said he wouldn’t want it any other way, he hopes it’s a two-way street.

Truth is, being in each other's pocket is all they’ve ever known. Dean is Sam’s brother as much as he is his only friend, his father, his mother, all rolled into one. Dean's hands being a caress and a fumbling worry of a mother’s. Dean who changed Sam’s diapers, who soothed teething pains with nimble fingers, tender rocking's and forgiving scoldings. It was all him, not a woman with satin blonde hair and porcelain skin nor the man with the grief-stricken furrowed brows and whiskey sighs. No, it was the kid with the goofy grin and the shoulders weighed down heavy with more liability than a kid should ever know, now turned leather jackets and calloused hands, felon fingers, summers caress dotted upon the bridge of a nose. Summer has always been extra generous to him, he thought, kind of face that weighs heavy on a teenage boys heart.

Looking at Dean is like hallucinating like looking through the lenses of kaleidoscope, soft orange and pink hues from the sun dipping into the horizon of the late summer dusk framing his head like an angel but an angel in the flames. An angel that could be Gabriel but an angel that could be Lucifer too, like he would readily delve into the deep, dark hell as he would fly up to the lofty, illuminated places. And Dean would for Sam.

Dean was Sam’s first everything, and it’s no surprise Sam would want that forevermore.

Sam can’t help it, this craving, it’s insatiable, like an itch irritating him under new stretched teenage skin. If he itches and itches, scratches with blunt anxious bitten nails until he draws blood. But the blood he revels in, the curving, cutting and slaughtering himself to fit into the groove of Dean’s heart, he would do anything, and he knows Dean would do the same but not in the ways Sam yearns for. Sam knows, he knows it’s twisted, he knew as soon as he was enrolled in school and how not everyone else feels that way about brothers. But he doesn’t care, not when Dean is the only grace he was given in his world of destruction and ruin, his pure drop in an ocean of chaos. Damn it if the lord doesn’t forgive him, heaven and hell are just words to a hopeless boy like Sam. When his brother looks at him, he decides to wage holy war.

But Dean doesn’t know, not really, he knows Sam loves him but no more, no less, too frightful Sam would scare him fiercely, that he would leave Sam here, loose his grace, and what is Sam without his grace? Just an empty vessel, an angel damned from heaven, forever. Think he’s sick, corrupt, disgusting. Only Sam can be the one to know this about himself, swallow the key if he must. He tries his best to shelter away these parts from Dean, distancing ever so slightly, it just makes the craving worst, he thinks, withdrawal.

So, he lives with Dean, in his shadow. Watches him, envies him, wants to be him, wants to be with him, under him. Watches him waltzing around the kitchen with sultry hips after this week's easy fuck. Probably some white trash bimbo Sam thinks harshly, doesn’t know what it truly means to have him, a boy, a man, like Dean. He goes for anything with legs and a mouth in a 1-mile radius, puts it out to anything, anyone but Sam.

“You stink Dean,” Sam mumbles under his breath

“That’s the smell of champions Sammy” Dean grins, easy and careless, throwing a wink over his shoulder. Sam shoots daggers into his back.

This is their dance, Dad goes on a hunt for a couple of weeks, Dean and Sam are holed up in a shack and they pretend that this is their normal, habit, but it’s not, they we’re and forever born in motion. Dean enrols Sam into the local (another) high school, Dean gets a short-term job working with his hands to hold them over until Dad gets back, this time at the garage. They make small talk with strangers when necessarily and act according to their roles, relocates the suspicious eyes on Sam’s stitched up hand me down t-shirts and Deans violet blooming bruises from training and hunts, keeps social services off their back. But they fit in OK around this truckers town so Sam holds it rigid, this vexation, lewdness, this jealousy brimming. Puberty is fucked, Sam likes to blame it on that.

~

It’s Friday, the shutters of the trailer are open and wide. Sam’s in makeshift shorts that were once jeans that he cut at the knees one town ago. The radio is static, and The Mama’s & The Papa’s is being carried through the thick-cut air, ‘you've got everything I need, and nobody can please like you, you baby and who believes that my wildest dreams and my craziest schemes will come true?’

Sam’s growth spurt mixed with food stamp fed spindly legs are propped up on the coffee table barefoot, toes wiggling, as he shovels spoonfuls of store brand cornflake knock offs in his mouth. Dean comes in wafting of oil and summer sweat after being outside tinkering with the ford pick-up truck Dad sorted out with a local hunter before he briskly left. He slaps the bottom of Sam’s foot with his greasy rag. Sam grunts.

"Up and at 'em or you're gonna be late" Dean lectures, parenting.

Sam rucks on an old 1975 Black Sabbath tour shirt that used to be Dean's that used to be Dads, now faded grey and bobbling. Pokes his feet into socks with his right toe sticking out of the hole, laces up his shoes and climbs into the passenger seat of the pick-up. Dean drops Sam off at the Pine Springs High and told him he'd pick him up, told him to ‘give ‘em hell’.

Pine Springs High was full of scraggy kids, Beavis and Butt-head boys, girls busty and leggy. Sam befriends one friend, a skinny freckled boy with thick rimmed glasses. His name is Davey. They were sat next to each other in science, dissecting a frog. Sam figures cutting open this frog is harder than the ghouls they slaughter. What did this frog ever do to anyone? Davey was informing Sam on the anatomy, pointed out the chambers of the heart, the ventricle. He seemed interested in trying to impress Sam with how smart he was. "You know a lot," stated Sam.

He smiled. He was a boy who wanted to be seen. Sam suspects with certainty he’s not in these careless halls of teenagers reeking of hormones and wariness of social status.

High school is not as gentle with kids like Sam and Davey. But Sam can tackle it, give as good as he gets. That’s what he’s been trained to do, what their dad trained him to do, those sparring sessions with Dean every other day doesn’t go to waste, as much as Sam likes to grumble and whine. The decomposition ghost of a girl in a tatty white dress with fine needlepoint lace trimmings from the 1820’s has more oomph in her thump than any of these teenagers.

Even in a Gas-mart town like this one full of greasy kids with dirty fingernails Sam still is stared at by clusters of kids. Maybe it’s the adequate collection of bruising on his body from said sparring and Victorian decomposition, or maybe it’s the fact he’s an outsider (he’s always the outsider) but Sam doesn’t mind. Cleanliness and godliness are deceptive, he’d rather wear his wounds, his ugliness. No fooling, he was torn and stitched.

~

Dean picks Sam up, sees the mop of brown hair and downcast face amongst the sea of chattering high-spirited kids. It reminds Dean of when he encouraged him to go to a classmate's birthday party in kindergarten, timid little Sammy protested but Dean encouraged his little brother to go, nervy on all he was missing out growing up. When Dean went to pick him up at McDonald's he spotted him, dejected, eyes glazed over. Other children around him screaming and sliding into pits filled with coloured balls. It splintered Dean to his core.

When Sam is in arm reach Dean tousles Sam's hair, and he gets a whack of the hand and a gruff in response.

“How’d it go Sammy?” Dean asks, hefting himself up into the driver's seat.

“Fine.” Sam replies, quick, sharp. “And it’s Sam,” he stresses.

Dean doesn’t know what it is these days but there’s a slight ache, a gnawing. Sam used to look at Dean like he hung the stars just for him. That Dean was God’s own reflection but now there’s a distance, an interspace and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. At first, he thought maybe it’s teenage hormones or pheromones or whatever the fuck, but Dean never remembers being that sulky as a teenager. Maybe he never got the chance. When he tries to touch Sam, he flinches, scurries away like he just spooked a rodent. Used to revel in it, they practically grew up in each other's arms. Was still sharing a bed in the motels until two years ago.

Dean would never admit it out loud to him, but he misses Sam. Misses that constant comfort of touch and affection.

They stop off at a local diner on their way back to the trailer park, Sam questions if they have enough money for the month to eat out, Dean tells him not to worry. All wooden panels, red and white checkered table clothes, a sign that reads, ‘lumber jack pancake special for $5.95!’ Dean eyes it up, breakfast at dinnertime, their lives never have rhythm or reason anyways. They slide into a booth of worn leather, Sam on one side, Dean on the other.

Sam orders a panini with ham and cheese and fries, Dean the lumber jack pancakes. When they arrive by a shy petite waitress with inky dark eyes and blushing blotted cheeks, Dean swipes a fry off Sam’s plate just to receive another swat. Any touch is better than no touch, bad attention better than none.

Sam doesn’t miss the way the waitresses' eyes linger on Dean’s profile. If he shoots a frosty glare her way Dean doesn’t have to know.

~

The sun with no forgiveness, a parched sky, the hillsides with purple wilting drifts of milkweed, dotting the cracks of the gas-station and garage. It was Saturday, Sam was at the garage while Dean worked. Tucked in a corner sheltered from the suns ruthless beat with his library copy of Catcher In The Rye he couldn’t return when John dragged them out of the motel inn at dawn a town back. Sam said he felt guilty, Dean told him to stop being such a law-abiding citizen.

He gazed at Dean, could smell his sweat, sharp and strong, a man, Sam’s brain applied helpfully. He was wearing overalls, wiping workman sweat from his forehead. Sam wanted to lick him, taste the salt and summer kissed skin. He knows he’s disgusting. At this rate Sam thinks he should stab his eyes out, so he can’t look. Burn his skin off, so he can’t touch.

~

The next Sunday, Sam sleeps in late. He finds Dean slouched on the floral couch, stretched out like a housecat watching TV. It’s always a rarity to see him in a relaxed stance, undisturbed, a recess to the constant chaos of their lives. It settles something steady and peaceful within Sam with just a hint of sadness. He mumbles a drowsy good morning and trudges to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He pisses in the toilet, sluggish, holds himself up steady with a hand against the tiles. The splash of his piss hitting the water too loud in the quiet murmur of their trailer.

Washing his hands, he moseys around in the medicine cabinet above the sink. Inside, aimless trinkets left behind by previous owners. Tweezers with a single gemstone on them, antibiotic ointment, outdated eyedrops.

Sam finds a small capsule behind an empty bottle of aspirin. He reaches for it, revealing a lipstick, the cheap kind you pick-up at Walmart for $5.

He holds it in his hand, stares. Turns it in his palm, opens the lid with a subtle click and rotates the base.

The lipstick itself is a cherry red, obscene kind of red. The type he sees on hookers lingering around the corners at motels when he slips out at dusk to buy Dr Peppers from the vending machine with the quarters Dean made him pocket.

The garish fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, whirring like insects as he watches them showcasing their chests and unveiled legs. They always look cold, Sam thinks.

Sam looks up and scans his face in the mirror, holds the lipstick close to his nose, sniffs it. It smells like wax and chemicals, half suspected it to smell like strawberries and an angel's kiss or something, screws his nose up.

Without much reflection he smears the cherry red lipstick onto his lips, it's messy and askew not as neat as he sees on the girls in Dean's skin mags. He sets down the lipstick onto the sink and looks at himself, really looks.

The glaring red on such a boyish face like Sam's feels lewd and indecent. He feels slightly silly, embarrassed, his cheeks stain a weak scarlet. He wonders what others would think of him like this, Dean, his dad.

God, dad would probably be appalled, call him a sissy, punish him by making him do triple the training. Make him run for miles under the blazing sun.

But Dean, what would Dean think of his little brother like this? If Sam just waltzed right out of the bathroom now and stood dead in the line of Dean's vision. Would he stammer? Get all flustered and struck-dumb? Would he look at Sam and think of him as those girls he promenades to the impala, the motel room when he thinks Sam's asleep and not hanging onto every grunt and sigh coming from Dean's throat. Stores them in the hollow of his heart, imprinted on it just as sacred as the Holy Bible is to a priest.

Would he want to tenderly caress the shape of his mouth, smear the lipstick, make Sam looked wrecked? He inspects the long plains of his body, like scorched landscape, bronzed from June’s boldness.

Sam’s been trying to get used to it, his recasting body. Finally losing his baby fat, almost catching up to Dean in height much to Dean’s dismay. Just he doesn’t carry the newly stretched limbs well, feels like a puppet and someone else is yanking the strings. He hasn’t thought about it much, how others perceive him, how Dean perceives him.

Sure, Sam’s had his first kiss and fumbled under a girl's shirt in Indiana last year, let him touch her boobs. She wore lots of eyeliner, wore black bulky boots and liked Alice In Chains. Sam creamed his pants as soon as he got a soft plump handful, she didn’t seem to mind so he tried not to feel too embarrassed. He couldn’t wait to tell Dean (lied to a reasonable measure) for him to be proud of him. Dean let Sam have his first beer after he told him, “Since you’re a man now,” Dean announced, “Don’t tell Dad,” He winked. Sam never tells John their secrets.

But other than that, he’s a bit clueless, still bashful when girls look his way. Isn’t fabricated like Dean, heavied bottom lip into effortless grin that make’s girls drop and fractures their porcelain hearts, little unconsciously brutal but never intentional to be so. Sam would let Dean smash him into smithereens, shards of broken ceramic all over the tiles, if he’d wanted.

He thinks about the woman who supposedly left the lipstick here, he decides it’s an older woman, barefoot in a simple dress in the tail end of summer, her feet and the palms of her hands showed pale pink against her sunburnt skin, looked ornamental. He decided she had many lovers, wore it for them, wonders if Dean would be one. Wonders what she would think finding out a gawky teenage boy was trying on her bygone lipstick.

Wonders what it would be like to wear this for Dean, his lover.

Dean compulsive, gluttonous with the want of Sam, gushing his hands over the sides of his body, the pull of his rutting teenage hips. The neediness he sometimes gets in that platonic brotherly way bordering on hysteria whenever Sam’s hurt. All his senses submerged entirely by Dean Dean Dean, his touch, his smell, his hot breath.

Sam shoves a frantic hand down his pyjama pants and briefs, wrenches his dick with crazed tugs. Comes that exact same time there’s rough banging on the door, Dean shouting, “Come on Sam, you’ve been in there forever!” rattling the door with his presence.

Sam leaps, grimacing at the mess he made in his pants, swiping a towel and cleaning himself up in rapid motions. Rubs off the lipstick with the back of his hand, scouring his mouth.

“You jerking off in their little brother?” Dean calls out, muffled slightly through the thick wood of the bathroom door, amusement laced in his tone.

When Sam is sure he’s cleansed himself of any misdemeanours and removed all crucial evidence he swings the door open and shoulders past Dean muttering, “No Dean, I wasn’t jerking off.” How much of that Dean believes is out of his control. He pockets the lipstick.

[randoms-fandoms]

Hey can I request a kyoya x reader fic with him comforting her though a bad mental health day please if you don’t want to it’s completely fine 

Yep! This is a great idea <3

Warnings: negative self talk, general sadness (but of course Kyoya is there to help you feel better)

Relationships: established Kyoya x reader

Bad days were by no means unfamiliar to you. The fatigue, the hopelessness… it was hard to deal with. But over time you had built a good support system, who were there for you every time you were struggling. Your boyfriend, Kyoya, was especially good. He got to know every side of you, even the sad and scared parts. He knew how to help you.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t scary to ask for help. I want to be with Kyoya but I don’t want to annoy him… you had woken up hours ago after a poor sleep and already felt bad, and hadn’t gotten out of bed since.

Staring at your phone screen, feeling your heart hurt with anxiety, you wondered if you should call him.

Just thinking about speaking, knowing your voice would be shaky and thick with emotion, flooded you with shame.

Instead, you texted him. It was only a few seconds before he replied.

Can I come over?

Of course, love.

That was around noon. It took some time to gather the courage to get out of bed, put your shoes on, and get into your car. You didn’t have the energy to find an outfit to change into, but that didn’t matter. Kyoya wouldn’t mind.

Now, as you stood on the large, fancy front porch of your boyfriend’s home, you were feeling sick to your stomach. What if his parents open the door? I can’t let them see me like this… you worried, thinking about how undignified you probably looked— face red from crying in the car on the way there, hair unbrushed, mismatched pajamas— no way.

Sitting down on the step, tears brimming in your eyes once more, you combed through your hair with shaking hands.

I’m outside

I’ll come get you.

You put your phone in your pocket and wiped the tears from your eyes, waiting nervously. After a minute you heard somebody fumbling to unlock the heavy brass deadbolt, so you stood up and turned to meet him.

Kyoya opened the door too quickly, bumping it into himself. His expression was worried, but melted into relief when he saw that you were okay.

Stepping outside in his house slippers, he wrapped you in his arms. You closed your exhausted eyes and hugged him back, tightly. It’s okay now.

The hug was immensely comforting— you felt the pain in your heart soothed for a moment. You sighed, but it was shaky and too quick— you still felt fragile, like you could break into heaving sobs if you tried to speak.

Minutes passed. You hadn’t realized how cold you were until Kyoya warmed you up. He always did run hot— in the summer it made holding hands and cuddling uncomfortable, but now you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

Kyoya patted your back gently and you pulled back to look up at him.

“Would you like to come inside?”

Feeling a little overwhelmed, you just nodded and followed as he led you up the stairs to his room. He closed to door after you.

You sat down on the soft purple couch and picked up a throw pillow to hold on your lap. Having something to hug made you feel better.

Kyoya sat beside you. Close enough for you to feel him, close enough that you wouldn’t forget he was there for you.

“How are you feeling?” Kyoya asked in a quiet, gentle voice.

A tear slipped down your face. Your lips trembled, so you took a deep breath and brought a hand up to wipe away the tears, which wouldn’t stop falling.

“…Not good.” You replied, voice thick with emotion. You tried to force a laugh, to lighten the mood, but the sound got caught in your throat and turned into a sob. Then another. Finally breaking down, you covered your face, trying to stay quiet. I hate the way I look when I cry.

“Hey, it’s okay, you can cry if you need to.” Kyoya gently placed a hand on your arm, guiding your hands away from your face. “You’ll feel better if you get it out.” He said, sincerely looking you in the eye.

Squeezing Kyoya’s slender hand, you inhaled shakily, and let yourself keep crying.

Kyoya leaned into you. He adjusted positions so that he could wrap one arm around you.

You didn’t know how long you cried. By the time it slowed into tearful, uneven breaths and a pounding headache, you felt some of the foreboding pressure release.

Your eyes stung from tears. The muscles in your neck hurt from crying so hard. You felt sleepy, and your head hurt so bad, but Kyoya had pulled you into a comfortable hug. Your back against his chest, his head resting on yours, his arms wrapped around you.

His heartbeat thumping steadily against your shoulder blade, in of tune with your own deafeningly loud heartbeat, resounding throughout your skull.

“Would you like to lie down?” Kyoya asked, whispering. You nodded.

Standing up slowly, you felt like you were waking up from a nightmare. You still felt raw and sad and deeply lonely, but the dread was gone. You cross the room to sit on Kyoya’s bed, feeling a little awkward.

You watched as Kyoya bent down to get a bottle of water out of his mini fridge.

“Have you eaten?” He asked as he handed it to you.

“Not yet.” You replied, absentmindedly pressing the cold water against your wrist. It was a trick Kyoya had taught you in the past to help calm yourself down. You weren’t certain if there was any science behind it, but it was refreshing regardless.

Not wanting to leave you alone, Kyoya pulled out his phone and texted a message, presumably to one of his family’s chefs, to bring a meal up to his room.

“Alright.“ he said to himself, leaving his phone on the bedside table. He rummaged in the drawer for a packet of tissues and handed them to you.

After wiping your face and drinking half of the water bottle, you sighed and got comfortable on the large bed. You closed your eyes, and listened as there was a knock, Kyoya went to his bedroom door and exchanged some polite words with the maid who delivered the platter, and finally your boyfriend walked across the room to settle down next to you.

“Toast, fruit salad, a little cake, some tea… how’s that sound?”

You rolled over, resting your head on your arm, and saw him sat on the bed next to you, spreading the butter and jam on your toast. “Thanks.”

“Anything you need, love.” He said, smiling softly.

You ate slowly. It was a comfortable silence. Once you were full, you smiled tiredly, eyes falling closed again.

Kyoya snuggled closer to you. You felt the question coming. “Did something happen?” He asked.

Contentment now tinged with guilt, you shook your head. “Just a bad day. Sorry to bother you over nothing.” You said.

Kyoya propped himself up on his elbows to look down at you seriously. “I’m glad you came over. I’m glad I can help you at times like these. This—“ he gestured to you lying on his bed. “Doesn’t bother me.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, not wanting to cry again. “But… it’s not fun, looking after me…” you argued.

Kyoya wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer. “I’m not with you to have fun.” He pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “I’m with you because I love you.” He said simply.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. A tear slipped down your temple, into your hair. You stared at the ceiling.

“Wanna talk about it?” Kyoya asked in a whisper.

“About what?” Also a whisper.

“What you’re feeling.” Kyoya took off his glasses and set them on the beside table so he could snuggle closer into the crook of your neck.

You had a lot on your mind, admittedly. “Do you think I’m ugly?”

“Nope.” Kyoya answered without hesitation. He was serious, too, not at all invalidating your fears.

“Are you sure? I didn’t even put on makeup.”

Kyoya sat up and leaned over to look down at you. At first he feigned a serious inspection of your every feature, but he broke into giggles after bumping noses with you. “Sorry.” He said with a quick kiss. “I think you look absolutely lovely.”

You smiled, amused. “Okay… and I guess I’m not bothering you…” Kyoya nodded, laying back down. “But I hate making you sad.” You knew it could be emotionally taxing to love someone who struggled with their mental health.

Kyoya was thoughtful for a moment. “I do feel sad when you’re upset,” he started. “But that’s okay. I love being with you.”

You turned your head to look at Kyoya. He was smiling, lost in thought. Thinking about you.

“Aren’t I annoying?” You asked, carefully watching his expression. “You’re so smart, and I’m not.”

Kyoya shook his head. “Of course not. And besides, I admire your creativity and caring personality far more than any letter grade you could achieve.”

“But why?”

“I love you.” Kyoya shrugged. “I don’t know… I’m not good with words.” He said, blushing a little. “I like how you always give me a hug before you leave. I like when you tell me about the stuff you like. I think it’s nice how you wait for me when I have to tie my shoe, and everyone else walks ahead, and I… I love so much of you.”

“You really do?”

“I really do.“ Kyoya nodded.

You were lost for words. “Huh.” Your mind was simmering down from the negativity, now thinking about what Kyoya had said. He likes me that much?

“So, uh— wanna stay for dinner?” He asked with a shy, but genuine smile.

A/N: I hope you enjoy this ❤️sorry it’s kind of short! Anyway this was nice to write, I’ve never written anything focused on Kyoya before :0 have a nice day!

[ddejavvu]

I'm probably going to spam you with requests so buckle up.

Okay so what if on a very hot and humid summer night, Reader is feeling grumpy because of the weather and Hotch casually tries to cuddle with her (because he always does that in order to fall asleep) but she tells him to stay away and hotch gets all pouty and sad until reader gives in (but reader does not give in easily, im sorry but hotch is a furnace! Can you imagine cuddling with him during the summer?)

@sunflowermotel and i were just talking about this in the dms the other day because i don't care if it's 20000 degrees i'm clinging onto that man and suffocating him but now the tables have turned

--

You were on fire. The sheets were sticking to your skin, your shorts were sweat-slicked to your legs, and your tank top was growing damp spots.

The humidity was running rampant within your little apartment, the air conditioning unit having broken two days ago. You had been entirely confident that your fans would get you through, that all you needed was the little rotating desk fan that you'd stolen from Aaron's home office, but you were wrong.

The fan was weak, and left you sweating through your sheets. You'd even suffered through a cold shower, but nothing helped.

Aaron was laying beside you, his black-framed reading glasses perched on his nose as he scrolled through the news app on his phone. He was the only person under 70 you knew that looked at the news on their phone, but he looked adorably concentrated while scrolling, so you didn't tease him.

Eventually he got tired of reading through the various daily occurrences, and locked his phone, slipping his glasses off of his face and setting his phone on his nightstand. He turned to face you, wrapping his arms around you before you could stop him.

"Aaron, no!" You tried fruitlessly to wriggle out of his grip, sweat already moistening your skin, "You're a furnace."

"Hey," He frowned as you finally slipped from between his arms, "What's wrong with you?"

"It's sweltering in here," You panted, a grimace staining your expression as you tried ridding yourself of the residual heat that Aaron's embrace had inflicted upon you, "You are not allowed to touch me for the rest of the night."

Maybe you'd snapped at him too hard. Maybe you were being unfair, extra grumpy from the sticky air around you. But you weren't going to take it back, not even as his confused frown fell into a petty one and he huffed softly through his nose.

"Fine," He grumbled, turning away from you so that all you saw was his bare back, "Set am alarm before you go to sleep."

Though you felt slightly bad for upsetting him, your physical discomfort was more important. You shifted your legs where they were laying on top of the blankets, wishing that they didn't come off with a sticky sheen of sweat on them, and trying to wipe some of the sweat off of your hairline too.

It was hopeless, nothing was working.

You fell asleep only an hour later than Aaron did, but the prolonged silence without any skin-on-skin contact was new to you. If you hadn't been so damn hot you'd have crawled under the covers and latched yourself onto him like a leech, but you felt like your skin was cooking your insides alive, so you didn't.

Instead you fell into a restless sleep, the sheets clinging to your moistened skin.

--

You had set an alarm as requested, but you didn't wake up to it. What you woke up to was Aaron shuffling around at the foot of the bed, struggling to get his tie adjusted right in the dim bedroom light. You weren't sure why he wasn't shutting himself in the bathroom and turning on the lights there to see, but it gave you more time to admire him before he had to leave, and you watched him with a hazy, fond smile.

He tugged too hard on the tail, jerking the knot to one side. He let out a frustrated huff, a grumbled, "Son of a-" reaching your ears before he was giving up, his tie lopsided while he fumbled around for his briefcase.

You'd had enough.

You sat up, shimmying to the edge of the bed and flicking on the lamp on your bedside table. It illuminated the room in a soft yellow glow, and he froze for a second, turning back to face you.

"I'm sorry for waking you up." He spoke, his voice strained and withdrawn, "Go back to sleep."

"No," You groaned, standing and stepping in front of him, "I can't, in good conscience, let you go outside with your tie looking like that."

Your fingers quickly found purchase in the silky material around his neck, loosening the knot gently so that you could slide it over to the middle of his chest rather than hidden under one of the folds of his collar. You felt him tense under your touch, but the longer you worked with his tie, the more relaxed he got.

"Oh, so it's not too hot to adjust my tie?" He muttered, resentment clear in his voice.

"Come on," You scoffed, "It was like four hundred degrees last night, Aaron!"

"We always cuddle." He frowned, evading eye contact and instead glancing disdainfully at the disheveled bed you'd just gotten out of.

"We always have air conditioning too," You reminded him, keeping him stationary by gripping his tie and holding him in place.

"It just didn't feel right."

"I'm sorry," You hummed, your head slumping forwards to rest on his chest, "The repairman is supposed to be coming today. Hopefully it's fixed by tonight."

"And if it's not?"

"Then I'm sleeping in the freezer."

He let out an exasperated groan, slipping out of your grip and grabbing his briefcase. You watched him slip his shoes on, the leather shining softly under the low lights of the bedroom, and you stood between him and the door.

"I need to get to work." He stood in front of you, his expression stoic.

"You need to stop being so grumpy."

You watched something shift in his eyes, but he stayed still. You took the lead once more, and pressed on.

"Wouldn't you rather me live through this heat wave? If you cuddle me, I'll suffocate and roast alive."

The muscles in his jaw shifted, and you knew you were getting through to him.

"I'll make sure the AC guy fixes it today." You promised, "And tonight, we can snuggle."

"Don't call it that," He sighed, his shoulders finally relaxing, "That sounds stupid."

Your mouth fell open indignantly, "Then I won't do it with you!"

You turned with a huff, intent on storming out to the kitchen to make yourself coffee for the morning. But you weren't able to take a single step before you felt Aaron's hand close around your wrist, yanking you back into his broad chest.

"No!" He urged, panic slipping into his usually-controlled voice, "No, it's not stupid."

"You're on thin ice," You warned, though you leaned back into his chest, "You're lucky I'm miserable, or I'd make you wait to fix the air conditioner."

[mari-lair]

Some angsty Terukaneaoi food for you: What if after this arc the clock keepers lose their yorishiro + power. In the past, people that were abducted by supernaturals lost their memories of it once the yorishiro was destroyed (look at Aoi in nr.2 story arc). So what if Akane would lose his memories of everything supernatural? He would forget about the severance and his advances with Aoi and instead would go back to confessing to her like crazy which would probably hurt Aoi a lot. He would also forget that Teru is an exorcist which in return means that Teru lost his only friend he could freely talk to about all his problems. Teru would try to shelter him from remembering it, because he knows it's what Akane would want (he wants to be normal and hates supernaturals after all) but it would hurt Teru a lot because this Akane doesn't know him truly and he needs to keep lying to him.

oooh angst! Just my tipe of angst too! Don't mind if I accept this food and throw a few random headcanons into this AU

Akane would get a headache when he is with Teru. He knows Teru is his friend and he is far from the charming prince that people perceive him as but Akane has no idea how they became friends (he just assumes it was through student council duties), he has no idea why there is a sense of guilt when he looks at Teru (he can't remember his clock keeper betrayal) nor why he associates Teru with safety, is not like him, a normal high school boy, need protection, right? He doesn't know why he has a pair of glasses with no prescription from Teru and even less why he takes great care of the glasses he doesn't use. He also know Aoi have a bracelet from him so he assumes these are weird gifts from someone with bad taste. What he is able to piece together from the tiny things he remembers with Teru is that he is one of the few people the president trusts, and he assumes he knows him (which is no longer true now that he doesn't know he is an exorcist.) taking pride in that.

Akane randomly gifts him a pen cause he had mistakenly assumed the 'something is off' feeling he gets when he thinks too hard about his enchanted glasses was born from getting a present from someone he values and not giving Teru anything back.

Teru can spend days happy near Akane, able to talk about his siblings and tease his crush on Aoi, keeping the topic focused on student council duties and other simple things, but he feels dead inside when he relaxes too much in Akane's presence and a reference to supernaturals slip up. He hates lying to Akane, and he hates even more when Akane sees through a lie, especially those that involve injuries. If he hears Akane says he should "leave his mysterious job for something less dangerous" again he will snap.

Akane feels uneasy when he hears clocks ticking. He stopped wearing his wristwatch.

Akane knows Aoi changed, she's acting more shy and reading his messages more, but he doesn't remember what he did to make them grow closer. It's maddening. Whatever he did must have gotten a lot of points? How could he forget? Why is he so forgetful about... anything regarding Aoi recently? (he doesn't even remember she is a Kannagi) He believes it's something he did, so he tries harder.

Aoi was flustered by the change at first. After learning Akane loves her despite all her flaws, she starts to believe in Akane's words so she is weak on the knee when he says he loves her so much with a big smile! But her shy joy crash and burn the second she notices his eager smile, as if waiting for her score.

They fell into a routine and she is horrified, she isn't brave enough to open up again so she leaves small unsaid hints as best she can't, and while Akane does catch some of it, since he is very perceptive, it still feels like they aren't on the same page. Akane stop waiting for scores when aoi stopped giving them, and goes back to her side ilke a moth to a flame when giving her space makes her distressed, fumbling like a hopeless idiot around her in an attempt to understand what she want, what will 'win her heart', and even if it doesn't, what will make her the happiest.

Even when he asks "What is wrong?" directly, she say "Nothing <3" cause she doesn't know how to explain, or how to gain that level of honesty again without a drug to help her emotions feel more manageable. He doesn't know what he did wrong but at least, he understands every indirect invitation to watch movies with her, they still spend more time together than they used to, getting ocasional instances where both are relaxed.

Teru still approaches Aoi to talk about his random questions and small talk, but he starts to talk about supernaturals with her too, since she remembers the trio Far Shore trips. She finds Teru even weirder when she gets more details on his job and views, but it doesn't bother her, welcoming the company.

Akane can somewhat sense that they are hiding something from him, and that they are growing closer together, it drives him insane on many levels, he even thought they were dating in secret at some point, but they snorted at the idea. They don't give him clear answers and doing his own research doesn't help either, he just has these vague feelings he can't explain. The most he could piece together is that he had 'an accident that messed with his memories', which is weird cause Lemon and his other classmates don't seem aware of whatever accident aoi and teru are shaken by.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Hey! I love more than myself so much it was literally perfect! Thank you so much for writing it! You’re an amazing writer ❤️

I have another request hehe, if you don’t mind ofc. Azriel x reader where he has a nightmare and she’s there to comfort him. They talk for the whole night and then in the morning the bond simultaneously snaps for the both of them.

If you can’t no hard feelings:)

Azriel x Reader: Nightmares

A/N: it’s no problem at all, I get so excited hearing new ideas so I absolutely love getting requests ❤️

(Sorry this took a while <3)

Visual Prompt here!

Heart still pounding, Azriel made his way to the balcony of the House of Wind, readying for takeoff.

Nightmares were not an unusual occurrence for the Shadowsinger, but it had been a very long time since memories of the War had returned to haunt him. So he did what he usually did when malignant dreams stalked his sleep: he flew off into the night. The feeling of the air catching beneath his wings, allowing him to soar however he pleased - it reminded him of how he was free.

Judging from the light, it seemed to be in the liminal period between midnight and dawn, when the partygoers had returned to their homes, but the early birds hadn’t yet risen. It was peaceful. And good thing too, because he knew his scent would betray his fear.

He swooped downwards, gliding on the winds as he flew silently over the houses of Velaris, until his eye caught on one and he dared to land in the street outside, never making a sound. Azriel didn’t know why he felt a twinge of hopelessness in his chest when he saw your bedroom light was out. You had a relatively normal sleeping schedule, of course you would already be asleep.

But maybe he decided to knock softly of your door anyway, in the hopes you might pick it up in your sleep and for some reason decide to leave your warm bed - then he would feel less bad about himself than if he called for you. His shadows swirled restlessly about him, as if still trying to ward of the images, the visions that had slithered their way into his mind that night.

To his surprise, the door opened mere moments after having knocked, making him take one slight step back so his scent wouldn’t be the first thing you noticed. Fingers curled round the door frame as you pulled it open, peering out wearily at your unexpected guest. He watched as your brow furrowed slightly, “Azriel?” The hushed sound of his name on your lips had the majority of his fear dissipating on the spot, relief washing over him like a cooling dip on a hot summers day.

You opened the door wider when you recognised the male. “What are you doing here?” You whispered, brushing some of your hair back absently. That was an excellent question. One he hadn’t thought of the answer to. He hadn’t really even considered you might be awake at this hour. Thankfully, he was spared from fumbling an excuse when you stepped aside, shaking the question from your head as you gestured for him to enter, latching the door shut softly behind him.

He followed you as you made your way to the kitchen, near the back of the house, golden light streaming from the gap beneath the door. When you opened it, he was met with a room brimming with candle-light and his brow furrowed as you lead him to the table. “How long have you been awake?” He murmured, taking a seat as he watched you move to the kettle. He noticed a fresh cup was already made, hinting you’d been awake for some time.

“I woke up maybe…” you paused to think, “fifteen? Twenty? minutes ago?” You poured the still boiling water into a cup, watching as the teabag filled with air then deflated once you removed the hot stream of water. “What woke you?” He asked, beginning to relax more into the chair more as he took in your fluid movements.

Azriel’s eyes traced your comforting figure as you walked the hot cuppa over to him, setting it down softly on the table before taking the seat opposite him. “I don’t really know, to be honest,” you sighed, palms circling the slightly cooler tea in front of you. “One moment I was asleep, the next…” you gestured to your wide awake form.

His brow furrowed slightly, what could have caused you to wake from your sleep at this time? “No sounds coming from outside? No stray breezes?” He tried, continuing to ponder the mystery. You shrugged absently, running a nervous finger around the edge of your mug. Something you did when your mind was elsewhere. “What is it?” He asked softly, keen senses picking up on your hesitance. Your eyes flicked to his then away again, dragging over various objects in the kitchen before returning back to his.

“Actually…when I woke up, I felt a bit panicked…” you began slowly, watching him warily for any sort of judgement. When you found nothing but curiosity, you continued, “it felt like…I’d forgotten something? Or…there was something I was supposed to do? And I can’t remember it…” your brow was tightly narrowed in a mix of confusion and frustration. Then you swallowed, coming back down from wherever your mind had been - sadly unclasping your lip from beneath your teeth, too - and focusing back on him. “It was weird,” you admitted, a grimace resting on your mouth, “I still feel a little uneasy though…” you thought for a little, then murmured almost under your breath, “was I dreaming about something?”

It was adorable and soothing. No way around it. Watching you slip into that space where you muttered to yourself, becoming to preoccupied with your thoughts to remember the space around you. It had the edges of his mouth softening and the tension in his shoulders releasing. He watched you peacefully from his chair, content to let you ponder in silence while he remained in your presence, warming his hands on the mug.

“Anyway,” you startled, shifting back to reality, “what about you? Why were you prowling the streets at this unmotherly hour?” A grin had tilted your lips and damn him if it didn’t put him entirely at ease, being in this private space with you, almost away from time itself. His nightmare didn’t bother him nearly as much anymore, not with you before him, giving him that conspirator’s smile that always had the edges of his mouth lifting in return.

Azriel sighed, “bad dream,” he mumbled, raising the mug to his mouth to hide the words. “Pardon?” You leant forward onto your elbows, moving closer to hear him. Azriel swallowed the scalding tea, the temperature a secondary thought in his mind, “bad dream,” he mumbled, a little louder. He watched as your head cocked, putting together the slur of sounds into something coherent. Then your expression shifted to that mixture of teasing playfulness he knew was coming as your lower lip pushed out in a small pout.

“Did the big, scary Illyrian have trouble sleeping?” A soft smile curved your lips as you mumbled the words, especially as he heaved a long-suffering sigh, briefly tipping his gaze to the ceiling before settling it back to yours. You didn’t miss the smile he attempted (poorly) to conceal. “Come on, let’s get you all wrapped up, nice and warm, yeah?” You smiled, standing from your chair as you moved toward him. He sighed again, resigning himself over to you. He had been the one to hope you were awake. If he had to go through your routines, so be it.

As he ascended the stairs behind you, he wasn’t sure if he was regretting the relentless teasing he’d subjected you to for the past decade for your awfully named ‘self-love nights’. It had all happened on a similar evening (perhaps morning was more appropriate): he’d dropped in, unexpected, and you’d confronted him with a frying pan and a pale cream covering your face. He’d thought he’d seen a ghost that first night. His shadows had, too, because they had immediately reeled back from you, vanishing to hide behind the expanse of his wings as the shock had settled over him. After that, it had been a clash of him teasing you over your ‘ghost face’ and you shoving back with various jabs at how his shadows had turned-tail and ran.

When you opened the door to your bedroom and stepped inside, he felt a sudden nervousness overtake him. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been in your room before - but something felt different tonight. More personal. Intimate. He shook his head free of the thoughts as you waltzed over to a rocking chair in the corner of the room and heaved it toward the bottom of your bed, in front of a small fireplace that was set in the wall. You gave it a pointed look as it was the only place to sit in the room - besides the bed - that would comfortably accommodate his wings.

“Are you going to turn me into one of your ghosts?” He asked softly, a teasing glimmer in his eyes. You rolled your own, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning your weight to one hip as you gave him a disinterested glare to tell him exactly when you thought of the jab: unnecessary, and most importantly not funny. You watched how his lips twitched under your glare, attempting to reign in his smile.

“I’m going to fetch some things, you do your male thing and light the fire,” you gave him a mockingly flirtatious smile and disappeared into the bathroom. Azriel knew the smile wasn’t serious. He knew it was just more of the push and pull between you two, but still. Attempting to clear his mind, he set to work on building a small fire to cast some light across the room.

By the time you had managed to collect the things you wanted, as well as figuring out how to transport them through to next door, Azriel had the fire crackling with life, oranges and yellows decorating the space. Already the room felt warmer, friendlier, because that’s what you were feeling, right? You decided not to ponder too long as you padded over to the bed, setting down the chosen supplies in a clumsy pile.

When you turned, Azriel was watching the pile as if it were a threat. The look made your lips tilt up and a huff of laughter fall from your mouth, making the male raise his gaze in question. “I promise it won’t bite,” you teased, gesturing for him to take a seat on the rocking chair. His eyes flicked from yours, to the pile, then back again before he shut his eyes in resignation, settling back into the chair.

“Would you like snail paste, or gut oil first?” You asked and watched, delighted, as his eyes flew open, alarm flaring in them as he scanned you for the truth. “Sorry,” you laughed quietly, “I couldn’t resist.” His brow narrowed into a slight scowl, but the softness lining his features was undermining the glower significantly. “Not funny,” he muttered as his eyes slid shut. “At least your shadows didn’t balk this time,” you snickered, earning a playful smack to the shoulder from one as you reached for the cloth that would keep his hair from his eyes.

Azriel didn’t protest as much as you had anticipated as you wrapped the fabric carefully around the back of his neck and across his forehead, his eyes remaining peacefully shut the whole time. You opened a small tin containing a clear, viscous balm that melted on your fingers as you scooped it up, lightly applying it over his cheeks, gently massaging it down the sharp cut of his jaw, being as careful and as thorough as you could manage.

After a while of silence, you continuing to rub the balm across his skin, the male shifted, eyes cracking open as they slanted over your figure. “Do you want me to move to the bed?” He mumbled softly, dark eyes peering up at you curiously. Before your heart could attempt to pound from your chest, he clarified, “you’ll break your back leaning over.” And there were better ways to go about that. “I’m fine,” you soothed, “we’re focusing on you tonight, Azriel.” You couldn’t explain why you had felt the need to say his name, to sound it out within the confines of your bedroom.

His eyes caught on your mouth as it rolled off your tongue and suddenly sitting down felt like a good idea. Maybe the late night - early morning? - was doing something to you, your heart specifically. You weren’t used to seeing Azriel in this different light, literally. But that was a lie, wasn’t it. You’d be a liar if you attempted to convince anyone the Shadowsinger was anything but breathtakingly beautiful.

Apparently the late night (early morning??) was also messing with Azriel. You knew this for a fact as his hands braced your waist, guiding you to sit on his lap, legs spread either side of his hips. It had clearly messed with you own mind too, because you went with him, willingly. There was a moment of silence in the air, a moment where time stopped to observe as the two of you made eye contact, emotion laid bare in the quiet. Your breath hitched as his dark eyes peered at you, your own hands still cupping his jaw from where you had been massaging in the balm.

“Are you—” you swallowed, trying desperately to grasp for some strands of humour but your heart was having a breakdown, “are you flirting with me?” Thank the mother for the light from the fire disguising the blush that was heating your cheeks. Again his eyes dipped to your mouth, before hauling back to meet your own. You traced the movement of his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip, “maybe a little,” he admitted. Was his voice deeper?

Caught off guard from the movement, you shifted in his lap, turning away to reach for another metal tin. The break in eye contact was a much needed relief, but already you were missing it. Collecting a slightly larger tin in your trembling fingers, you attempted to unscrew the lid, but nerves were preventing you from getting a good grip on the damn thing. Maybe if you weren’t so very aware of his large palms still resting on your waist, cupping your sides as if to keep you from sliding away from him, you wouldn’t be having these problems.

You huffed a sigh of annoyance before warmth left your waist, his hands moving to loosen the lid for you. It popped off in his hands. Right, it wasn’t a screw-on lid, it was one of the pull ones. You swallowed thickly, “thanks.” You took the tin from his hands which - mother above - returned to your waist, perhaps a little lower, now settling on the slope of your hip bones. Before he could pull another move that would have your heart tripping over itself, you dipped your fingers into the opaque cream, gathering a dollop and setting the now closed tin back on the bed before passing the cream evenly between your hands in order to spread it over his skin. You were careful to avoid his eyes and nose, even more so around his mouth.

“What do they do?” He asked softly, breaking the silence but also drawing your attention back to his lips. “Huh?” You zoned back in from tracing his glorious mouth, heat flushing your cheeks. “The ointments, what do they do?” A teasing grin lifted the corners of his mouth, seeing your line of thought. Gods, this male. You sucked in a breath as you continued massaging in the cream until most of his skin was covered, “the balm was for revitalising skin,” you listed from memory.

Azriel’s eyes flickered to yours and you were so very aware of his grip tightening on your hips, “you’re saying my skin needs revitalising?” He narrowed his eyes at you playfully and you sent him back a scowl. “Fine, it’s a natural enhancer,” you amended, aware of how his chest puffed out slightly at the confirmation you recognised his natural beauty, “makes you glow more.” Had you shifted closer to him?

“And the cream?” He asked, seemingly pleased with himself in a way that was endearing. You smirked, “it’s supposed to be anti-aging - gets rid of stress markers,” you teased. He looked at you incredulously and you wanted to melt into him in that moment. Just turn to liquid and relax into him. Was that weird? “I can’t catch a break when I’m around you, can I?” He grumbled, shutting his eyes and tipping his head to prop against the back of the chair.

Suddenly the urge to attach your mouth to his throat became almost overpowering. How his skin looked so temptingly clear of any marks in the firelight, how you could feel his chest rising and falling. You still had some excess cream on your fingertips, so you rose one hand, lifting it to his neck, barely a millimetre from the skin before you gently pressed down. You felt him tense beneath you, hands suddenly loosening their grip on your hips as you lightly dragged the very tip of your index finger down the column of his throat, watching as he swallowed beneath it.

When he made no move against you, you leant into his body, the chair leaning back as your weight shifted. By now both your hands were splayed across his chest, your cheek resting on his shoulder peacefully as your breaths evened out, his scent putting you at ease as you gave in and relaxed into the firm outline of his body. As far as he could tell, you were well on your way to drifting off, and as inconvenient as it was for you to fall asleep while he still had the weird cream covering him, there was absolutely no chance in the world he was going to pass up this moment. His heart was reeling from it all. You’d fallen asleep on top of him, pressed flush against him. His heart soared.

You’d promised yourself you were just a little tired, just intended to rest for a little before returning to make conversation with Azriel, but his scent had been so perfect, so soothing, your mind had wandered far from reality. You had no idea how long you’d been dozing for when your conscious resurfaced, not as you somehow managed to pull away from his encompassing warmth, far enough to see his powerful arms had wrapped around your middle, keeping you cradled against him.

Upon feeling you shift, he looked down, sighing both with relief and disappointment. Relief so he could be done with the cream, disappointment because, well, you were no longer curled up against him like he was the safest place you’d found. Realising you’d nearly actually fallen back asleep, you reached for another piece of fabric, a small towel, using it to carefully remove the cream as the nutrients would have already been absorbed by his skin.

“Sorry,” you murmured, a light flush on your cheeks as you reached for another cloth. “I need to go dampen this,” you mumbled, attempting to shift away from the male and for a second you really thought he wasn’t going to let go, but he did. You fumbled your way to the bathroom, wetting the cloth and wringing it out before returning the get rid of anything you would have missed with the dry towel while also soothing the skin. “All done,” you mumbled, a hesitant smile curving your mouth.

Azriel blinked, slowly, registering that it was over. “I thought you were going to put snails on my face?” He asked, making your lips tilt into a full smile. You made to move for the bathroom again, “I can go ge—” Azriel cut you off with a hand wrapping around your wrist, halting your actions. “Please no,” he groaned, curving his brows slightly. You feigned a disappointed sigh, “alright,” you moved to remove the fabric from his face, allowing his hair to flop back down to his brow, the ends curling around themselves, “next time, though.” It was a threat if Azriel had ever heard one.

“Feeling more relaxed now, Shadowsinger?” You drawled softly once you’d returned your supplies to the bathroom. He nodded, but the action was slightly subdued, as if he were a bit hazy, or fatigued. Your brow dipped in concern. “Azriel,” you murmured softly, catching his attention though he kept his eyes from yours. You walked over to him until you were stood between his legs, casting a shadow over his form. “Hey, talk to me,” you whispered, leaning down to get in his line of sight, “what’s wrong?”

When he didn’t answer you crouched down, placing one hand atop his thigh to steady yourself, “come on, I promise I won’t laugh,” you whispered. His eyes scanned yours, finally meeting them as the muscles in his jaw shifted. Maybe it was the light that was now spilling onto him from the fire behind you, but you noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes. Making a split of the moment decision, you stood up, lacing your hands together as you moved to pull him out of the chair. Thankfully, he moved with you.

He followed wearily as you pulled him over to the bedside, next to your cabinet. Opening one of the draws you pulled out some nightwear large enough for a male, handing it to him, “change into those, you need some sleep, Az.” You patted his upper shoulder then turned to leave the room, giving him some privacy.

Left alone in your bedroom, Azriel couldn’t help but stare at the clothes with minor discontent. He didn’t like that you just had male-sized clothes on hand. Did you have overnight male guests so frequently? He clenched his jaw as he stripped out of his clothes that he’d haphazardly thrown on after waking in a cold sweat. And maybe it was because it was your bed he was about to sleep in but he stopped in at the washroom. While you knew he’d had a troubled night, there was no need for him to keep the scent of fear on him.

His curiosity and nagging doubt only deepened when he pulled the shirt over his broad shoulders. It had slats at the back. For Illyrian guests. It was none of his business. None of his business. Still, it bothered him.

Your knock was well-timed and once Azriel had called for you to come in, you pushed the door wide with a tray in hand, carrying two bowls of steaming soup as well as generous slices of pleasantly buttered, fluffy bread to dip. Instantly, his mouth was watering. It smelled delicious.

Upon seeing his eyes catch on the tray in your hand, a smile curved your lips. “It’ll be morning soon, might as well have breakfast.” Azriel’s heartbeat picked up. He wished every morning could be like this. He supposed he didn’t mind the occasional nightmare if this was the treatment he received. “Thank you,” he swallowed, nostrils flaring as he scented the meal before him. A grin curved his mouth as you set the tray down in the centre of the bed, “soup for breakfast?”

You shot him an indignant and disbelieving look, “right, next time you have a nightmare, I’ll remember to slam the door in your face and not look back,” you snapped, a smile lifting the edges of your mouth as you gestured for him to get into bed. “Alright, alright,” Azriel conceded, “soup isn’t that bad.” He was too focused on not revealing how much he was enjoying this time with you. Being able to eat your food, spend time with you, sleep in your bed, he’d never imagined these events occurring. Especially not as you lifted the covers and settled in on the other side, the tray between the two of you, pillows propping you up enough that indigestion wouldn’t be an issue.

Silence reigned as the two of you began eating the soup, dipping the fluffy bread in every so often. Halfway through his bowl, Azriel sighed, “this is so good.” You chuckled as you took another spoonful of soup, “I know, I made it.” The silence continued, but it was comfortable, you didn’t feel awkward with him next to you, in your bed.

When both of you were getting toward the end of your meal, you breached the silence, “do you want to talk about your dream?” Even though it was whispered, it felt as though you had shouted the words across the bed at him. Azriel froze, the spoon just out of reach of his mouth, then resumed eating. Swallowed. Set the spoon down.

He shifted slightly in the bed, toward you. “It was about the war.” Your face remained neutral, carefully watching him as you tried to gauge just how much it had gotten to him. “I haven‘t had a dream like that…in a very long time. That’s why it bothered me.” The words were somewhat clipped, and you knew pushing deeper probably wasn’t a good idea, but you reached over and placed your hand on top of his, rubbing gently for a couple of seconds before pulling away again, just letting him know you were there.

Your gaze returned to your soup and you found yourself feeling full though there was about a quarter left. “I don’t suppose you have room for more, by any chance?” You turned to look at him, only to find him already watching you. He remained quiet for a bit, before replying, “room for more, but too full to lift my arms,” an amused grin lifted his mouth, making you huff a laugh as you rolled onto your side and shuffled closer, placing the bowl between you as you raised the spoon to his mouth, feeding the soup to him slowly.

What alerted the both of you of morning’s arrival was the single ray of sun slashing through your tightly drawn curtains that rested behind the top of the bed. Both of you watched it’s slow descent down the wall as you spoke, “huh.” Azriel shifted to glance at you, more specifically how the sun was catching in your hair at the top of your head, “what, “huh”?” He murmured, trying and failing to not lean closer to you. He knew his time was nearly up. Soon you’d both have to get up and continue with your lives, time wouldn’t stop for either of you.

“We didn’t fall asleep,” you replied, eyes still trained on the morning rays. His breath caught as you leant your head against him, cheek resting on his shoulder. So he decided to go with you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulled you against him. You just sighed contentedly, settling into his warmth and his heart soared.

He knew you heard the voices passing below in the streets when you tensed. Then began pulling away from him. He moved to say something just as you turned to him, opening your mouth to speak. Something rippled through the air as your eyes met. Like your hearts had just been locked together, sharing the same pulse throughout your bodies.

Both your eyes widened marginally as you remained frozen, staring deep at the other, allowing the bond to settle though in the moment you swore you could feel the connection, like a strange magnetisation.

“You—” you began, then halted. “We—” your eyes darted between each of his hazel ones, as if for answers. “What—?” You spluttered, completely knocked off your feet and now free falling. Silver lined your eyes, emotion welling, both from confusion and fortune. Your heart felt like a war drum in your chest, pounding out it’s certain beat.

He dipped his chin hesitantly, as if he were still unsure. “I felt it, too,” he managed. You sucked in a deep, sudden breath, “are you— I mean— do you…?” You weren’t quite sure what you were trying to ask as you gestured between the two of you. But you pointed at him, then at yourself, brows raised in question, “with me?” There was no break in eye contact as he dipped his chin, arms already pulling you closer as you jerked yourself from your sitting position to land on top of him, hands lacing in his hair as you buried your face in the junction of his neck and shoulder. The bowls clattered to the floor as they were flung off the bed.

Azriel was aware of the hot droplets landing on his skin, how your chest was trembling with silenced sobs, how your fingers were clutching him so desperately. All he could do was match you, arms wrapping up and around your waist as he kept you tight against him, trying to keep up with the way his heart was pounding against his chest, almost disbelieving.

You pulled away when you felt something wet land on your shoulder that had been beneath Azriel’s jaw. Matching tears were spilling from his eyes, lips still ajar as he looked up at you. Then smiles bloomed across your mouths as he raised his hand to press your forehead against his own, noses touching as your own hands cupped his jaw, eyes shutting as you allowed yourself to embrace this feeling.

You could feel him mouthing ‘mate’ silently against your lips, as if he were struggling believe it. “Mate,” you whispered, a warm feeling settling across your body as he opened his eyes to look up at your tear filled ones. “Together,” you mumbled against him. He nodded slightly, hand snaking up to cup the back of your neck, “together.”

Your lips met and you melted, all of you relaxing into him as if you’d been heated to a liquid. Repeating one word over and over as you moulded your lips together: always.

[typellblog]

Kizumonogatari - An Analysis

You could consider Bakemonogatari as a template of sorts for what a Monogatari arc ‘should’ look like. 

There’s Koyomi, our protagonist, and then there’s a girl, and the problem faced by her in the form of an oddity. There’s Koyomi’s fumbling attempts to help her, contrasted by Oshino Meme’s actually useful advice. Oddities appear for a reason. She’s not a victim, not exactly. Koyomi always figures it out a little too late, and in the end all he can do is watch as she just goes ahead and saves herself. 

Nonetheless, his presence is key. He’s the one who reaches out, who actually makes the attempt to help. Oshino would never solve such problems of his own volition, not when the situation is so neatly balanced with oddities that act according to their functions and people who conjured them out of their own wishes. Koyomi is the one that recognises people’s desire to be saved, even if they try to push him away at first. 

There are some quirks to this within the Bake arcs themselves, but when you line up Kizu next to them, the way it transforms this fundamental formula is like night and day.

Koyomi Vamp

For one thing, this time the one that encounters an oddity is Koyomi himself.

The encounter itself was random, but as Koyomi puts it, the following events were only made possible because it was him. There aren’t many humans that would give up their lives for a dying vampire.

He’s motivated, in part, by a sense of worthlessness. His own life is that little of a thing. He thinks he’s ruined it already, and hopes to do better in his next reincarnation. But the way he puts it is interesting. He’ll be someone glib, who dances around relationships, who doesn’t feel guilt, who doesn’t worry about things, who insists on getting his way and blames his problems on other people.

We see a contrast being developed between being a ‘good’ person and a happy one. To Koyomi his conscience, his attentiveness to others, his overthinking are all burdens. They’re the reason why he can’t easily form relationships.

Making friends would ‘lower his intensity as a human’. If having friends allows one to share in their happiness, he points out that we must also share in their unhappiness, take their suffering upon oneself in some way or another. Anything less would be shallow – at least to Koyomi, whose loner attitude conceals a shocking ability to dedicate himself to others.

This contradiction drives him to suicide.

It is, functionally speaking, suicide. He doesn’t express any suicidal ideation before meeting Kiss-Shot, things aren’t so bad for him that he’s actively considering ending it, but nonetheless when put in a situation that allows him to give up his life, he does so.

This is really what is being referred to when he calls it a ‘hellish’ summer break. Just purely looking at the events that took place, one might question whether it really deserves that title, especially compared to some of the experiences we see him go through in Bake. After all, he’s not in much real danger for most of it. The vampire hunters are scary, but not the most difficult opponents.

No, where the summer break of Kizumonogatari really earns the moniker of a ‘hell’ is in how Koyomi is so thoroughly isolated from humanity. Vampires walk at night, they exist within a different world, they aren’t treated as human, their very presence is a danger to humans, and into that situation is thrust Koyomi Araragi, who is already so hopeless about his ability to interact with others that he freely offered up all the blood in his body.Traditionally, though,  the question that vampirism asks about this situation is how do you feel about it? Isn’t it great not having to worry about stuff like that anymore? Being isolated from humanity is also a freedom from responsibility, restriction, limitation – as represented by the vampire’s supernatural abilities. But from beginning to end, Koyomi desires none of this. His goal of returning to being human doesn’t change.

Iron-blooded, hot-blooded, yet cold-blooded

This is where the three vampire hunters are interesting.

A sentence I never expected to type going into this, honestly.

Why, though? In theory they’re important antagonists to this arc. But as characters within the overall Monogatari series, they languish at the bottom of the faves tierlists.

No doubt being men doesn’t help. They’re not ‘arc characters’, their relationships with Koyomi never get developed in the same way those of female characters do. Men are reserved for antagonists almost entirely in this series, and if you’ll permit me to be a bit speculative I would argue that it’s because women represent an ‘other’ that he’s trying to connect to, while the men are alternative versions of himself.

Take Episode, for example. Like Koyomi, he’s trapped between two different worlds. He resents both humans and vampires, and that emotion is what motivates him to hunt. He’s hot-blooded, if you will. Hanekawa is hurt during their battle, and Koyomi’s emotional response almost brings him to the point of killing Episode.

On the other hand, we have Guillotine Cutter. Unlike the other two, he’s fully human. He’s also far more vicious and underhanded. Cold-blooded, if you will. To defeat him, Koyomi must become literally inhuman. Becoming a plant is something that he’s been thinking about for a while, long before he became a vampire. Koyomi wanted to become something inhuman, to be free from his social responsibilities, for a long time. But now that he’s a vampire it’s precisely his connections with people like Hanekawa that make him want to turn back. 

The progression where Koyomi becomes more vampire-like to defeat increasingly human opponents feels like it’s commenting on how the more vampiric he gets the more callous he becomes until you realise the exact opposite holds for the hunters.

Dramaturgy, the full-blooded vampire, is the most reasonable of the bunch. He offers a path forward for Koyomi, the opportunity to become like him. The fact that Koyomi turns him down regardless shows that this was never about how humane the opponent, nor how many parts vampire they were. ‘If you want to stay human, then you’re human,” Oshino says.  Iron blood flows in them all, and from the beginning to the end this was about nothing more than protecting Kiss-Shot Acerola-Orion Heart-Under-Blade.

Kiss-Shot Acerola-Orion Heart-Under-Blade

Koyomi says that Kiss-Shot is someone whose meaning changes based on the observer. To the vampire hunters, she is a monster that ought to be killed. To Koyomi, she is a victim that ought to be protected. To Oshino, she represents a disruption to the balance between humans and oddities. 

Probably the most important way in which Kiss-Shot's mercurial nature is demonstrated in Kizumonogatari is through the various physical forms she adopts, growing in apparent age as she regains her lost limbs.

It's easy to see her as a child, perhaps even in her adult form. She's whimsical, prone to sudden bursts of emotion. There's a lot of things she lacks experience in. Koyomi meeting her bleeding out on the street might have been the first time she ever feared for her life. It's explicitly stated that Koyomi giving up his life for her is the first time another person did something for her sake. And as a result her decision to spare his life and make him a thrall seems to be one of the few times she's ever cared for the life of another person. With that in mind, it’s not difficult to understand why Koyomi seeks to protect her. 

On the other hand, her disregard towards human life is not feigned. She asks Koyomi to come and give her his blood without really considering what his motivations might be for following such an order. Humans are essentially bugs to her - Meme's stealing of her heart is forgiven instantly. She doesn't hold a grudge, the only thing that matters is whether she has it back or not. Eating Guillotine Cutter was not a deliberate strategy to make Koyomi want to kill her, she simply did so as if it was the most natural thing in the world. With that in mind, it’s not difficult to understand why the vampire hunters seek to slay her. 

Kiss-Shot is in many ways set apart from the oddities of Bakemonogatari. They derive their existence from humans, appear when they’re called on. They exist for a reason, and in doing so form their own kind of uneasy balance with the afflicted person.  In comparison Kiss-Shot feels more real, affixed more firmly to the world, a character in her own right. With that in mind, it’s not difficult to understand why Oshino wants to balance her. 

In doing so, he forces her to latch on to Koyomi Araragi, to offer him a ‘solution’ for his problems in the same way as any other oddity, and to become dependent on him to achieve her goals.

Oshino successfully mediates between Koyomi, who wants to save her, and the vampire hunters, who want to kill her, through the simple fact that she herself has reached a perfect balancing point between these two goals. She wants Koyomi to rescue her from the vampire hunters so she can die on her own terms. 

I mentioned Koyomi's suicidality earlier, but this story is also driven by how it manifests for Kiss-Shot. She became bored. It's the most common killer of vampires. When she talks with Koyomi on the roof, she says she has nothing interesting to talk about. Her long life has simply consisted of running around and fighting vampire hunters. The fact she wants to talk to Koyomi at all is significant, here. Not about anything in particular. She just wants to chat to someone. 

For all the differences between them, Kiss-Shot, too, is driven to suicide by an inability to connect to those around her, even if she doesn't consciously recognise it as such.

With that in mind, it’s not difficult to understand why Koyomi forces her to live, at the very end.

Hanekawa Tsubasa

Last time, with Tsubasa Cat, one element of the openings that I didn't touch on was how they show Hanekawa in positions that seemed like she might be about to take her own life. High places, train tracks. I didn't bother bringing it up, because it was getting late and also it didn't really seem to feature outside the openings, but here in Kizu it becomes more apparent.

She says, directly, that she wouldn’t call someone a friend if she wasn’t ready to die for them. This is a lie, she's talking about Koyomi specifically, but at least in his case she does die for him, intervening in his fight with Episode and having her torso blown apart by his giant cross. She offers to let Koyomi drink her blood. She intervenes again when he's fighting Kiss-Shot, with seemingly little regard for her own life. Both Oshino and Koyomi can agree that it's honestly kinda creepy.

The motivations behind her behaviour can be distinguished from Koyomi and Kiss-Shot, but there is another similarity: lack of friends.

It's somewhat inconceivable, after spending so much time in Koyomi's perspective, given such an idealised picture of her, but it seems apparent that she struggles with a similar problem to his own. She might be on good terms with a lot of people, she certainly knows a lot of people, but how many of them really know her? There's a reason why she's always alone on her night-time walks. 

She says she wanted to meet a vampire. The idea of something beyond human, something that isn't limited in the same ways she is, is an exciting idea to her. According to Kuro, at least, it's a way of breaking her out of her ordinary everyday life.

The thing about Hanekawa, I am slowly beginning to grasp, is that just because she tries to act normal, that doesn’t mean she has normal reactions to things. Rather, she treats the situation she finds herself in as if its normal and acts accordingly, leading to lines such as ‘he only hit me once, it’s perfectly understandable’, or acceding to requests to see her panties with almost zero hesitation, or treating someone sucking your blood and killing you as a totally normal thing to let your friend do, even when she’s clearly motivated by some special consideration towards Koyomi.

It’s a facade that doesn’t just mask her true feelings, but twists them into something else. She says that she never lies, something which is obviously untrue, but in a sense she’s always convincing herself, on one level or another, that she genuinely believes the things she’s saying.

This interacts interestingly with the series’ approach to fanservice. So far it’s mostly been played straight - with Hachikuji it’s a gag, with Nadeko it feels gratuitous, and stuff like Hitagi undressing in front of Koyomi is just that - here’s her naked body, look at it if you want. There’s a reason why she does that, but it doesn’t really connect to any deeper themes, it’s just there.

With Hanekawa in Kizu it is again gratuitous, it is again used for comedy, it is again just there because Nisio just wanted to do it, but the way Hanekawa’s brain works adds an interesting level to it. She’s surprisingly unbothered by the first instance where the wind flips her skirt, going so far as to deliberately engage Koyomi in conversation afterwards.

By the time of the second main incident, we’ve developed the idea that Koyomi is ashamed by his lust for her. He tries to push her away on the grounds that he’s too dangerous to be friends with, and the bluffed request for her to show her panties again feels in line with this, somehow. He’s trying to prove to her that he isn’t really the sort of guy she should bother herself with. 

She nonetheless takes the request completely seriously. It’s not that she’s just that literal-minded, she clearly knows what’s going on in Koyomi’s head (better than he does, sometimes), this is just her general pattern of behaviour when responding to him. Rather than setting boundaries, she indicates that she doesn’t really have any. This successfully shocks him out of the idea that he actually presents a danger to her. When it comes down to it he’s not actually going to look at a girl’s panties after being so brazenly presented with them. He’s kind of a coward. 

Hanekawa, on the other hand, Koyomi considers cool, someone who can decide on a course of action and stick with it. She isn’t swayed by silly whims like he is. In one sense, it’s true, but it’s also a reflection of the way he idolizes her. Hanekawa herself states that it’s not self-sacrifice, but self-satisfaction. Her actions, in this novel, aren’t directed towards any particular sort of justice, a particular perspective on Kiss-Shot, like Koyomi, Oshino, and the vampire hunters are motivated by. She is more or less just trying to help Koyomi, to be liked by him, even if it requires her to do absolutely ridiculous things like let him grope her boobs. 

One line I want to emphasize from that scene is Hanekawa’s offhand remark that she was prepared to lose her virginity. It’s presented as a joke but I’m fairly sure she’s not lying! It doesn’t present a particular desire to have sex with Koyomi, just a sort of resignation to the fact that this is the inevitable consequence of letting him do whatever he wants with her. I’m not saying she’s not attracted to him at all - I mean, she does feel up his muscles a bit earlier - but her vision of how this relationship will progress seems to be entirely on Koyomi’s terms. Which proves to be a bit awkward for her when Hitagi enters the picture later, but I digress. 

Her reaction to Koyomi’s hilariously stupid reasoning for why he needs to cop a feel (so that he doesn’t get distracted by Kiss-Shot’s enormous breasts when fighting her) is that it was even stupider than she was expecting. Because she was expecting a stupid justification, and is preparing herself to accept it regardless!

He doesn’t end up going through with it, which is probably better for the both of them all things considered, but does once again establish Koyomi as a massive coward. 

In any case, I really think these fanservice scenes help establish Hanekawa as a character who is willing to objectify herself for the sake of approval from others. That’s not to say she’s easily influenced, but rather that the self-satisfaction that she’s chasing, the life she’s chosen, is one where she’s constantly required to sacrifice her self.

Self-sacrifice and self-satisfaction

Again, this contrast between being a good person and a ‘happy’ one. The hypothetical ‘truly’ self-sacrificing person would do so to satisfy the desires of others, not just their own.

What Koyomi did for Kiss-Shot may have been beautiful, he says, but it wasn’t right. He saw the situation in the way that was most convenient for him, only chose to help the person that looked like she needed saving and ignored the consequences to anyone else. 

As long as I was weak, Kiss-Shot says. As long as they’re weak, as long as they look like they’re suffering, Koyomi would save anyone. 

Like Hanekawa puts it, he just doesn’t like it when people die. Even though he wouldn’t mind that much if he did. 

Previously I've discussed how Hitagi's oddity led to, and in doing so came to represent, her isolation and inability to connect with others. Koyomi's vampirism does something similar. He talks a big game about how having friends might increase the burden on him, but isn't the thing he's most worried about here that he might become a burden on his friends, that they would give up too much for him, that his selfish, vampiric nature would influence him into draining them dry? 

Vampirism doesn’t represent a freedom from social connections, it makes you far more reliant on humans than you were already. Not in the sense of having a mutual relationship with them, but a one-way predator-prey dynamic. 

This is why Koyomi barely even considers Kiss-Shot responsible for her actions. It's only natural that she, as a vampire, would eat humans. It's necessary for her survival. She herself doesn't understand it to be evil, so the only one he can blame is himself for enabling her to do so. 

It's a dysfunctional relationship. He takes Kiss-Shot's burdens upon himself precisely because of his intensity as a human. She herself doesn't feel burdened by the deaths she causes at all. Because she's a vampire.

It's Hanekawa that saves him by saying that it would be running away from his responsibilities and that the only solution is for him to be the one to defeat Kiss-Shot. For him to die here would just be self-satisfaction, the sacrifice wouldn’t achieve anything. 

But look at how she approaches this.

She sees Koyomi's fear of becoming a danger to people around him and accepts it instantly. He can eat her, if he wants. It’s a similar thing to the fanservice scenes. Setting no boundaries, reminding Koyomi that he, in fact, isn’t that willing to hurt other people. 

Koyomi isn't put in the position of needing to understand Hanekawa, of desperately trying to connect with her. She's the one that insists on helping him. He's the one that tries to throw her off, act as though her kindness isn't needed.

To Koyomi, Hanekawa is the one doing an unwanted favour, one that he eventually realises is what saved his life. 

Because Koyomi, unlike the previous arcs, isn’t the one that has to help a person dealing with the oddity. The one dealing with the oddity is him. Hanekawa is the one who supports and reaches out to him. But she can’t solve the problem for him. She can’t make the decision.

In the end, all he can do is go ahead and save himself.

Kizumonogatari

Why do vampires even work like that, anyway? 

That thralls are made by default when sucking blood, and to avoid turning someone, the vampire can consume them entirely, makes sense. It allows for the drama of realising that Kiss-Shot deliberately kept Koyomi as a thrall. It also ensures that Kiss-Shot’s existence is, no way how you go about it, a crime. To feed she must kill, or else turn more people into vampires.

But the only way of turning back to a human - the way that Hanekawa could apparently find by looking it up in the library - is to feed from the one who turned you, and kill them. A symbolic act of defying their control. (In the same way that patting Kiss-Shot’s head is an important proof of subjugation?) 

Here, though, it’s presented as something that Kiss-Shot was planning to do to Koyomi, a technique of freeing one’s thrall that she gained the ability to use since her first died.

It all goes full circle. Being a vampire is about dying. For Koyomi, who was killed by Kiss-Shot to become one. For Kiss-Shot, who seeks to die in order to change him back. 

There’s a sense of balance to it. No doubt Oshino was pleased. Vampires are the Kings of Oddities, beings powerful enough that they don’t really have to follow the rules, but at the same time, they’re self-balancing. 90% of vampire deaths are by suicide. 

Oddities are, by nature, self-balancing. It’s why Oshino doesn’t go seeking them out of his own accord. Perhaps he can’t. He’s just an intermediary between here and there, after all. He has to be contacted by one side to start the process. There has to be some evidence of unhappiness, of a desire to change the situation. 

Koyomi is put in this position time and time again in Bakemonogatari, asking Oshino to intervene on the behalf of the people he encounters. 

Yet in Kizumonogatari, he is, from start to end, not on the side of any person. He’s on the side of the monsters. It’s on Kiss-Shot’s behalf that he begs Oshino to intervene, because a balance that forces one party to suffer alone is not a balance he can abide.

He can’t save Kiss-Shot. He can’t end her suffering. If anything, you can argue he made it worse. 

What he can do is take a portion of her burden on himself, literally lower his ‘intensity as a human’ by retaining some of his vampire traits, and keep her alive. He keeps traces of the wound she inflicted on him, in exchange for the wounds he inflicts on her lasting forever as well. “Damaged goods both, we sought out each other.” They each have a bit of themselves missing now, something they can only find in each other. 

It’s selfishness, unquestionably. He’s fine with that. He knows he’s doing something that will hurt her. He’s fine with that. 

That’s the difference. The fear of his own vampiric selfishness is gone now. For better or worse, from this point he’s okay with being a bit insistent in getting to know people, not afraid of possibly hurting them in an attempt to help. 

He’s persistent in pursuing Hitagi, not just because his vampire abilities allow him to recover from the wounds she inflicts, but because his experience as a vampire reminds him how low someone can be dragged by isolation, and how much someone stretching out a hand can help. 

Coming into Kizumonogatari it feels like Bakemonogatari’s vampiric inversion, but by the end it’s clearly more like a prototype, at least when it comes to Koyomi’s attitude. His first stumbling attempts at helping.

And that’s all for now. No funny anime pictures this time! It was a deliberate choice, I promise, not because I just forgot to take screenshots while rewatching the movies (oops . . . ). But, I mean, I barely touched on the adaptation in this essay anyway, preferring to work off the text of the novel where possible. Considering the level of artistry on display in the movies, they probably deserve their own post. Which I will not be making any time soon, because oh my god I want to get to Nise already. 

[zhoras-bitch]

Shadows Creeping

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow, Book 2

Pairing: Aerin Valleros x elf!f!MC (Reina 'Ray' Nightbloom)

Genre: Angst

Rating: Mature

Warnings: violence, mentions of blood, torture, involuntary drug use, vague sexual themes, crippling guilt, general sense of hopelessness, Valax is exaggeratedly evil

Word count: 3.2K

Summary: After a botched raid on the Ash Empire outpost, Aerin finds himself locked in a tight chase with Princess Valax. The labyrinthine dungeons beneath the Shadow Court Fortress stir up some of his darkest memories. Will he be able to escape Valax, or the ghosts of his past?

A/N: Post book 2 chapter 8. The story is mostly inspired by @secret-fungi with a little bit of @spacetravels. Valax is very OOC in that I made her so evil (for the plot!) I actually feel kind of bad about it. Also, shamelessly using this as an opportunity to practice writing action sequences. Enjoy (you won't).

Taking a sharp left, Aerin dives into the secret alcove behind an inconspicuous shabby tapestry and slowly slides down the cold stone wall, greedily gasping for air. Thank the gods he has memorized the layout of the dungeons beneath the Shadow Court Fortress so well, even if the Ash Empire has… redecorated the place since they took over. Admittedly, he hasn't had the chance to properly look around—and he really, really hopes to keep it that way. Still, this little chase, unfortunately, left him enough time to notice the fresh blood spatters in some of the empty cells and hear the blood-chilling screams of unfortunate souls trapped deeper in the labyrinth of these wretched hallways. 

'Lovely,' Aerin mutters to himself, allowing his eyes to close for just a second. 'Very lived-in.'

His solace is hopelessly fleeting, shattered by the distinct clicking of heels against cold stone. Distant for now, the footsteps echo ominously in the dim candlelit hallway—the only path that could lead Aerin to freedom. And each one of them is louder than the last.

'The famous Prince Aerin,' Valax's voice seems to resonate through every nook and cranny of the dungeons, a low purr of a big cat about to jump its prey. 'Please forgive us for the cold welcome, your highness. We didn't realize we would be receiving such an esteemed guest.'

So they have identified him already. That's unfortunate, though not entirely unexpected. One of the guards must've recognized him during the earlier scuffle. Aerin bites his tongue, fighting the urge to curse, knowing that any sound would instantly reveal his hiding place. It was supposed to be a straightforward mission — get in, grab the supplies, get out. Two hours, maybe three, tops. Or it would be, hadn't he run directly into a squad of the most elite Ash Empire soldiers, led by Princess Valax herself. Why was she here, anyway? Last he checked, she was supposed to be chasing Ray and her merry band of intrepid adventurers all over the forests of Morella.

And yet, here she was.

'I've heard so much about you, you know. It's almost as if we're acquainted in absentia.'

Of course she has. Aerin knows what they say about him in the Ash Empire. Dreadlord's errand boy. His resident Lightrealmer lap dog. His little—

Aerin bites the inside of his cheek, hard. Distracting him is precisely what Valax wants. The self-pity can wait until after he's free. Now, he needs to think.

His bag of supplies has grown much lighter after he parted ways with Ray and others. The Shadow Realm's charred wastelands can be challenging to find herbs in. Especially the healing ones — the migraine has been killing him. And the skirmish with the soldiers earlier has depleted his already very unimpressive reserves even further. But surely, he can come up with something?

His fingers fumble through his bag, searching for something—anything—until finally closing around a half-empty pouch of dry resin, and Aerin clutches it so tightly that his knuckles grow white. Yes, it isn't much, but it will suffice—and at that moment, that's all he's asking for.

The approaching footsteps grow uncomfortably closer, each one counting down the seconds before his demise. Aerin's heartbeat matches their eerie rhythm, but he's ready. With swift precision, he sends a tiny pouch of flaming resin skidding across the floor toward Valax's feet and the next moment, it erupts in a thick cloud of bitter black smoke. Aerin launches. He can feel the rush of air as Valax's hand nearly grazes his hood, but the surprise is on his side. Twisting like an eel, he slips away from her outstretched grasp and bolts.

He knows better than to believe that his little diversion will stall Valax for long, his instinct keen as ever. Behind him, a fierce gust of wind, strong enough to bend trees, sweeps the smoke away in one fell swoop. A second more, and it might have toppled Aerin too, but he lunges into the nearest open chamber just in time. Behind him, the heavy metal door slams shut with a deafening boom. 

The room he finds himself in is peculiar. A large, dimly lit chamber welcomes him with the quiet hum of strange machines, the ticking and clicking of odd knick-knacks and the soft glow of iridescent vials. Metals cages bare their bars ominously in the dark corners of the room. His gaze takes it all with greedy interest. At a better time, Aerin could spend hours here, figuring out the purpose of each strange device and weird contraption. Now, though, he scarcely has a moment to take cover behind one of the towering metallic cabinets and calm his breath. Just in the nick of time before the door opens again.

Valax pierces the room with her dark, heavy gaze, no doubt noticing every minute detail before stepping inside. Her steps are slow and deliberate as she circles the room, a shark sensing the smell of blood, and each time her heel connects with the floor, it's a sledgehammer blow to Aerin's temples.

'Your friend Reina told me so much about you, you know,' Valax purrs.

Every one of her words is a stone in an avalanche. But it's not even the words themselves; it is the sheer wrongness of hearing that name uttered by this voice that truly shakes Aerin to his very core. He knows Ray is not particularly fond of her full name, not really. She told him she'd always found it too old-fashioned. It made her sound like some stuck-up Whitetower noble, she said.

Unless it was him who called her that.

'Ah, we've had so many wonderful times together. In this very room, actually,' Valax continues. From his vantage point, Aerin can clearly see Valax's hand as it tenderly caresses the large stone table in the centre of the room. As his eyes follow her movement, it dawns on him that the table has leather straps at each corner. 'Yes, she became quite talkative at times. Especially after I treated her to a bit of belladonna and dreamroot tonic.'

A chilling shiver slithers down Aerin's spine. He's familiar with the effects of belladonna tonic. Thank Vostrasz, that sadistic bastard. He loved dosing his victims with this vile concoction and watching them as they screamed, unable to escape the visions of their worst nightmares. Aerin has witnessed its effects once, the memory carved into his mind. A young man, skin glistening with cold sweat, empty eyes with freakishly wide pupils staring at something only he could see, dry lips whispering a desperate plea as tears streamed down his face. 

As if compelled by some wicked force, his gaze is drawn back to the stone table. For a haunting second, he can see Ray's lifeless body sprawled upon it. Bile surges in his throat. He shuts his eyes and clenches his fists.

'She screamed so loudly. Screamed until she had no voice left to scream with. Would you like to know what she screamed, your highness?'

He needs to get out of here.

As Valax turns her back to him, Aerin seizes the opportunity and hurls a small pebble to the far corner of the room, where it lands in a tiny clink. Valax's head snaps towards the sound, and Aerin jumps, throwing his whole body onto the massive cabinet serving as his cover. The cabinet creeks, staggers, and topples right towards Valax's head. Vials and boxes spill across the chamber in a cacophony of clatter and crashing. Amid the ensuing chaos, Aerin rushes towards the exit, swiping a bunch of supplies laid out on one of the side tables into his bag.

Unfortunately, he doesn't make it all the way. Valax, with her inhuman strength, halts the toppling cabinet mid-air with a single hand. Crouched behind an overturned table, Aerin can see the dark veins pulsing on Valax's forearm as she holds the cabinet still for a moment, metal crumpling like paper tissue under her fingers, then shoves it back into the wall. One of the glass vials must have shattered against her forehead because he can see a strange iridescent liquid mingling with dark blood as it slowly trickles down her brow, but otherwise, Valax doesn't look hurt at all. Just pissed.

Holding his breath so as not to make a single sound, Aerin frantically sorts through the ingredients he managed to snatch. There is some dry hemlock and foxglove. A vial of dragonfly wings. A pouch of saltpetre and sugar. Oh, if only there was sulphur… Please, let there be sulphur…

In his frantic state, Valax's voice is cold and still like a blade. 'Don't do it, Aerin. That's what she said... She seemed so scared, too. Terrified. I wonder what you did to scare her so badly, your highness?'

Aerin grits his teeth, forcing his hands to keep working through the tiny vials, but his mind is, unfortunately, much harder to control. He knows nothing of Ray's nightmares—there is no way he could know—but he's got plenty of his own. And as Valax's words keep ringing in his ears, one in particular raises its ugly head. 

Smears of blood blooming on the throne room floor. A portal buzzing with dark magic. Tang of metal and ozone in the air. Nia—the priestess's limp body in his arms. He tries not to look at her face—it's easier this way. Instead, he only looks into the portal, Shadow Realm's lifeless landscape spread out before his eyes. He's so close. One tiny step away. But just before he's about to take it, he glances back.

Briefly, his mind registers Mal's face, twisted with rage. The terror in Tyril's eyes. Imtura's teeth bared in a scorching scowl. But in the end, it's her face that is burned into the back of his eyelids.

Her cheeks, oddly wet. Her body, trembling ever so slightly. She looks so tiny at that moment. So lost, like a puppet with her strings cut. And so utterly, heartbreakingly sad. She doesn't make a sound, but her lips curve around the words, and Aerin swears he can hear her voice as she pleads, 'Don't do it.'

'Maybe you should try being afraid of me as well!' Aerin erupts, letting go of the pent-up anger as he hurls the burning concoction he mixed up at Valax, then dives through the doorway. Behind him, the makeshift bomb explodes with a deafening roar of fire, its fiery breath shuffling the hair on Aerin's nape. The skin on his hands and knees burns, scraped from the clumsy fall. But the pain is so worth it. So worth the feeling of dark satisfaction blazing through his veins. Having this place where Ray suffered countless days and nights reduced to ashes… It's invigorating. 

Celebration will have to wait, though. Aerin knows that destroying Valax herself won't be as simple as her laboratory. The echoes of the explosion still ringing in his ears, he scrambles to his feet and takes off in the direction of the dungeon's exit.

He doesn't get far before the sinister sound of Valax's approaching footsteps reaches him again.

'So, the Dreadlord's little lapdog has some bite, too. Still, that won't be enough,' Valax… giggles? It's a disturbing, chilling sound that makes the hairs on Aerin's arms stand on end. 'Unfortunately for you, you don't have quite the same… effect on me as you do on the Realmwalker.'

In this dark, horrifying dungeon, her voice rings with eerie delight, as if she's remembering a very funny joke, and Aerin is not in on it.

Aerin has no time to dwell on it, though. Reaching a crossroads, he takes a sharp right and, hiding behind the corner, steals a glance over his shoulder. As expected, Valax is closing in, tendrils of smoke and shadow swirling around her body as though she carries a piece of the very fire he started on her.

'You see, the Realmwalker and I have spent so much time together. Months… Why, I would almost consider us to be close friends! And she has told me many, many things over those months… About you, too! Aren't you curious, little princeling?'

Why are you listening to her, his mind screams out. She doesn't know where he is. She's just baiting him. Trying to get a reaction, provoke him into revealing himself. There is no reason to believe a single venomous word that escapes her lips.

'I'm sorry, Aerin. That is one of my favourites. Do you like it, princeling?'

Lies, lies, lies, every single word of hers. After all, whatever would she ask his forgiveness for when everything… Everything is his fault. And yet, as Valax's words echo in his ears, Aerin swears he can hear her voice—

Ray has always been so strong. He's seen her in battle, the hero of Morella, as deadly as she is beautiful. But her heart… He knew her tender, bleeding heart. Always too kind to people who didn't deserve it. To people like him.

Of all things, his mind goes back to the night of the fair in Riverbend—their night. He remembers her skin, dressed in nothing but candlelight, her body melting under his touch like wax as he kissed her thighs. The mighty hero, in his arms, exposed down to her very soul. It struck him then, the power he held. At that moment, he could break her. It wouldn't even be hard.

The thought terrified him. He had power, once. And look where it got him. Power… It brings out the darkness within people. Most live and die without ever truly experiencing it, but Aerin has seen his shadow already. He looked it in the eye. And that is how he knew he could never allow himself to touch her again.

He clenches his teeth and tries to melt into the shadows, away from Valax's piercing gaze.

'Come back, she said. Oh, why wouldn't you come back to her, princeling?'

Aerin knows he shouldn't listen. But every word that falls from Valax's lips is a drop of acid eating away at his very soul. Perhaps that's why he doesn't notice the shadowy tendril winding around his ankle.

Pale rays of early dawn filter into the tent as Aerin hastily packs the last of his admittedly unimpressive belongings.

Ray still lies amidst the crumpled sheets, her hair tousled on the pillow. She's asleep, yet her brows are still knitted together in a painful frown.

That night, he didn't sleep at all, the chatter of his own thoughts too loud to let him rest. For a while, he just laid there, silently studying her face. She whimpers in her sleep. What awful things does she see when she closes her eyes? He didn't know; he just stroked her hair tenderly until she seemed to calm down. Her frown never went away, though. Why is it that every time she is with him, she looks like she's in pain? The thought made him feel ill.

Finally, he secures his bag and steps toward the exit, his goodbye letter resting on the nightstand. Before him stretches the forest that skirts the edges of Riverbend, tranquil and beautiful in its robe made of golden dew. But just as he's about to step into the dawn, he glances back. He just can't help himself.

As though sensing his gaze, she stirs in her slumber and raises her head. Aerin freezes. Her lavender eyes twinkle for just a second, half-obscured beneath the heavy fawn lashes. From her perplexed expression, it is clear she's not yet fully awake.

'Aerin?' she exhales.

'Yes,' Aerin replies, the word sticking in his throat. 'It's me.'

He's utterly still, fearing that any sudden movement or noise will awaken her further, revealing him standing there. Fully clothed. With his belongings in tow.

'Come back,' she asks, her feather-soft voice piercing right through his heart.

'I'm just getting some water. Go back to sleep.'

It's so hard to keep his voice straight, but he manages. He's lied for so long it's become second nature. Finally, Ray lets out a compliant hum, seemingly convinced by his words, and falls back onto the pillow. Aerin lingers for a few more moments, then finally walks away. Her voice still echoes in his ears, but his mind is made up. This is for the best. If he stays away, he won't be able to hurt her again.

That's the lie he keeps telling himself.

The shadow yanks him closer to its master. Aerin almost loses his balance but rolls away at the very last second. In one fluid motion, he draws a short blade from the sheath on his shin and slices through the tendril, freeing himself.

But it's too late. Valax stands in front of him, and behind his back, the corridor stretches into a dead end.

In one last desperately hopeless attempt, he tightens his grip on the hilt and lunges at Valax.

'Help me,' Valax whispers, the plea laced with cruel amusement.

His stomach drops, and his head spins, but he almost manages to keep his composure. Almost.

Valax leans into his attack, sidestepping at the very last moment, and strikes his wrist with an open palm, sending his dagger clattering across the dungeon floor. Her other hand grabs his throat and slams him into the wall like he weighs nothing at all. The back of his head connects with stone in a hollow thud. It's over.

Valax's clawed fingers tighten around his neck as she studies his face with a ruthless smile.

'You'll serve as bait quite nicely,' she declares.

'You're wasting your time,' Aerin chokes out. 'She won't come for me.'

But his lie rings hollow. He might have believed it once, but not anymore. Not for a while. As if reading his mind, Valax smirks.

'Oh, but I think she will.'

Ray will come for him. Once upon a time, this thought would've filled his stomach with butterflies, but at this moment, it sounds like hollow dread. She will come here, into the Shadow Court Fortress, right into Valax's eager clutches. Because of him.

How foolish he was to think that her anguish would end if he just stepped away. Even now, even here, he's still putting her in danger. Still hurting her. He really is good for absolutely nothing, isn't he?

Darkness begins to engulf his vision, but just before it consumes him entirely, Valax abruptly releases her grip. Aerin collapses to the ground, his body limp, coughing violently.

'But until she does, we have much to discuss,' Valax says, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling until Aerin meets her gaze. Her eyes are dark and cruel as she studies his face. Then she grins. 'I wonder if you'll scream her name too, little princeling.'

She doesn't need to guess. She knows he will.

[love-me-purple]

“Lost & Found.” Shuichi Saihara / Reader (Fluff)

CW: mild cursing

"Shit! Shit-No! No..No..No-" You pulled all the sheets from your bed. "Where is it?!" You groaned in frustration, sitting back on your mattress. You had lost your journal. Normally that wouldn't be so bad. Only you had some pretty embarrassing things written in it. What if it got into the wrong hands? Maybe you were stupid for keeping a journal in a place like this. Who knows what would happen if all your words were shared with everyone?! Especially not the person you were crushing on! It was only a crush, really. You'd only fill pages with your poetry, and sometimes you'd write about your classmates. One in particular though. Shuichi Saihara, that is. Even thinking of him made you smile. Only, You didn't want him to know!

You decided to leave your room and search elsewhere. Hoping nobody had found it before you had. It was so much easier writing than talking to someone about it. Or actually telling them how you felt. Maybe you were kind of a loser. A hopeless romantic at best!  Always wanting more out of things, always wanting to be somewhere else. Oh god, anyone who reads that would know! The last person you would want to find it would be Shuichi himself. How could you make such a foolish decision to leave your room with it? You'd be embarrassed .. you'd probably let yourself get killed instead!

You tried retracing your steps. (with each step further from your room.) Where was the last place you remembered having it? You mentally scolded yourself, being so careless like that? You stopped in your tracks. The library? Maybe someone had mistaken it for a book? You were grasping at straws here. Your anxious voyage began, keeping trembling fingers crossed in hopes that nobody had found it before you. Hopefully, that is.

____

You walked into the library with confidence. Those anxious fingers fumbled with your sleeves, looking around the disheveled area. "There's no way I'll find it in here." You admitted to yourself in a mumble, realizing that even if it was there, there was no way you'd have much luck sifting aimlessly through books. It was an average, run-of-the-mill journal. It would blend in perfectly! You only felt worse now. You absolutely poured your heart out into that journal! You accepted your loss and gave up. (in defeat. in sorrow!)

When looking around the library, you were sure you'd never find it in there. Maybe it was just lost for good. You hadn't written your name in it. So, It could always remain a mystery. (worst-case scenario.) It would still leave you very anxious. Maybe there was somewhere else to look? Geez. You sighed, taking your frustrated and upset leave towards the exit of the library. This was ridiculous!

Your monologuing was cut short when colliding right into someone. Someone - Someone who sounded very familiar. You stepped backward, almost falling over on your own feet. "Sh-Shuichi!" You were a little startled. Even if you wanted to make up an excuse to get out of this situation, you couldn't. "Sorry-! Sorry, I should'-"

He seemed more shaken up than you were. "Is something wrong? Did something happen?" He grasped your shoulders, "No-No .. Uhmn. I was just-I'm fine." You nodded, assuring him of that. He let out a relieved breath. (still sounding anxious!) "I was meaning to talk to you." He said, sliding his hands from your shoulders. The pressure of his fingers was warm. No! Don't get flustered now!

"You ... were?" You questioned feebly, staring back at him. "It reminds me," He ducked his head down, pulling a small notebook from his pocket. "My journal!" You gasped out. Before he could even finish his sentence, you were reaching out for it. He allowed you to do so, carefully handing it over. You noted how his fingers brushed over yours. "I found this yesterday," Shuichi explained. "I wasn't sure what it was or who it belonged to. If it belonged to anyone at all .." He began. "Though, I thought it was unethical to read someone's journal."

You were so relieved! Thank God, Shuichi hadn't read it! You held your journal close to your chest, nodding to his words. "S-So I didn't .. at first." He admitted. Seemingly ashamed to say it. "Huh?" You thought aloud. Quite the loud reaction, might I add. The fingers holding that damned journal to your chest trembled. You were at a loss for real words.

"I'm sorry, y/n." He apologetically spoke your name. "I-Well .." He nervously laughed, sounding taken aback himself. The red flush of his cheeks was easy to understand. "I had this feeling about it. I shouldn't have .. I know that now." His eyes darted away from you. (anxious?) "I knew it in the first place. Maybe it's the curious intuition in me. But, The writing.."

Shuichi looked back to you, "The delicate words. y/n, I  knew it belonged to you." He confessed.  You stared back at the boy before you. Each word that came out of his mouth sounded just as uneasy as the next. (nervous regrets?) You felt the same way. With a lethal grip on your journal, you could only nod. He read your journal. All those paragraphs on how you felt, and what you felt for your classmate? (Indeed, you had pure intentions!)

You were terrified of his next words.

"Did you.." He cleared his throat, "y/n, Did you .. really mean all that?" He questioned. Your hands were sweating now. That was it! He knew .. he knew it all. "Uhmn.." You couldn't muster the strength to keep looking at him. Your eyes met the floor, taking in how close you were to him. You were burning up. A furious red in your cheeks; anxious sweat mixing with your emotions. "You wrote with such honesty and emotion .. You couldn't have been dishonest. y/n." His voice was comforting to you. But he sounded nervous.

Shuichi had gone over the possibility that you felt something for him. More than your friends did. He didn't have enough confidence within himself to believe it though. "If I make you feel that way? .. I don't think anyone has ever thought of me that way." He confessed. (breaths were trembling!) "It's only poetry, Shuichi." You spoke quietly and lifted your head. Just enough to see his eyes. "Only poetry?! No. Your words .. they mean something y/n." He corrected you, reaching out for your hand. "To me, at least." He smiled.

You swallowed, grasping his outstretched hand. There was an awkward noise from him with your warm squeeze. "I-Erm-" He choked up, surprised you'd return the proposition. Or maybe it was the contact. Your sweaty palm pressed against his? "I .. wouldn't have expected this." He glanced at your hand, placing the quivering fingers of his left hand over the connection. "Do you really like me that much?" He asked more clearly, moving his eyes back to you. What nervous blotches of red across his face. You took in a deep breath, acknowledging that he could take notice of this. "It's true. I .. did mean what I sai-Wrote." You squeezed his hand, catching a hum from him. (was he touch-starved or something? nervous?)

"Y/N - I .. I think it's sweet. It makes me happy to know I can make someone feel like this."

Your mouth eased into a little smile, unable to form a sentence. "Especially from you. y/n, I-I'd.." He let out a breath. "I'd like to see where this goes." He carefully moved you closer to him by the wrists. "I confide in you more than anyone else. I trust you. That's all I need right now. To have you by my side like this? Its .. " He glanced down with a small laugh. It sounded more nervous than anything. "I wouldn't have expected it." He said, meeting your face again.

"Mhmnm." You hummed, biting down on your lip. Tears stung in your eyes. (don't cry don't cry don't cry!) "Oh! Please don't cry.." Shuichi let go of your hands, breaking the contact. "Shuichi-" You sniffled, taking the moment to pull him against your body. Close enough to press your arms against his back.  He was quiet at best, hesitant to return the embrace. "Y/N .. I .. When we get out of here .. I'll make sure to keep you this happy." He spoke calmly, running his hand down your head. As happy as I am to be around you .. You inspire me." Shuichi continued, holding you there comfortably - leaving you to hear his heartbeat. "So, Thank you, y/n."

His words were .. hopeful to hear. It was quiet. Your foggy mind felt quiet, taking in this moment. It was the most comfort you had felt this entire time. Hopefully, you could hold onto that.

__

You ran your hands down his back, slowly pulling away from him. You only moved a few inches away. Enough to see his flustered expression again. "Oh, Y/N." Shuichi lifted his thumbs to your face, rubbing the wet skin. "Let's stay as positive as we can. Okay? I know .. I feel better having you here."

You nodded, returning a warm smile. You held his hands there - enough to press his palms to your face. Enough for his fingers to press against your warm cheekbones. A quiet sigh from you, and you closed your eyes. (leaning against his hands.) It was easy to feel better around someone you loved. When flickering your eyes open, you'd stare back at Shuichi. Such a sincere expression from him. He was so kind to you. That meant something. When seeing how stray hairs would fall past his eyes, now .. you had someone to hold onto.

"Shuichi," You parted your lips to speak, but his name came out quietly. "Hmn?" He brushed his thumbs against your cheeks. (maybe wondering what you'd say next?) What warm skin pressed against his.

"This is how I want to remember you. Just like this." You said, pressing your fingers against his hands. "Here, with me." You sniffled, unable to hide your smile. "Without worrying about anything. That's what I want to remember." Your voice broke at the last vowel, catching a view of the empathy in his reaction.

"I'll be sure of that," He nodded, steady to keep eye contact. "I'll do what I can to leave here with you. I promise." He assured you, voice soft and full of determination. Bittersweet. That's all you needed. For the past days following, you'd write about the losses. At least you had someone to keep by your side.

[heximagines]

can you please so one where eddie is like actually a nerd and like bad with girls?? definitely a virgin. his bff is y/n and maybe he asks her for advice but they like each other or something pls

Anon, absolutely yes I can. I love this. Thank you. 🖤

PART 2

Eddie Munson was fucking hopeless.

His band mates watched on in second hand embarrassment as he gave his best effort to chat up a girl he'd met at their show. He fumbled his words awkwardly and his hands couldn't seem to stop drumming against his leg. She also just seemed plain uninterested in whatever it was he was saying. Her eyes frequently drifted up to the empty stage waiting for a polite excuse to leave the conversation. Finally Eddie folded, realizing this wasn't going to get him anywhere. He let an awkward silence fall over them before bidding her a "see ya," and retreating back to his friends. "Not a word man," he cut Gareth off before he could even start in. His friend only raised his hands in surrender. "Not a word," he agreed "because there are no words to describe how bad that was." The others laughed and Eddie grumbled to himself, storming off in the direction of the stage. He knew you'd be on any minute and he would much rather grab a front row spot than be roasted to a crisp. As if you sensed his presence you stepped out from back stage, your bass already slung around your shoulders. You came to meet him at the edge and kneeled down, "Your set was awesome. You guys sounded really tight tonight." He grinned up at you. "A wonder what weekly practices can achieve." He watched as you double checked your tuning before plugging in to sound check. "Keep it up and maybe you'll be as good as us one day." You give him a playful slap on the shoulder before standing back up to prep for your set. Eddie had to say that he admired your confidence. You always seemed so sure of yourself in everything you did. Maybe if he could get a little bit of that mojo he'd have better luck with girls. Gareth and Jeff came to join him at the edge of the stage, the latter offering him a beer which he gladly took. "Trying your chances with y/n now?" He teased. Eddie only scoffed and shook his head. "Yeah right. She'd never go for me. We're just friends." Before any of the guys could respond you leaned into your mic and started up the first song. A crowd immediately surged to the front, eager to see the headliners of the night.

You stumbled backstage drenched in sweat, beer, and stage floor grime. Your favorite state of being. To no one's surprise you were immdiately greeted by Eddie who pressed an ice cold beer can to the side of your neck. You could of sworn your flushed skin sizzled under the cold aluminum. Gratefully you wrapped your own hands around the can and leaned into it. "Thanks dude. You're the best." He shrugged it off. "I live to serve. You guys killed it, as always." "Cheers to that!" You clicked cans before greedily downing as much of the cold liquid as you could before you had to breathe again. Eddie's eyes couldn't help but watch as a small amount trickled from the corner of your mouth, down your neck, and between your- He tore his gaze away and instead looked at the floor. You pulled the can from your lips and breathed deeply. "Ugh I so needed that." Eddie snorted, his eyes still cast down. "Couldn't tell. You played it off so well." You bent at the waist and hung your head upside down to enter his line of vision. "Don't you ever get a sore neck from staring at your feet all the time?" "Meh, my uncle always said that if you walk around with your nose up in the air you step in shit. So I prefer to look where I'm going." "Eddie, man, your uncle is the smartest dude I ever met."

Jeff leaned against the doorway of the venue and eyed Eddie who was eyeing you. Your body was bent over the tiny bar and your intense gaze bore into the bartender, a coy smile playing at your lips. He watched as the man slid another 2 beers your way and waved off your cash. With a smile you leaned closer to him and caressed his cheek. He watched your lips form a quiet "thank you" before you pulled away. "Are you coming with us?" His friend finally cut in, jarring Eddie from his observation. He only shook his head. "Nah. I'm gonna bring y/n back to her place tonight. Her gear is already in my van." Jeff didn't dwell on it. Instead he retreated from the nealy empty bar, heavy door slamming shut behind him. You sat at a small table on the edge of the room and eyed your best friend, gesturing to the second free drink you'd scored. Eddie crossed the room in a few short strides and took the seat adjacent to you. "Hottie discount, drink up babe." You winked at him before sipping your own drink. Your friend shook his head but took a long pull from his beer. "How are you so good at that?" "Hmm, good at what?" You played innocent but he knew better. "It's just… You're really good at flirting. How do you do it? Every time I talk to a girl it's like she wants to run away from me." Your smile dropped suddenly and your eyebrows drew together. "That's not true. I love talking to you. You always have something cool going on up there." You tapped his forehead for emphasis but Eddie shook his head. "Well you're the only chick who thinks so." It took a moment for you to gather your thoughts. You guess you'd never really noticed before but yeah Eddie wasn't what you'd call suave by any means. "Well here's the thing Ed. Flirting is an act. Ya know? It's all about making somone buy an image of you that's just for show. Just like when you're on stage! You know how you play everything up. But you don't do that, you just go in and be yourself. And honestly I think that's better." Your eyes searched his to make sure your point was getting across but he didn't meet your gaze. Instead his eyes were firmly fixed on the table. You reached out and put a hand over his, squeezing. "I love that about you dude. You don't care to put on an act to get what you want. You just go up and shoot your shot as you are. And if a girl doesn't like that the it's her loss! Because you're really amazing. You're sweet, talented, funny, and creative." Suddenly this conversation was making you feel a bit exposed. You tried to retract your hand but Eddie had twined his fingers with your own. "You think?" He met your gaze with full force now and the vulnerability there made you swallow a lump in your throat. "I do… And I think you just need to be more confident. You have a lot to offer." A silence fell over the both of you and neither made a move to pull away. Instead you guys drank your beers in silence still holding hands.

More than a bit tipsy you fumbled with the mixtape you'd made earlier in the day, trying to shove it into the deck in Eddie's van. He laughed before pressing the eject button and grabbing the tape that was already occupying the slot. "Shit, my bad." You blushed and tried to laugh it off, not noticing the fondness in his eyes. "Happens to the best of us." You finally press your mix into the player and cranked the volume. The Dead Boys Sonic Reducer filtered though the half blown out speakers and while it dampened the effect of the song you didn't entirely mind. "These guys are from Cleaveland and they put this out in like '77. Fuck tha was such a good year for punk. Anyway I think you'll like them. I put some other cool stuff on here for you too." Eddie paused backing put of his spot to look at you. "For me?" You nodded, "Yeah for you. I made it for you." You said it like it was nothing but the gesture made Eddie's heart flutter and face flush, an admittedly common effect you had on him. He watched as you settled into your seat and leaned your head against the window. The street lights cast a gentle glow over your face and eventhough you were grimey and tired he thought you had to be the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. He tore his eyes away from you before you could catch on and continued backing out of the spot before heading in the direction of the trailer park.

As you stared out the window you thought about when you first met Eddie. It was your senior year and you had just transfered to Hawkins High after moving from your hometown. You weren't happy to leave your friends and old band, and you certainly weren't happy to be moving into a rusted old trailer with your now 3 times divorced mom. But life has funny ways of working out. You had caught your first glimpse of Eddie as you moved your few boxes into your new home. His shitty van rattled up to his own trailer after school and as he got out his Dio back patch caught your eye. He returned your gaze and you smiled, giving him a nod of acknowledgement. But he only rushed to get inside, fumbling his keys at the door. You frowned but tried to shrug it off, figuring he was in a rush. The next time you saw him was at school. He sat alone in the corner of the cafeteria and after scanning the crowd he looked like the only person you'd want to hang around. So you held your head up high and walked over to him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Cool if I sit here?" His head shot up from his book and he eyed you warily. Deciding you werent going to wait for a response you sat down anyway. "I'm y/n. I just moved here, we're neighbors, and you seem cool. So I want to be friends." Eddie was completely taken aback, not used to girls talking to him let alone calling him cool and saying they wanted to be friends. So he did the only thing he could do. "Uh, Eddie. I'm Eddie. It's my name. Hi." Fuck. He looked like he wanted to shove himself into a locker but you only smiled at him, eyes drifting down to the book he had flipped open. "Is that a D&D manual? I've always wanted to play but could never get a group together." Finally his eyes lit up and he grinned at you. "Wanna hear about the campaign I'm planning?"

You were stirred from your thoughts as Eddie's hand came to rest on your shoulder, squeezing gently. You supposed you'd sort if dozed off there. "Hey, we're home." "Mmh, home?" He laughed at your sleepy tone, pulling you to sit up. "Yeah." You look at him in the dim light and smile. "I was thinking about when we first met." Eddie groaned to himself. "Please don't. I was such an idiot." You couldn't help but laugh at that. "No, no you weren't. I never thought you were an idiot." "Well… What did you think?" "Hmm?" Eddie took a breath to gather his courage. "What did you think of me?" You turn tour head away from him and stared out the windshield. "I already told you." He frowned at that but let it slide anyway. "Alright. Let's get you inside." You made him piggy back you to your trailer, not that he ever complained much when you did. Carefully he tiptoed around your mother who'd fallen asleep on the couch and snuck into your room. "We're getting way too old to be sneaking in… We should get a place together." You mumbled thoughtfully. "We could have shows in the basement… And a puppy named Lemmy." He playfully tossed you onto your bed making you giggle, a hand pressed over your mouth to muffle the sound. "That sounds like a dream come true." He pulled your desk chair over to the edge of the bed and got to work unlacing your boots for you and pulling them off. "Yeah, and we'll build skate ramps in the back yard. And we can set up a grow room in one of the closets." He set your boots on the floor before helping you out if your jacket. "You're full of great ideas tonight huh?" Eddie knew it was maybe a bit mean to egg you on right now, but he didn't mind imagining the two of you together to any capacity. He set your jacket over the back of your chair before pulling your blankets over you. You mumbled a few other things he couldn't quite make out before finally you fell asleep. Not wanting to stare Eddie moved to turn your bedside light off. As he did his attention was dawn in by a photo booth strip of the two of you pulling silly faces. He remembered taking them but he never realized that you kept it right by your bed like that. Finally he turned out the light and snuck back out of your trailer. As he walked the sort distance to his own home he thought about everything you'd said to him tonight. And suddenly the idea of you two being together didn't seem so impossible to him.