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joelmillerisapunk · 1 day ago

Text

Reincarnated

Joel Miller x F!Reader // 4.5k

summary: A late-night text from an unknown number stirs up memories you thought you’d buried. It’s been years since Joel walked out of your life, but now he’s back. Old wounds resurface, boundaries blur, and the question lingers: is this a second chance or just another heartbreak waiting to happen?

warnings: this is just yearing, longing, sad tortured for years joel, theme's of heartbreak, no beta, two ex's, tommy makes an appearance, no smut here (I know I know this is not my usual)

notes: I don't usually write this kind of stuff (no smut) and I am not sure how I feel about it but this is my submission for @jolapeno's Dear-uary challenge my prompt was: An old flame unexpectedly texts the other after years of silence, sparking memories of their past relationship and wondering if the feelings are still there. A big thank you to @thundermartini my baby for holding my hand as per usual, helping me with the title, being my draft, my cheerleader supporting me through a hundred moodboard changes, @itwasntimethatdidit40 my sweet sweet freckles for being such a massive support, helping me with the moodboard pictures, being a cheerleader and reading through parts of this. and @sawymredfox for always being such a lovely support and listening to me ramble always I love you all more than you know.

masterlist

The sun dipped low behind the hills, painting the Texas sky in streaks of gold and crimson. Joel sat on the creaky old porch chair, boots propped on the railing, a glass of bourbon rested loosely in his hand. He wasn’t drinking to enjoy it tonight—more out of habit than anything. The bitter burn barely registered anymore.

Beside him, Tommy leaned back in his chair, the faint smirk on his face telling Joel he was gearing up for one of his jabs. Tommy always had a knack for digging up things Joel preferred to leave buried.

“You ever wonder what happened to her?” Tommy asked, his voice easy, like he was just making small talk. But Joel knew better.

Joel’s grip on the glass tightened. He kept his gaze on the horizon, jaw clenching as he swirled the amber liquid. “Who?” he grunted, though his heart already knew the answer.

Tommy chuckled, low and knowing. “C’mon, Joel. Don’t play dumb. You know who I’m talkin’ about. That woman you used to see when Sarah was little. The one who—”

“Drop it, Tommy.” Joel’s voice was sharp, a warning shot, but Tommy, stubborn as ever, wasn’t backing down just yet.

“Alright, I’ll drop it,” Tommy said, leaning forward. “But I’m just sayin’, you’ve been walkin’ around like a damn ghost for years now. You ever think maybe you oughta—”

“I said drop it,” Joel snapped, his tone cutting through the lazy evening like a whip crack.

That shut Tommy up, at least for a moment. He leaned back again, taking a swig of his beer and letting out a long sigh. “Fine. But you know I’m right. You can act like you don’t care, but I see it, Joel. Regret’s a hell of a thing to carry around.”

Joel didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Instead, he stared out at the horizon, watching as the last sliver of sunlight disappeared behind the trees.

————————

Later that night, Joel lay in bed, the house quiet save for the faint creak of the floorboards settling. Tommy’s words churned in his mind, unwelcome but persistent. Regret.

The truth was, Joel had gotten real good at shoving his regrets into a corner of his mind and ignoring them. He had to. Otherwise, they’d eat him alive. But sometimes, like tonight, they crept back in, catching him off guard when his defenses were down.

Your face came to him in flashes, unbidden but vivid as ever—the curve of your smile, the sound of your laugh, the way your eyes had always seemed to see right through him.

He’d thought about you more than he cared to admit over the years. Wondered where you were, what you were doing, if you were happy. Wondered if you ever thought about him.

Joel sat up, running a hand through his hair as he glanced at the phone on his nightstand. The idea of reaching out had crossed his mind a hundred times before, but he’d always talked himself out of it. What would he even say? What right did he have to show up in your life again after all this time?

Still, something about tonight felt different. Maybe it was Tommy’s words rattling around in his head. Or maybe it was the quiet, aching loneliness that had settled in his chest like an old friend.

Before he could think better of it, Joel grabbed his phone. He opened a blank message, staring at it for what felt like an eternity. Then, he typed, backspaced and typed again until he finally settled on something.

Hey, it’s been a while.

He hesitated, thumb hovering over the send button. His chest felt tight, like the weight of all the years and mistakes was pressing down on him. But before he could change his mind, he hit send.

The message hung there on the screen, simple and unassuming, but it felt monumental. Joel stared at it, heart pounding in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

Minutes passed. Then longer. He sighed, setting the phone back on the nightstand. “Goddamn fool,” he muttered under his breath.

But just as he was reaching to turn off the light, his phone buzzed.

The buzzing sound jolted him more than he cared to admit. He picked it up, the faint glow of the screen illuminating his furrowed brow.

You: Who is this?

He hadn’t expected you to respond. Or maybe he had, but he hadn’t thought this far ahead. He was suddenly aware of how much rested on the next words he typed.

Joel: It’s Joel.

The three dots appeared almost immediately, then disappeared. They came back and stopped again. Joel could almost picture you sitting there, debating whether to even respond.

Then it came.

You: What do you want?

There it was. Direct. Guarded. Exactly what he expected. Joel leaned back against the headboard. He didn’t blame you. Hell, he deserved worse. But now that he’d started this, he couldn’t stop.

Joel: I don’t know. Just thought I’d check in.

The response came quicker this time.

You: After all these years? You just “thought you’d check in”?

Joel winced, hesitating over the screen again. Nothing felt right. Nothing felt like enough.

Joel: I’ve been thinking about you.

Another pause. He could practically feel your hesitation through the phone.

You: Don’t. You don’t get to do that.

Joel stared at your message. His jaw tightened as he fought against the surge of guilt rising in his chest. You were right—he didn’t get to do this. But here he was, selfishly dragging the both of you back into a mess he’d created.

He set the phone down, ran a hand over his face, and stared at the ceiling. Memories of you flickered in his mind—how your laugh used to light up a room, the way your touch had always grounded him when the world felt too heavy. He’d walked away, thinking it was the right thing to do. For Sarah. For her mother. For everyone but you.

The phone buzzed again. He sighed, picking it back up.

You: Why now, Joel? What’s the point?

He’d rehearsed this conversation in his head so many times over the years, but none of those imagined scenarios had prepared him for this.

Joel: There is no point. I just couldn’t stop myself tonight. I know I don’t deserve to be texting you.

You: You’re damn right you don’t. You broke my heart. You don’t just get to waltz back in like nothing happened.

Joel: I know I did. And I’m sorry. I should’ve said it back then, but I was too much of a coward.

He stared at the screen, waiting, but no reply came. The silence felt heavier than the darkness surrounding him, and for a moment, he wondered if that was it. If you’d finally had enough and decided to let him rot in the bed he’d made.

You: But why now, why tonight?

Joel: Tommy brought you up. Got me thinking.

The truth hung there, plain and unvarnished. He could’ve lied, could’ve made it sound more noble, but what good would that have done?

You: So what, I’m some ghost you decided to chase because Tommy made you feel bad?

Joel: No. It’s not like that. I’ve thought about you every damn day since I left. I know that probably doesn't mean shit to you, but it’s the truth.

You: Every day, huh? Didn’t stop you from choosing her over me.

Joel shut his eyes, the memory of that choice cutting through him like a knife. He’d thought he was doing the right thing back then but in the process, he’d shattered something else—something that had mattered more than he’d been willing to admit.

Joel: You’re right. I made the wrong choice. I know that now.

You: I don’t know if I can do this.

Joel stared at the words. He wasn’t sure if he could do this either, but he knew one thing for certain—he didn’t want to let you go again.

Joel: You don’t have to decide right now. Just let me talk to you. For a little bit. Please.

You: Fine. But don’t expect me to make this easy for you.

A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at Joel’s lips. He didn’t expect it to be easy. He didn’t think he deserved it. But for the first time in years, there was a sliver of hope in his chest.

Joel: Fair enough.

You: Still into music?

Joel’s brows furrowed, the unexpected question caught him off guard. The memory hit Joel like a sucker punch. The songs. That was how you used to talk to each other when words didn’t feel like enough.

Every morning, like clockwork, one of you would send a song with a time stamp—each track chosen so deliberately. Some days, it was your favorite love songs, sappy and sweet, reminding the other how much you cared. Other times, it was to lift each other up, a little nudge of hope when the world felt too heavy. And then there were the ones that said all the things neither of you could say out loud.

Joel: Always.

You: I’ll send you one tomorrow.

Joel: Looking forward to it.

Joel sighed, setting the phone back on the nightstand. Your last message sat heavy on his chest, lingering. He stared up at the ceiling, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the blinds. His thoughts churned like storm clouds—your words, the memories they dragged back, the ache of something he thought he'd buried years ago.

Eventually, the exhaustion won out, pulling him under. Joel’s dreams carried him back to a time when life felt a little less heavy, and the weight of his choices hadn’t yet settled on his shoulders.

He saw you clearly, like a photograph that had been buried but never faded. You were standing in his kitchen cooking breakfast, barefoot and wearing one of his old flannels that hung loose on you, the sleeves rolled up past your elbows. It was early morning, sunlight streaming through the window and catching in your hair, painting you in a golden glow.

Joel leaned against the doorframe, coffee mug in hand, watching as you hummed along to Fishin' in the Dark by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band on the radio—one of those old country tunes you both loved. Your hips swayed to the rhythm, carefree and unselfconscious, like the world outside didn’t exist. You turned suddenly, catching him staring, and your smile lit up the room.

“What?” you teased, eyes sparkling. “You gonna stand there all morning, or are you gonna help me?”

“Don’t see a reason to move,” Joel drawled, his lips tugging into a smirk. “Got a real nice view from here.”

You rolled your eyes, but your laughter bubbled up, soft and sweet, filling the quiet space between you. He couldn’t help but cross the room then, setting his coffee down on the counter as his hands found your waist.

“Joel Miller,” you said, feigning exasperation as he pulled you close, his fingers brushing along the curve of your hip. “I’m trying to make breakfast, and you’re—”

“Distractin’ you?” he interrupted, leaning in so his nose brushed against you.

“Exactly.”

“Good,” he murmured, before pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. You let out a soft sigh, melting into him, and for a moment, everything felt perfect—like the rest of the world could wait.

The memory shifted, flickering like an old film reel. You were both lying on the couch now, tangled up in each other as a record spun on the turntable, and he could hear your voice, quiet but clear, singing along to a song you’d claimed was “for him.”

“Every time I hear this one, I think of you,” you’d confessed, your head resting on his chest.

Joel hadn’t responded with words. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hand running idly through your hair. Actions had always been easier for him than words, and he’d hoped you understood what he couldn’t say.

When Joel woke, the room was still dim, dawn just beginning to creep through the cracks in the blinds. He rubbed a hand over his face, groaning softly as the previous night settled back onto his chest. His phone caught his eye, and he hesitated before reaching for it.

The screen lit up, and there it was—a new message.

You: 3:01 - Exile by Taylor Swift.

His heart kicked up as he clicked the link and let the song play, skipping to the time stamp. The haunting melody filled the room, and when the lyrics hit, he froze.

“I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending.”

Joel leaned back against the headboard, staring at the phone in his hand. The words hit harder than he’d expected—bitterness woven into a truth he couldn’t deny. But beneath the sting, there was something else.

You’d sent him a song. After all this time, after everything that had passed between you, you’d listened, and you’d answered. It wasn’t an olive branch, not exactly, but it was a thread. A connection. A chance.

Joel stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, the song still playing in the background. The words hit like a gut punch, raw and honest in a way only music could manage. He exhaled slowly. He had to respond, and it had to be right.

Scrolling through his playlists, he searched for something that could say what he couldn’t put into words. A chance to prove he wasn’t the man who had walked away. Something that could show you he wasn’t taking this lightly, that he regretted the past.

Then he found it.

Joel: 2:26 - The Night We Met by Lord Huron.

He hit send before he could second-guess himself, then opened the song and skipped to the time stamp.

“I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met.”

The lyrics bled through the room, a haunting confession of longing and regret. He closed his eyes, letting the melody wrap around him like a cold embrace. It wasn’t just a song—it was a plea.

Minutes passed with no reply, the silence stretched long and thin. Joel’s chest tightened, doubt creeping in like an unwelcome guest. Maybe he’d read too much into your message. Maybe sending the song was too much.

The phone buzzed in his hand, and his breath hitched.

You: That’s a bold choice.

A small, humorless chuckle escaped him. Bold, sure—but it was the truth.

Joel: Figured it was fitting.

You: It is. But that night it’s a hard one to go back to.

Joel swallowed painfully, the weight of your words settling over him like a lead blanket. He didn’t blame you.

Joel: I know. I can’t change the past. But I wish I could.

You: Wishing doesn’t fix anything.

Joel: You’re right. But maybe it’s a start.

You: We’ll see.

The conversation faded into silence after that, but Joel didn’t mind. For the first time in years, he felt like he’d taken a step—small, tentative, but forward.

He wasn’t walking away this time. Not again.

——————————

The next day started quietly for Joel. After his usual morning routine—coffee, and an aimless walk around the property—he finally glanced at his phone, half-expecting silence, but there it was

You: 2:01 - All I Want by Kodaline

Joel sat on the oak chair at his kitchen table, his phone resting in his palm as All I Want faded out. Your song hit him square in the heart—a combination of longing and accusation he couldn’t argue with. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table.

Joel played the song, the ache in the lyrics settled heavy in his chest. "Cause you brought out the best of me. A part of me I'd never seen. You took my soul, wiped it clean. Our love was made for movie screens. But if you loved me, why did you leave me?" The words cut sharper than he wanted to admit.

Why did you leave me?

The answer felt too big, too tangled in old guilt and choices he couldn’t take back. Joel rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying to think of the right response. Music had always been your language, but today, the words felt harder to choose.

After a while, he scrolled through his playlists again, stopping when his thumb hovered over a familiar title. It wasn’t just about the lyrics—it was the feeling, the truth of what he wanted to say but couldn’t. He thought it might somehow tip the scales in his favor and so he typed.

2:41- Let Her Go by Passenger

He opened the song and let the timestamp play, you only know you love her when you let her go and you let her go.

Finally, he hit the button, watching as the message marked "Delivered."

The phone sat in his hand as he leaned back against the kitchen chair, the melody echoing in his mind. This back-and-forth of songs and guarded words—it felt like a lifeline, but also like walking on a tightrope. He wanted more, needed more, but he wasn’t sure if you were ready to give it.

The phone buzzed, breaking his thoughts.

You: You always pick the gut-punchers.

Joel exhaled a small laugh.

Joel: Never been good at subtle.

You: You’ve still got good taste in music, I’ll give you that. Suprised it’s not an oldie.

Joel smiled, a faint warmth spreading through his chest. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was a step—a reminder that some part of you still wanted to talk to him.

By the sixth day, it felt like you both slipped back into old habits, texting each other all day about everything and nothing. Joel found himself smiling more, laughing even. It wasn’t like the years hadn’t happened—those gaps still lingered, but they didn’t feel so wide anymore.

—————————————

The next few days blurred together in a steady rhythm of texts. It started slow—Joel’s messages were careful and measured. A “good morning” here, a comment about the weather there, and a song in between. But soon, the conversations stretched longer, dipping into familiar topics and inside jokes he hadn’t thought about in years.

It was comfortable and natural. Everything was falling back into place, even though you weren’t sure if you were ready to let it.

Joel: Thought about calling you earlier.

You: Why didn’t you?

Joel: I don’t know. Didn’t wanna push too hard, I guess. But I miss hearing your voice.

You: Well if you’re going to call, might as well make it a video call. Let’s see if you’ve aged as much as you sound like you have ;)

Joel blinked at the screen, his lips twitching into a surprised smile. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the hallway mirror. “Damn you old fool,” he muttered to himself, brushing a finger over the lines on his face.

Joel: You sure? Don’t want to scare you off.

You: I’ll take my chances.

Joel chuckled, the sound low and almost nervous as he tapped the video call button. His heart thudded in his chest as the screen shifted, the ringing filling his ears until, finally, the call connected.

Your face appeared, a little blurry at first before the image settled. Joel stared, his breath catching at the sight of you, just as beautiful as he remembered.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice breaking the silence.

Joel swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the phone. “Hey,” he replied. He gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “Guess this is me. Older, grayer, and maybe a little wiser.”

You tilted your head, a smirk forming on your lips. “You don’t look half bad… for an old man.”

Joel chuckled, the sound more relaxed this time. He paused, his eyes scanning your face through the screen. “It’s real good to see you.”

You nodded, your expression softening. “It’s good to see you too.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, the tension in his shoulders easing as the two of you settled into the call. His smile lingered, even as he tried to play it cool. “Y’know, video calls weren’t much of a thing last time we talked.”

You laughed, resting your chin on your hand. “Yeah, it’s weird seeing you like this. Makes you feel closer, though.”

He nodded, the warmth in your voice made his chest tighten. “Closer’s good. Been too damn long.”

Your gaze softened, and for a moment, neither of you said anything, just letting the silence stretch. Joel was the first to break. “So, I passed the test, then? Don’t look too ancient on camera?”

You laughed, the sound sending a ripple of nostalgia through him. “You’re doing okay. Grays suit you.”

“Flatterin’ me now, huh?” He leaned forward slightly. “I think you’re tryin’ to distract me.”

“Distract you from what?” you asked, raising a brow, but there was a playful lilt in your voice.

“From how damn beautiful you are,” he said, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. He blinked, his expression shifting as if he wasn’t sure he should’ve said it.

“You always were a charmer, Miller.”

“Not sure ‘bout that,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Think I just say what I mean when it comes to you.”

The honesty in his voice made your breath hitch, and Joel caught the way your expression softened, your playful demeanor faltering for just a moment.

“You always did have a way of catching me off guard,” you said finally.

“Guess it’s mutual, then.” He leaned back in his chair. “You’ve always had a knack for makin’ me say things I don’t plan on sayin’.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like tellin’ you how beautiful you are,” he said without missing a beat, his tone steady now, as if he’d decided to own the moment. “How much I’ve missed seein’ that pretty face, hearin’ your laugh.” He paused, his eyes holding yours through the screen. “How much I’ve missed you.”

“Joel…” you began, but he cut you off with a gentle smile.

“Don’t gotta say anything,” he said softly. “Just… wanted you to know.”

You shook your head, a smile breaking through. “You always do this, you know? Say something that makes it impossible to stay mad at you.”

“Not my intention. So, how ‘bout you? You miss me at all, or am I just an old fool?”

"I mean, you are an old fool, but…"

"But?"

"But maybe I missed you a little," you teased, holding your thumb and forefinger an inch apart for emphasis.

He shook his head as a laugh rumbled out of him. "A little, huh? Should’ve known I’d only get a half-assed compliment outta you."

"Hey," you shot back, grinning now, "that’s more than most people get. Consider yourself special, Miller."

"Special, huh? Careful now—you keep sweet-talkin’ me like that, and I might start thinkin’ you missed me a lot."

You laughed, rolling your eyes. "Don’t push your luck."

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was charged, full of unspoken things. Joel shifted in his chair, his thumb brushing absently along the edge of the phone. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed this, how much he’d needed you. And now that he had you on the other end of this call, he wasn’t sure how he’d gone so long without it.

“So,” he started, his voice softer now, “what have you been up to all these years? Catch me up.”

You shared bits and pieces of your life. Joel listened intently, his eyes fixed on the screen like you might vanish if he looked away. Your laugh filled the space between his words, and every now and then, you’d tease him about his “old man” habits or the way his drawl had only gotten thicker.

It was easy. Too easy. And Joel realized he didn’t want the call to end.

“Y’know, this… this ain’t enough. Seein’ you like this. Hearin’ you talk. Feels good, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not the same.”

You hesitated, your smile faltering. “What are you saying, Joel?”

“I’m sayin’… I wanna see you. For real. None of this video callin’ nonsense.” His voice dropped lower, softer, like he was afraid you might say no. “Just you and me. Like old times.”

You blinked, your lips parting in surprise before a slow smile spread across your face. “You sure you’re ready for that? Seeing me in person might ruin the illusion.”

“Doubt that,” Joel said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll take my chances.”

The day of the meeting came quicker than Joel expected. He stood outside the small café you’d chosen, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets to keep them from fidgeting. His heart was pounding in a way that made him feel like a damn teenager again, but he couldn’t help it. This wasn’t just any meeting. This was you.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, Miller. When and where?”

————

He looked around waiting to see you, and then Joel froze. There you were, standing just a few feet away, your face illuminated by the golden afternoon light. You looked just as he remembered, and yet somehow different—like time had added something to you, something he couldn’t quite put into words. His breath caught, and for a moment, he couldn’t move.

And then your eyes met.

It hit him like a punch to the gut, the kind of emotion he thought he’d buried long ago. There was no escaping it, no pretending it wasn’t there. The way you smiled at him, tentative and warm, like you were testing the waters but already knew the outcome—it was enough to undo him completely.

“Joel,” you said softly. It was the same voice he’d been hearing in his head for years, the one he’d convinced himself he could live without. But now that it was real, there was no going back.

“Hey,” he managed, his voice rough and uneven. He took a step closer until he was standing right in front of you.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just looked at each other, the weight of the years between you pressing down and then lifting all at once. Joel’s eyes traced every line of your face, every detail he’d missed, and he felt something settle deep in his chest. Something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

It was undeniable, inevitable. Whatever this was, whatever it could be—there was no stopping it now. Joel knew it, and by the way you looked at him, he knew you did too.

“Guess we’ve got a lot to talk about,” he said finally, his lips quirking into a small, lopsided smile.

“Yeah,” you replied, your own smile soft but full of promise. “We do.”

And as Joel held the door open for you, letting you step inside first, he felt it—the certainty that this wasn’t the end of something but the beginning.

Whatever came next, he knew one thing for sure - you were in it, and there was no turning back.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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jaydenism · 1 day ago

Text

been thinking about this bug a lot recently...

i want a big kanade arc pls pls pls 🙏 its her turn to go through the horrors ♡

long kanade ramble ahead!!

i think that savior complex of hers is gonna send her crashing down. hard.

we haven't gotten any huge kanade focus events yet, or anything that really progresses her story or builds her character in a significant way, but im really looking forward to see what they have in store for her character arc. im hoping kana5 will stir the pot a bit and get the plot moving.

i feel like overall shes been really mysterious and strangely without much going on, and at first i thought she was a little boring even... but i think that's by design. she doesn't open up about herself much, and generally appears to be pretty put together, maybe aside from her poor self-care. she doesn't talk about many of her own problems, because she doesn't want to have the others worry for her, when her problems are "insignificant" compared to the others, as she says. i think the lack of progression in her story also fools the audience into believing she has her shit together. ena has had her fair share of struggles. mafuyu had her big arc, but shes also been trying to find herself since the beginning. mizuki just went through hell and finally fell apart after the long-lasting growing tension in her story. but kanade? she's been stagnant. unchanging. it makes it easy for her to be overlooked. but that's exactly what she wants-- to not weigh the others down, and to be their support. but she can't keep that up forever. so yes, i admit i wasn't super interested in her character before, but I've now realized that's because they've hardly even started her story yet. as one of my oomfs said, she was always going to be the last wall to fall.

when reading the story at first, kanade has a lot of warning signs you might glance over. ive only recently started to see them more, like just in passing comments here and there that are REALLY concerning and unhealthy. i mean the most obvious sign is that she barely gives herself time to eat or sleep of course, but the more you pay attention to the subtle things, the more apparent it becomes that she's got some serious shit she needs to unpack, or she may just end up crumpling under the weight of it all. i think her undoing has the potential to be huge. catastrophic even. i really wonder what the writers are planning for her, but all this waiting leads me to believe they could have something big planned. like okay, looking back to the card i drew from, the bloomfes kanade card, shes got some wild shit going on... there is nothing normal about that !!!

i also posted abt this on bluesky, but reiterating it here, i felt like her newest card for her mixed focus event kinda seemed like foreshadowing... specifically because of the niigo colored star charms. mizuki and ena's charms are together, facing each other (yippeeeee), but mafuyu's charm faces kanade's, who's charm is not facing hers. mizuenas charms also seem to glow in the light, while kanamafus dont reflect as much light. could just be coincidence, but i know they love hinting and foreshadowing with card details like this. and overall, kanade's expression is unreadable, like a still, empty doll. the card has a bit of a melancholic feel, to me at least. im not sure how soon the next niigo event will be, but it's gotta be a kanade focus, unless they pull a saki. i dont think its the biggest leap to suggest this could be some foreshadowing for the next event.

but anyway, i think kana5 will start building up the tension at least, maybe entering a kanade arc even. i need to see her snap pls pls pls pls pls

if you read all that,,, wow thanks, u get a star ☆ :)) also lemme know ur thoughts and if im off base about anything

#kanades bloomfes card is incredibly fascinating to me #like damn shes fighting some crazy demons holy shit #kanade crashout pls pls pls #project sekai #proseka #pjsk #prsk #pjsk fanart #prsk fa #nightcord at 25:00 #25 ji nightcord de #n25 #niigo #yoisaki kanade #kanade yoisaki

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iwoulddieforher · 3 days ago

Note

Here’s an ask! (For Casey x Alex obviously lol)

You’ve mentioned a couple times Casey tends to be self deprecating. How does Alex support her?

When/how does Alex realize Casey uses the batting cages/gym as an outlet (and takes it too far sometimes)? How does she handle it?

Oh! And while I’m on firsts! How about the first time Alex sees Casey in one of her shirts that say Cabot? (Loved the stealing clothes stuff btw!)

Thank you so much for the ask <333 I LOVE ASKS I LOVE TALKING GRAAHHHHH

This got hella long!!! Warnings for discussion of self harm, self hatred, blah blah blah and also implied sex below.

Have this picture of upset Casey (fittingly for what I ramble borderline incoherently about here) so the reply doesn't seem so short above the divider

It's always difficult for me to write more comforting interactions between the two, because as much as it feels natural to make them comfort each other to a really high degree, I want to keep the characterization provided by the show as closely as possible and thus despite my intrinsic urge to project the way I personally as an author want someone to treat me if I was in the high-stress scenario these two find themselves in, the reality of it is overt comforting probably would not work well on either of them. They're both strong, independent and emotionally resilient women- and the flaws they have oftentimes probably could not be directly addressed or they'd just withdraw and become defensive.

Thus, since Casey slips self-loathing comments into casual conversations, it always comes off more as a wry joke, and that's why other people such an Olivia or Elliot just assume she's poking fun at herself or venting frustration. Alex, too, initially perceives similar, but then she starts registering Casey's 'tells'. The way her hand flexes as though she wants to bite the fingernail on her thumb and has to consciously hold herself back from doing so, the way she refuses to make eye contact with anyone and if she is forcing herself to do so anyway her gaze is very blank because she's not actually looking, the angle of her shoulders and collarbones in relation to her spine- stupidly specific, intricately tiny things in Casey's body language that show, no, she's actually really stressed. When the correlation between these minor actions and Casey's comments jumping to a more frequent pattern emerges, Alex realizes this is actually an issue and although Casey conceals it by jesting she's being dead serious, she does believe she's unworthy of what she has or incapable or whatever else negative Casey believes about herself.

Since noticing it at all used such attention to detail and the actions are so minor they're unexplainable, Alex realizes that if she approached this issue head-on Casey would probably do a wonderful job at gaslighting her into believing she was making up problems, so she doesn't. Instead, she simply begins peppering praise and reassurance throughout daily interactions, enough that Casey realized it had increased but not much that she'd grow suspicious. Little things, like staring at Casey's figure for a little bit extra long so Casey would notice Alex was admiring, making sure to smile down at the legal notes Casey had asked her to review so when Casey studied her face intently while Alex read she'd know Alex was beyond proud of her, or just straight on whispering compliments into Casey's hair when they passed eachother in hallways.

Eventually, she did see Casey's deprecating comments decrease, and instead when Casey was stressed she subconsciously sought out Alex because she knew she'd find gentle praise and reassurance from her when Casey felt as though she was lacking.

I think your second ask is somewhat asking for a continuation of Softball to the Ribs (Kiss it), so I'll just talk about the storyline I would've written had I decided to make a next part (which I won't, all my fics exist solely as one-shots);; Alex finds out because Casey did tell her in the bathroom that it was a softball, she just didn't know the details of how the injury occurred. I think Casey would never tell her, Alex would find out from something like Life360/Find my Phone since it would make sense to me that at some point they start sharing locations due to the nature of their job. Casey vanishes for random hours at a time when she's grappling with heavy caseloads and Alex checks it to find her location as being at the batting cages. The first time she sees it she does nothing, she just makes sure a warm bath is already all set up for her when she comes home and drops by an Apotheke (what the hell is Apotheke in English????? nOt my language) to pick up muscle rub and then pretends she's initiating sex as an excuse to massage it into her. Casey is nonethewiser.

Eventually, though, when Casey has been gone too long or it's happened back to back on multiple days, Alex goes to the batting cages and sort of just sits in the corner with her legal notepad and despite being uncomfortable in the weird sporty setting proceeds to try to work there. Her presence is grounding for Casey and it makes her want to push herself less because she doesn't want Alex to watch her get hurt- and when Alex gets bored of faux scribbling random shit she just starts being the one who controls the batting cage so she can press the button to stop it if she thinks it's going too far.

Self-harm is a very difficult issue and I wrote Casey to be using exercise dependence as a means to do it, and I have a concern with many fics in which a character's romance causes them to suddenly lose interest in what is a destructive coping method, and I think at least in my experience that's unrealistic. Self harm is wildly addictive and Casey is dependant on this to make her feel as though she's coping with stress she otherwise can't, and although Alex would obviously love to step in and pull that feeling out of her, that's just... not how life works, most of the time. If it was something like cutting or burning one self, obviously that's an entirely different story, but where the line between healthy exercise and an overt dependence that leads to self destruction ... that's hard to differentiate at times. What athlete hasn't accidentally gotten injured? The same story could exist in which Casey uses exercise as a healthy method to deal with stress (literally in the show that's what it is.) and the whole thing happened by genuine accident if it wasn't for the fact Casey simultaneously wasn't eating. If her ribs weren't visible in that fic Alex probably wouldn't have known something was seriously wrong. But I wrote Casey as intentionally putting herself in positions in which the risk for it is very high, and not caring for herself after- but how could Alex read Casey's internal dialogue and draw the line somewhere? It's complicated.

Alex focuses, then, on fostering a nurturing, loving environment and accepting every part of Casey as she is.

She can't directly stop Casey from participating in sports but she does ensure Casey eats and sleeps to a healthy degree and if she realizes something like Casey skipping meals more than is normal for people with inconsistent work schedules she'll do something to make sure Casey gets the care she needs.

Eventually, through this environment and Alex's comfort, Casey can build the emotional skill set required to cope with stress adequately - that's the ultimate goal, because even if Alex did somehow twist exercise out of her grasp, there's always the possibility something in their relationship would break and Casey would fall straight back into it. Alex is smart enough to avoid that possibility.

Finally, the first time Alex realized Casey was wearing something of her's was one of the first times the accidental swapping of blazers occurred that I described in the other post. Alex had stopped by Casey's office with food during a lunch break and while they ate Casey extended her arm to reach for something, and Alex realized her name was on the sleeve. Cabot suddenly becomes very bothered and jumps Casey's bones the second they're somewhere more private because holy shit does the idea of Casey being her's and similarly labeled do something for her.

#calex #casey novak #alex cabot #casey novak x alex cabot #svu

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ceiling-karasu · 4 months ago

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I had a dream about one of the OCs I made a while ago (also murder mystery theater).

I know back in March I was discussing different AUs and OCs I could use for future projects, and I had a few issues with one that made me think I should axe that project, so I kind of put them on the wayside. (And hey, since we have been talking about neglecting certain OCs...)

My first problem was that I had four (fifth route scientist path absolutely not) different directions the AU hedgehog could go, but each way would require the OC to have a different personality and backstory. I wound up calling them Omelas, Yossarian (like Catch-22), POW, and Victorian mystery illness as placeholder names. Actual names would come much later. The other issue is that I later found out someone else had some similar ideas, but the ideas for each are different so I think it should be fine.

Either way, it was just a little too complicated to be viable, I thought.

But I had a dream this week that made me realize I could do all of the backstories and plots, if I split the one hedgehog into four different characters with intertwining stories.

Also, much more Flower Hill corruption than I originally had planned, but works out better.

It is kind of long, and only has basic ideas I want for the plot, so I'll put it under a read more.

Omelas

Some Flower Hill generals (or other high ranking position in the army) secretly invade some villages outside the borders of Flower Hill and abduct hedgehogs to pad their numbers. After all, the weasels will run out of bodies at some point, so they might as well throw some bodies that are not from Flower Hill at them.

Omelas is the child of a Korean/Ainu style village in which children are raised communally (and maybe girls aren’t given names until marriage, that is a regional thing in the past), and the hedgehog in question is just treated as an 'extra burden' since they are female. The area itself speaks a specific language dialect since it has been remote for generations, but the village head has been discouraging that.

The young hedgehogs are taken by the generals and sergeants, who mark them as Flower Hill hedgehogs trying to escape conscription, so no one asks many questions, especially since many of them can't give proper names, so other soldiers think they are lying. The military leaders involved get large bonuses for capturing deserters, as well as for how many conscripts they have under them, so two birds one stone.

Eventually, most of the other non Flower Hill hedgehogs die in battle, while the survivors plan rebellions behind the scenes.

Omelas, possibly as part of a ploy by the group to 'send a message,' causes a scene including destruction and threatening Flower Hill in the other dialect one day, that gets herself in trouble. The military police during the trial finds absolutely no record of her existing in Flower Hill before the army, which backs up the stories that had been going around, uncovering the corruption. The investigation unit that has to come in realizes that they now have an international incident on their hands if anyone finds out, and also if the records have been falsified, then there are an untold number of angry foreign hedgehogs planning a rebellion, and they don't know where they are.

Omelas is sent to work on a farm as punishment for the incident she caused, and also to keep them out of the way while Flower Hill tries to figure out what to do about the abductions (probably nothing, most of them are dead anyway, and it could be easier for the others to be written off as weasel sympathizers and ‘gotten rid of’), especially since the villages no longer consider the missing hedgehogs their own.

I kind of want her to be named after a mushroom. I really like the name Enoki/Enokitake, but that is a Japanese word, and it is Pine Mushrooms (songi beoseot) that are the major delicacy in North Korea, so I have to work on that.

But either way, she hates Flower Hill from the bottom of her heart, but also knows the weasels would kill her, so she has to bide her time and hope the rest of the survivors do their part.

Yossarian:

A young hedgehog from a family where each member has an impressive military career, especially in sniping (almost wondering if she should be related to Wonsi, my other hedgehog OC from a sniper family, but those AU ideas are not connected). When she was young, she found a sick and starving mouse child who had crossed the border and tries to help them, only for a squirrel friend a few years older than her to murder the child for being one of the enemy. Everyone praised the squirrel (possibly because they thought they might be next), who later went on to be a squad leader/general, which makes Yossarian question Flower Hill and why everyone outside needs to die, especially if they are too weak to be an issue. She doesn’t question the war or conscription in general, though, just why she has to do it.

Since she is an excellent sniper during conscription, her term limits keeps getting raised, and she is put in an 'exception' group. Like in Catch-22, this group can only end the conscription if they go on a set amount of missions, but that number keeps getting raised whenever they near the cap.

The leader of the group (I don't know military terms and commander seems to be wrong here) is the squirrel friend, who offers to let her out if she marries him in a televised wedding to show off Flower Hill's unity. At some point he forges paperwork saying that everyone in the unit has decided to stay in the military full time for another two years (have not decided if the 'exception group' explanation was a lie he came up with). Most of the group is happy that they did not have to waste the time filling out the paperwork, but others fall into depression, disrupting the unity of the unit.

Thus, Yossarian feels trapped and resents Flower Hill, while also feeling very protective of the few squad-mates she likes, and starts sniping enemy mice and weasels in the shoulders, in such a way that they can never hold guns again, but can still otherwise work. This earns her a reputation with the Weasel Unit. Killing someone brings no joy, but she finds it disturbing how excited she gets to wound someone, since it means they can finally be free, as she wishes to be.

But what would she even do outside of the army? Be a farmer? That would be disgraceful for the family, but can they really see themselves as being a part of the military or marrying the squirrel forever?

Finally, Yossarian snaps and assaults the commanders themselves when they call her in to send her on a long mission, screaming about the lies and false paperwork, which surprises and confuses them (also the squad mates who thought she was happy), because would have assumed she would be happy to work for Flower Hill in that way (oh, but there are a few like her every now and then, but they usually wash out earlier), but yes, that squirrel should not have done that.

He only gets a slap on the wrist, and Yossarian is 'diagnosed' with combat fatigue and stress due to expectations, but still needs to be punished, and is sentenced to work on a farm.

Meanwhile, a small investigation is started.

POW

A failed squirrel scout who gets captured and is a POW for a while before being rescued. But it is assumed he must have talked or turned, and is sent to a detention/re education facility instead to figure out what information they gave (he gave nothing). The detention facility actually does worse than what the weasels did to him, emotionally at least. Flower Hill was supposed to care about him, but they have completely betrayed him, and are not giving his injuries proper medical attention. Also, he is really afraid to go back out, considering everything he had gone through. Even the friends who are allowed to visit look at him as if they think he is weak and pathetic somehow.

He is not actually supposed to be in the detention facility. His commanding officer was a nepotism hire who accidentally gave him the wrong information, and then forged evidence of him being turning traitor to cover up his mistakes. Or maybe was even bribed by the weasel unit to give him over, and the rescue is a ‘problem’ for whatever deals he has going on if anyone looks too closely at the capture. No one in the facility questions the paperwork, though, and don’t explain anything to the squirrel.

This can go two ways:

POW eventually goes into sepsis from the injuries (maybe appendicitis, although really just humans, monkeys, possums, and rabbits who get that but hey, fiction?), and is only saved by the his old drill Sargent who was brought in to scream about what a disgrace he was, but recognized he was dying. That, or the facility gets raided by the Weasel Unit, and some enemy soldiers recognize him and appear so genuinely concerned about his health that he accidentally confesses and answers all their questions. Maybe both.

Or, he agrees to go back out on another mission so he can leave the facility. The handlers falsify some records to say he is fully retrained and recovered, but upon joining up with the Weasel Unit in disguise, has a panic attack and goes catatonic, which combined with his other health issues, freaks out the mice. The doctors turn out to be his original interrogators, who send him back because his reappearance in such a way actually answers the majority of the questions they had been asking about Flower Hill the first time they captured him, so they have no need of him anymore.

The workers could actually be fired or jailed for what they did to him, so they write it off as him developing sympathies for the enemy and helping them (perhaps albeit under duress) which nets him a labor sentence on a farm (especially if they spin it as he somehow brought the weasel unit to attack the facility and let them in). But his physical injuries linger, making it difficult for him to work, and there may be quite a few mental issues involved, which only gets worse as actual investigations begin and find him at the center of the turmoil. Also the drill Sargent starts asking a lot of questions.

Victorian Mystery Disease.

Basically a hedgehog with a failure to thrive issue. They have been sickly since birth with some sort of fatigue disorder, which everyone assumes is laziness. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot move very far without feeling exhausted and slowing down. Maybe some chronic pain issues as well.

Eventually he gets diagnosed as a malingerer, and as punishment to 'fix him,' he is sent to a farm to labor as punishment.

He is very upset about this, and has been frustrated his entire life with his inability to be 'normal,’ like everyone else.

Honestly, I’m kind of thinking Fibromyalgia. I’d didn’t expect to find this term when looking up symptoms as I was about to post, I was going to leave it open ended or give them regular anemia problems.

Murder Mystery

As I said in the original post, The idea for all of this came from when I was playing The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog the day it came out (those actual playtime segments were really stressful and made my mind jump around), and I did want a train to be involved at some point.

Which serves as a good meeting point for the characters, while they are being transported to the farm. They can't exit the train, so they are mostly allowed to roam free.

So, it could start en media res, which each of the four accidentally getting drunk at different points and bemoaning their problems. (Omelas because her guard suggested she tries a drink because she will never get the chance again, Yossarian to drown the stress and shame, POW to steady his nerves because he saw Weasel Unit soldiers, and Vic because it was an accident).

A bartender has the most horrifying night of his life, making him question his habits of getting strangers drunk to listen to their life stories, and briefly reconsider his alliance to Flower Hill.

A foreign reporter has the most fascinating day of her life.

The Poirot style international detective is very concerned.

Meanwhile, the train tracks have been switched, stranding the train in the snow, while several prominent people on board are murdered one by one, and the four are some of the prime suspects...

The Farm

The original plan was for the farm to be at the ocean. But that would provide too many opportunities to escape (although weasel unit infiltration would be easier). I am actually thinking of making the punishment farm be in Dol Jogagga, the rock carving/sculpting village I made up. After all, the sculptures are important for international relations, so they could use some help with the farms.

And they were roommates.

The four live in one small farmhouse together and farm what they can. They are told that if they can manage a certain amount of harvest several times in a row, then they can go back to the rest of Flower Hill.

They dislike each other either for being foreign or for being weak, but eventually heal and unlearn propaganda, maybe. Which is the opposite of what was supposed to happen.

So, basic farming, recovery, and slice of life in this village. Dol Jogagga is protected with enough sentries that there is almost no way to escape without them noticing. But they are remote enough to not stigmatize the laborers like the rest of Flower Hill. In fact, they are a little suspicious of the commanders, and can feel sympathy for the four, so are relatively nice to them, and try and help the best they can. Also remote enough to have their own dialect as well, which the four sometimes accidentally use, to the amusement of the villagers.

Maybe some enemies to lovers with Omelas and Yossarian. POW and Vic can just vibe as roommates and try and fix/understand their illnesses together.

Omelas learns that life does not have to be a tragedy and starts to relax a bit. Maybe starts growing mushrooms and starts a successful business. Everyone else learns to find farming very relaxing.

The corrupt investigative officers and other officers realize that the four are actually enjoying themselves, and people are asking too many questions, but cannot change the punishments because it turns out they got kickbacks from them in the first place. Plus, changing the punishments would bring even more suspicion upon everyone involved in the corruption plots, so they try and trick them into leaving on occasion.

Corrupt investigative officers/military police keep coming by to try and make the four confess to something since otherwise they know too much. Maybe sometimes Weasel Unit scouts do sneak into the village and shenanigans ensure.

Anyway, thanks to the hurricane, it has been raining for days here, and some parts of my area have been evacuated. I'm uphill, at least.

But it had me dreaming that it was a hazy, pleasantly humid, raining midday afternoon. The type of day when the chores are done, and there is not much to do. The hedgehogs and squirrel are cuddled up at the entrance way of the house, either drinking tea or mushroom soju, sliding door opened. In the distance, one of the nosy and aggressive investigators has arrived to harass them again, but since it was an unsanctioned visit, did not know the exact house, and are falling into muddy fields, getting further and further away.

It was very relaxing.

#Flower Hill having massive problems with fraud and corruption in the background and these four seem to be at the root of some of them #which could seriously affect the army #I'm not sure how best to describe serious corruption in the military #so these are basic ideas that would require a lot of research #could just name the omelas hedgehog sonamu (pine) or something if no one else has one with that name #squirrel and hedgehog #squirrel and hedgehog OCs #sah #SaH #I think some people can relate to Victorian mystery disease #if you can see what I was getting at there with the Fibromyalgia #making it a read more since it is long and rambling

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bunnyboy-juice · 7 days ago

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my lovely mutuals and followers and circle of dykes. i am BEGGING YOU to stop reblogging that "NSAIDS while on spiro damages your liver" post. there have been MANY additions in the comments expanding on the risk factors of mixing these medications (and i HIGHLY recommend looking in the comments. @/boringkate assesses the risk beautifully in there, and many others are in the reblogs expanding on the interactions and risks as well). all those aside - the major risk of mixing NSAIDs and any diuretic (not limited to, but including ibuprofen snd spiro) is RENAL (KIDNEY) PROBLEMS!!! NOT LIVER!!! and the most frequent version ive seen to that post does Not do a good enough job clarifying that "renal function" is related to your kidneys, not your liver. there are some effects that will happen on the liver eventually of course, but the premise of the interactions is wrong in and of itself and this kind of misinformation is kind of dangerous to just take at face value/without curiousity

i encourage you to read the actual drugs.com summary on the interactions between NSAIDs and spiro that keeps being referenced in that post (more on this under the cut). it is a moderate interaction manageable with increased hydration (your kidneys love water!) and, if you're taking spiro under the supervision of a doctor, monitoring of your renal function via blood tests. and i understand feeling betrayed learning there are potential interactions between all NSAIDs and diuretics because these risks are often not clearly communicated by doctors themselves, but in the pharmacy and usually in that packet that comes with your meds that most people are more likely to toss than read - but please do not make sudden rapid changes to your healthcare plans or work yourself into a panic on ever taking a pain med ever again based on that post and PLEASE fact check things you read on the internet before spreading it as Health Facts, even if its just looking up what different words mean to understand more of what you're reading. i also really do encourage y'all to read on how kidneys work and this is a really nice overview

the risk of kidney problems mostly occurs if you are (1) taking regular doses of both medications (2) NOT drinking enough fluids (3) not communicating with your doctor about all the medications you are taking. if you are taking spiro as a treatment provided by a doctor and are worried about kidney problems after that post, by all means talk to them and ask about getting a blood test to check your kidneys function/health!! im not discouraging this!! your doctor likely isnt bringing this up in the first place though because (in my cursory glance over the sources) many of these studies cited even in the drugs.com article "specific" to ibuprofen and spiro are about a variety of diuretics interactions with a variety of NSAIDs. the ones that arent paywalled are also either acute case studies about elderly patients on diuretics (so who Already have kidney problems/elimination issues) who developed heart issues after diuretics treatement or observational studies specifically on men in good health ages 20-38 to specifically look at drug interactions in the body. in the more acute cases, with proper management/alternative medications almost every single case was reversible and resolvable. many of these medications in these papers also are ones I have not heard of or taken, so i did look up every single drug i didnt recognize by name references to confirm my initial assumption that the reason this is labeled a Moderate instead of low risk interaction is because All NSAIDS and diuretics have potential interactions (confirmed also that the major effect is that NSAIDS have the potential to reduce the efficacy of diuretics, which leads to fluid and salt retention, which can lead to other issues - namely heart issues in the most extreme cases) with variable effects based on specific combination of the drugs used, the patients specific health, and the dosage (not just the size of dose, but the timing as well).

as an aside: if you habitually are taking frequent (read: daily/scheduled, not a one off for a headache or other body pains) doses of OTC NSAIDs, Regardless of taking diuretics, you NEED to tell your doctor because even though its available over the counter (at least in the US) it is still a major medication in your life/relevant to your physiochemistry!! OTC medications are often overlooked by doctors and people alike because they are seen as ubiquitous and to many doctors OTC pain meds, like NSAIDS, are assumed be used in acute pain situations where the dosage is minimal/infrequent enough it will likely have little to no long term effect with other medications.

#bunny rambles #pls read the whole thing if u saw that and are feeling scared ;~;#I'm really anxious this is gonna be taken in the worst possible ways but im also.. deeply anxious! because misinformation like this is scar #and makes people unnecessarily scared and it was a total mistake - nd the one commenter I'm thinking of even mentioned that it didnt do the #best job at clarifying - but people are still rbing the post with it's addition that doesn't really help and i just. really cant not share #anyway if ur wondering my “expertise” or whatever im a biochemist and have been studying science (not enthusiastic interest but like. doing #research. reading papers. learning the field of biology/biochem since 18 (i got really lucky with getting into a research program my 1st yr #of college and thats when i started to read papers and critically assess scientific texts also))#i dont like. using my experience sometimes cause im so scared of being taken as bossy or just. completely wrong bc im not a like World #Known Scientist or anyone even significant in the field im a tech still but like. idk. i just want my circles at least to have more info #to be able to make informed decisions #im sorry this is so long too i just. ah #im so nervous and it shows lol #celebrity bun

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darkmuffinstudios · 3 months ago

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#darkzyx #poll time #ok I’m just curious because I accidentally start writing important lore in the #tags like 80-90 % of the time #or just personal artist/author notes I guess???#I dunno haha #just extra stuff I wanted to say that I didn’t wanna make like #blatantly obvious with the caption #I love reading tags on posts and reblogs since it’s sort of tumblr’s way of commenting and sharing #at the same time!#and it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize this tumblr culture haha #after all #I posted to Instagram way more before tumblr #so I didn’t really think to read the tags on things until tumblr #anyways enough rambling haha

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bittybeanie · 8 months ago

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oh boy! time to post a new fic! I can't believe it's been *checks calendar* ....oh. uh. oops. ignore that! it's the fourth and final installment of (this) aspec reigen series, complete with a lite™ version of a couple different kinks and finally getting to touch the peen! this one's real long, folks, clocking in at about 9,500 words, so you might wanna get a nice beverage and settle in.

content notes: thigh riding, themes of consent, drunk almost sex, a discussion about the drunk almost sex in the following scene, praise kink, a very loose (literally) definition of bondage, and so so many pet names. minors please don't interact!

also on ao3!

It takes more than a couple tries for you to get settled on the bed. You’re too close, then too far, and Reigen can’t get comfy, and your hand keeps sliding out from under you, and he can’t decide how he wants your leg angled, and there’s too many clothes, then all at once so few clothes that it feels like too much at once and you hastily agree to put your shirts back on, not wanting to break the already fragile layer of quiet hope.

Finally, finally, everything is perfect.

Awkward, stilted, and a little tense, and you’re not sure how long your leg will let you keep it just barely raised like this before it cramps up, but he’s here, embarrassed but steadfast, breath coming out in shivery gasps, hovering over your thigh, one hair fisted in the back of your hair. If he tips over, there’s no way you’re not going with.

Perfect.

His thighs shake as he holds himself up, deciding which direction he wants to move. You reach for the small of his back to steady him. "Does this count as keeping my hands out of the way?" He nods, so you test the waters by sliding your other hand up his thigh.

"As long you don’t- just no direct touching. Close to is fine, just not… well." He moves a hand back and forth across where he’s hovering over your thigh.

“Keep off the goods. Gotcha."

"The goods? Awful. You're awful, I swear."

You slide your hand up, just barely skimming your fingernails over his hip when you catch the hem of his shirt, and his cock twitches in his boxers.

"The goods don't seem to agree."

"Oi." Despite his protests, the laughter loosens him, and he relaxes enough to lean back into your knee. “Fine, fine, just stop saying goods.”

“Alright.” He raises an eyebrow. You lift both hands in surrender. “I promise! I will never again use ‘the goods’ to refer to your perfect, gorgeous, suckable-”

“I get it! I get it.” He grabs onto your shoulder - maybe in an effort to distract you, or maybe just to keep his balance - as he shifts closer. You can practically feel the heat radiating from his ears. “Here, actually, can you-? Hm.” He presses a hand against the inside of your other leg, thumb digging in as he gives a shove. He slides a knee into the newly free space between your legs, leaning forward to get a better angle. Your hands settle back on his waist.

“Better?”

“Much.” He lets out a little hum as he pushes his hips forward, and you have to stamp down a whimper at the feeling, his dick heavy and warm even through fabric.

“Didn’t mean to just push like that, though. Sorry.”

“S’okay. I’ll survive a little manhandling, as a treat.” You hit the last “t” sound with a click of your tongue, and he falls into your neck with a laugh. You trace patterns on his hips as he moves, tracking the motion as you press your fingers into his skin. “God, how do you get your hips to move that smooth? It’s sorta mesmerizing.”

“Hm? Oh, I don’t know, I’m just- I wasn’t thinking about it. S’just what f- ha, feels good.” His breath fans out across your collarbone, warm and fast.

“Yeah? You like using my thigh, baby? No thoughts other than what feels good? Your own personal toy to get yourself off against?”

“Oi.” His hips stutter once before he falls back into a slower rhythm. His fingers dig into your shoulder as he pulls you closer.

“Too much?”

“That’s not how I think of you.”

You can’t help but laugh, a light chuckle coming out in a breath against his hair. “I know, ‘Taka, I know.” You slide your hands under his shirt, over his stomach and up to his collarbone. “But would it really be so bad to belong to you?”

“I- fuck.” There’s a moment of worry when he shoves you away, but then he’s scrambling for the hem of his shirt and pulling.

“Are you sure?” It’s a formality, uttered even as you’re already reaching to help slide the fabric over his elbows, but it’s one you can’t even imagine going without.

“Very.” He lifts himself off of you to push his boxers down, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he shimmies them all the way off. The mattress shifts and pitches him over, and you hurry to grab his arm.

He crawls back over to straddle your thigh, the tip of his cock tapping lightly against your side before he leans back onto his ankles.

“Do I need to get-?” You chuck his shirt into infinity and gesture vaguely to the bedside drawer. He’s technically never told you that he started keeping lube in there, but he hasn’t made much effort to keep the secret either.

He shakes his head. “I’m close. Won’t matter.”

He tries to go back to rutting against you, anchoring his hands on your waist to tilt his hips this way and that, but something about the new angle is off, and he can’t get any good contact.

“Oh no, now horrible, your dick is just so hard it won’t stay down on its own.”

He clicks his tongue at you as he scoots to sit closer, flush making its way from his ears to the edges of his cheeks.

“That gorgeous curve probably isn’t helping, either. In this case, anyway. Be an absolute treat to have inside me, though.” You press your thumbs in just above his knees, encouraging him to spread his legs more, and he jumps with a squeak, hands flying to grab yours. “Sorry, sorry, di-”

“No, it’s-” He pulls your hands together, just in front of his stomach, and the tip of his cock brushes against you. For a moment, you think he’s going to pull down, but he guides your hands back to his hips, pressing them into his skin as he rolls his hips. “Here.”

He gives up and puts his hand flat over his dick, pinning it down against your leg. He lifts himself to adjust the angle, just his tip dragging along your skin until he bumps into your hip, precum rolling out in a thin line over your thigh. When he pulls back, he grinds down insistently, coating his length and covering what isn’t already marked of your thigh so he can slide more easily. After a few impatient jolts of his hips, he settles back into a rhythm, smooth and fluid, and lets up on the pressure of his hand. He slings his other arm over your shoulder to pull you closer, and he falls forward to bury his face in your neck, whining into your collarbone.

He wasn’t lying when he said he was close, because it only takes a few drags of his cock against you for him to seize up, body tensing before going boneless, cum rolling over his hand and onto your hip as he slumps against you in a mess of pants and sighs. You slide your hands up his back to support his full weight, pressing kisses to his hair as he catches his breath.

“Just… gimme a second, I can cl- get you- god, my legs.” He rolls off of you with none of his usual grace, limbs falling everywhere at once, lightly smacking your arm as he goes limp.

You laugh and push his hair back from his face. You don’t bother to untangle your legs from his, accepting your fate of needing a shower later in exchange for getting to lean down to kiss his cheek.

“Eh, let it dry.”

“I’m starting to think you like it more than tolerate it.”

“If you haven’t gotten the hint by now that I want you to absolutely cov-”

He gives you a shove, rolling his hand so there’s no real force behind it, but you seize the chance to topple with a dramatic moan, one hand falling theatrically across your forehead as your eyes flutter closed.

“Oh, stop it.” He crawls over and props himself up on his elbows. You can feel his breath fanning over your collarbone, stilted like he’s trying not to laugh. You crack one eye open, breaking into giggles when you see his forced serious expression, eyebrows pinched together and one cheek sucked into his mouth to keep the smile off his face. He breaks at your laughter, breathing out through his nose and pressing his forehead to yours. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Oh, you could take me anywhere, handsome.” You waggle your eyebrows suggestively, and he rolls onto his back with an exasperated groan. You laugh again and sit up, pulling a blanket over him so you can settle in without accidentally brushing somewhere he’d rather you didn’t.

“Hey, Arataka?”

“I love you, too.”

“That, too.” You chuckle. “But I have a real question this time.”

“Oh.” He turns his head. “Sure.”

“After you… when you took my hands earlier, were you…?” The fleeting moment of contact between him and your hands floats through your mind. You can’t help but wonder what he was thinking in the moment he hesitated, but it feels weirdly invasive to ask so bluntly. “Sorry, never mind, this is a weird line of thought.”

You lay down beside him, craning your neck to rest your head on his shoulder. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together as his thumb smooths up your wrist.

“Do you mean…” He takes a steadying breath, grip tightening almost imperceptibly. “Do you mean after the clothes came off?”

You nod. For a moment, he stills, not even breathing.

“I was… I wanted so badly to let you touch me. I thought if I didn’t have to say it, if I could just… imply, then I could get around it, but,” he sighs heavily, and he sounds tired when he continues, “I panicked.”

You’re both quiet, long enough that you startle even yourself when you finally break the silence.

“It’s not a bad idea.”

“...Panicking?”

“No, angel. Implying.” He presses his cheek to the top of your head. “Maybe you just have to imply for a little longer.”

“I’m not following.”

“What if you left your hand on top of mine? That way it’s like- it’s the same as when you do it, but it sort of, hm, bridges the gap? All the sexy, none of the surprise.”

For a long moment, you’re not sure if he’s quiet because he’s thinking or because he’s falling asleep.

He hums, shoulder rolling under your head, and he pulls you tighter against his side.

"Okay." You shift nervously, tucking your foot underneath yourself, then deciding against it and unfolding your legs. "Walk me through the zones again."

"I'm not a city planning map." He rolls his eyes, but he takes your hand. You’re not sure which one of you the gesture is supposed to comfort.

You shift back onto your knees.

"Here up, anything goes." He points at the middle of his chest. "But try to stay- so more like, well, from maybe..." He gestures to his collarbone and wags his finger up and down. "Here to here, really."

When he looks back at you, you can tell he's waiting for something. You settle for a small nod.

"Right. A-and then, here to here," he points from his chest to just above his hip, "Hands are fine. Doing... whatever." He steadies himself with another deep breath and rushes through the rest. "Legs, stay still, and anything... direct we'll do the- on the- yeah, got it, that's all."

You let him sit for a moment to make sure there's nothing he forgot. His grip on your hand tightens, and you swear he moves to pull you closer, but he must decide against it at the last second.

"Whose hand is going on top again? Sorry, we've swapped it so many times I can't remember if we decided."

"Oh. Right. Um." He hovers his right hand over his left, then swaps them, then swaps them again. “Yours under mine.”

“Got it.” You reach for him, letting him pull your hand up to his collar. "And you know you can tell me to stop at any time?"

"You tell me that every time."

"It's important every time."

He swallows thickly and traces a circle on the back of your hand with his thumb. "Yeah. I know."

You shift to pull your legs off to the side, then cross them again, then sit back up on your knees. Gently taking the collar of his shirt in your hands, you trail one thumb along the edge of the fabric until you reach the top button. "And can I do this, or would you like to?"

He nods before realizing there were two options in your question, then points at you, then at your hands, then flashes you a thumbs up. "Yeah. Go ahead."

"Well, now hold on, I have manners. I'm not going straight for the goods." He laughs and shimmies to sit up straighter, letting his legs straighten out in front of him. "How about the pants later?"

"Uh, right, that's, I didn't think about that. I mean it would make sense that you're going to be- I mean it's not like-"

"Arataka."

"Yeah." He swallows.

"I'm not going to be offended if you’d like to take off your own pants."

He pauses, staring down at his knee. Eventually, he shakes his head. "I want you to do it."

"And your-?"

"Just do it at the same time."

"Got it." You take a steadying breath of your own. "I won't stay there, but is it okay if I straddle you for a little bit? I wa-"

His hands are pulling at your waist before you can get your legs properly unfolded, and you almost tumble over him. He laughs an apology as you move on top of him, hovering over his legs to avoid making any real contact.

You brush his bangs back from his face, following through with the motion until your fingers tangle in the shorter strands of hair at the back of his head. He tilts to follow your hand, craning his neck to keep you from pulling.

"Ready?"

He nods slightly.

"I’d like a verbal yes for this one, lovely."

He swallows. You watch his Adam's apple bob.

"Yeah, yes.” He nods again. His hand jerks, taking yours with it, and he awkwardly lets your hand fall into his lap. You do your best not to move. “I trust you."

You drag your gaze back up to his face, searching for any last signs of reluctance. A bead of sweat trails down his temple, and you’re certain if you put your hand to his cheek you’d worry he had a fever. Sure enough, when you slide your fingers along his jaw, he’s hot to the touch, and the tips of his ears are turning brighter shades of red by the second.

He clears his throat, pushing his jaw into your palm. “Are you gonna-?”

“In a minute.” You swipe your thumb across his bottom lip. “I’m savoring.”

He scoffs at that, the same scoff he uses when he sees somebody do something stupid in public, and you take the opportunity to catch him by surprise, surging forward to push him down onto the bed. His hands go to your shoulders on instinct but he pulls them back almost immediately, hovering awkwardly in the space between you. Using your grip on his chin, you angle his head so you can lean down and kiss him without knocking your noses together.

Once you’re sure you can support yourself without falling on him, you allow your free hand to trail down, tracing down the muscles in his neck, across his collarbone and back, finally settling on the first button of his shirt. It takes a little effort to get it undone with just one hand, but you manage it, and you allow yourself to dip down as you settle into a rhythm, lips ghosting along Reigen’s skin as you uncover more of it.

He’s shivering, hand shaking where it hovers over yours on the last button of his shirt. When you slide your hand back up along his side, his hand falls back to the bed, pulling at a wrinkle in the sheets.

You kiss along his jaw, savoring the feeling every time his breath catches in his throat under your lips. Your hand trails down along his side, wrapping around him to hold his waist when he arches up into the press of your thumb. He hums, eyelids fluttering, and you dare to slide your hand down, ever so slightly, thumb brushing over his waistband and back onto bare skin.

He grabs for you, grasp tight around your wrist, almost painful before he slowly relaxes and drags your hand back up toward his chest. You push yourself off him, swinging your leg to kneel beside him.

“Here, let’s try this.” You guide him to sit up. Once he’s situated against the headboard, you settle in by his thigh, your knee pressing gently into his hip. One hand traces circles and patterns as you trail down to his stomach. “Still good?”

He hums, but he scrambles for your wrist again, holding on tighter and tighter the closer you get to the button on his pants.

“You’re allowed to change your mind, y’know. I can let you do it.”

“That’s not- mm.” He relaxes his death grip on your arm but keeps his thumb hooked around it. After a few tries to let go completely, his head tips forward into your shoulder. “I thought I would… I’m sorry.”

You shake your head and slowly pull away. “Nothing to apologize for.” You cup his face with both hands and gently turn him, but he doesn’t hold your gaze for long.

“Do you want to keep going? Should I…?”

He opens his mouth, but says nothing. His expression is pinched, tight with something you’re not sure how to label. His fingers press together, thumb and index, thumb and middle, thumb and ring, thumb and pinky, over and over as you lean back, nodding softly.

“Stay in bed?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You swear he flinches, and you clear your throat. “Or move to the couch and watch something?”

“Couch.” He nods once, stiff and harsh, and swallows thickly. “Thanks.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, and slides out of bed, starting to button his shirt back up as he wanders into the other room.

You keep nodding as if in a trance, and you follow him out.

Despite the now faint memory of some friend of a friend forcefully inviting you, there's not a single soul at the party you recognize. With the exception of a few people dancing by the kitchen, closer to the speakers, everyone has settled for taking a seat and awkwardly bobbing their head. You’ve repeated the same three lines of small talk more times than you can count, it's just cold enough that you've had the chills the whole time while still managing to feel overwhelmingly stifled, and the music is so awful you wonder how somebody hasn’t tried to change it yet. But there's alcohol, the good stuff that somebody is clearly very particular about, and lots of it. You can't remember how much you've had, and that fact is enough to tell you it was probably too much, but it doesn't stop you from taking whatever the host is passing out when they wander through.

You think Reigen might be the only person doing worse than you. He looks... woozy. His face is flushed and his eyes are lidded like he might throw up, pass out, or both at any moment. At one point he took a tumble when he tried to sit down, graciously ignored by everyone else, and you had to throw your arm around his waist to keep him from sliding down the front of the couch again. He's leaning on you for support every time he moves, and if there were anything left in his can you’re sure he would be spilling it on you right now.

He's restless at the best of times, you know this, but even through the fog you can tell something is off. Not wrong exactly, but he keeps giving you this sideways glance, digging his fingers into your thigh to steady himself and then yanking his hand away, knocking his head into your shoulder and muttering something you haven't been able to make out.

He laughs - way too loudly at something you're not sure was supposed to be funny - and stands abruptly. Your hand around his waist falls limp on the couch, and he sways without the support.

"I'm going to the re- the ba- I gotta piss."

Nobody but you pays him any attention. He takes a wobbly step forward, knocking his foot into the leg of the coffee table, but he doesn't seem fazed. His knees bend at a weird angle as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, then he straightens back up and whirls around to face you. The momentum sends him tumbling back down, and you manage to catch him before his nose smashes into your jaw.

"I guess you better help me there."

"Yeah." Your voice crackles from dehydration. You have to clear your throat and try again to get a recognizable sound to come out. "Alright." You do a quick mental scan of your legs to make sure they'll support you before you motion for him to get up so you can stand. He does, grabbing your wrist and pulling with the conviction of somebody who does not need help walking.

The gears in your head start to turn.

He drags you along, glancing over his shoulder as he rounds the corner into the hallway, only stumbling once when he has to screech to a halt and back up to yank a door open. He pushes you inside, pulling the door closed behind him after he follows you in.

It's pitch black, and you're not sure if the overwhelming lemon smell is coming from Reigen or something in the room. You reach out to find him, but your fingers brush against something cold and smooth instead, and it's not until it tilts and hits you in the head that you realize it's probably a handle for something. Reigen's hand whacks into your arm and he holds on tight, fingers digging into your shoulder as he pulls you forward.

"I don't think that was the right door."

"Hm? Oh, sure." You can feel the air beside you moving until eventually his other hand finds your face, one finger dragging across your cheek until it hits your nose. "No, I- yeah, I know."

"Then wh-"

He pushes, hard and sudden. You fight to keep your balance as you adjust to the weird backwards lean you find yourself in. Reigen hisses as he pulls his fingers out from between you and the wall.

"Dumb, that was so dumb. Sorry." He fumbles for your waist to guide you backwards, and you feel his hips press against you when he reaches past your head to lean on the wall.

Everything clicks together all at once.

Your hands fly to where his waist should be. Once you find him, you're not sure if you want to shove him away or pull him in closer.

"You're super drunk. I don't know if-"

"Tha's the point." The hand on your face slides around until his thumb catches your bottom lip. He sways, like talking about it has made him remember how much he's had to drink. When he leans against you, he's heavier than normal, like he can’t support his weight anymore. "Liquid courage."

"I’m drunk."

"Mm. Shit." He pulls away, just barely, and he nods. "Do you mind?"

Your mouth drops open uselessly. All your thoughts feel like static, indecipherable noise screaming for you to do something, if only you could figure out what. He's squirming now, like it hurts to stay still. You realize he's whimpering at the same time you realize he's grinding his hips against your leg.

“M’fine.”

He lets out a sigh of relief and drops his hands as he shuffles around. You take the chance to stand back up. When you finally bump into each other again, he wraps his arms around you and squeezes, his breathing coming out in pants against your chest. He hooks one leg around yours, tapping his foot against your heel to bring your leg forward. You make a strangled humming sound when he grinds against your thigh.

"Hey, where's your hand?"

"My...?" You suddenly remember you have hands. You allow yourself a moment of silence for all the time you could have been holding onto him before you push one hand forward. It smacks into what you think is his stomach. "Sorry. Here."

"S'kay. Stay put." You keep your hand pressed against him as he leans backward. You're not sure when he stopped holding onto you, but one of his hands is suddenly over yours, and a loud zip cuts through the sound of you both breathing. He slides his hand down, dragging yours with it. Your fingers glide along his skin, smooth and soft, until you brush against a patch of hair.

A sobering panic cuts through you.

He must realize what he's doing at the same time you do, because you both freeze. His grip tightens. He guides your hand away from him slowly, stopping when he makes contact with your side.

"Stay... stay put."

He turns and scrambles for the door. Something falls beside you when he misses the doorknob, then you're squinting as light floods in from the hallway. You can make out the silhouette of him sprinting into the room diagonal from where you're standing, and then there's the unmistakable sound of vomiting.

Your place is only two blocks away - no more than a ten minute walk.

You call a cab service.

It smells like coffee.

When you try to sit up, the room spins. You end up in a sort of half sit, half lean as you grab onto the side of the mattress, willing everything to stay still. You take stock of the things that are clear enough to look at, slowly making sense of what happened once you got home.

You're laying on top of the covers, still in your clothes from last night. One shoe is in the doorway, and the other is nowhere in sight, probably somewhere closer to the entrance. The coffee smell, growing more enticing by the second, is a good sign Reigen's in the kitchen.

You slide onto the floor beside your bed, not trusting yourself to stand up without falling just yet, to rummage for more comfortable clothes. Once you manage to get changed, you stand up slowly, and make your way to the kitchen.

Reigen must have grabbed a set of pajamas at some point last night, though you can't remember when. His back is turned to you; he's lazily stirring something on the stove. Two steaming cups of coffee sit on the counter beside him. Before you can decide whether you want to say something and risk startling him, he seems to sense you standing there, and he turns around with a weak smile.

"Hey."

"Morning?" It's both a greeting and a question, because you have no idea what time it is.

"Yeah." He lets out a breathy chuckle. "How, um, how you feeling?"

Your head is throbbing so bad your teeth hurt, your legs and back are sore, and you have a looming sense of guilt.

"I think I should be asking you that."

"I'm fine, really." He clicks off the fire and reaches for a bowl. "I told you, I felt basically back to normal after I- well, um, you know. Thanks again, by the way, for car- for carrying me."

You nod softly, feeling a little useless as he hands you what looks and smells like a very delicious soup.

"Reigen, I am so-" "I didn't mean-"

He reaches for a second bowl. "You first." When you start to shake your head, he rolls his wrist in a "go on" motion. "Please. I'm not actually sure how to say mine yet."

"Right." You swallow thickly, fidgeting with your spoon. Deep in thought, you miss Reigen slipping past you. He clears his throat and gestures to the seat across from him. You slide into the chair. Your spoon clanks against the bowl as you set it down. "I, um. Shit, I'm so sorry."

He seems surprised, a spoonful of soup halfway to his lips.

"What for?"

"Wh-" You blink. "Every... thing? I- I know sorry doesn't even cover it, but I-"

"Whoa, hey, okay." He shakes his hand in front of him. "Never mind, I'll go first, because I think you got the wrong idea and I'm not gonna let you apologize for anything that happened."

"But you trusted me, and I-"

"And I still do. That's- that was the whole- look, I-" He sighs. His spoon clanks as he sets it down, abandoned in favor of wringing his hands together. "I set you up."

"You-?"

"I didn't mean to! I thought- It was stupid, and I should have just told you what I was trying to do, I know , but I- I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, and I thought if I could speed up the process, then- I mean, there's only so many times you can put up with almost getting to- if I could- ugh, sorry, hang on."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. You swear your headache is reacting sympathetically, because pain shoots between your temples, dull but persistent. He goes to retrieve the coffees from the kitchen, just cool enough to drink, and you down some as soon as he hands you a mug.

"You've been so patient, and I know you would never do anything I didn't want, but I... I keep overthinking it. And I thought it would be the perfect excuse to... to not have to think about it at all. I mean that's- that's just what people do at parties, right, and- I mean, it was... ugh." He sits back down, his posture unnaturally rigid. He chooses his next words carefully, pausing between words as if he’s testing out different sentences in his head. "I trusted you… to not take it further than I was comfortable with… more than I trusted myself to… not panic over nothing. So, I- I saw the chance and I..." He gestures weakly, hand falling back to the table with a soft thump.

"Liquid courage."

He takes a sip of his coffee and slumps forward, holding his chin with one hand.

"You... got drunk on purpose?"

"Not originally, but, uh."

You nod slowly. Your stomach grumbles, and you realize you haven't actually eaten any of your soup. You take a reluctant spoonful, chewing slowly as you take everything in.

"When you froze up, it- I realized how little I had thought it through. I- it wasn't fair to you. You didn't do anything to- I never should have put you in that position in the first place."

"I... would have appreciated a warning, yeah."

"Sorry." He runs his hand through his hair and leaves it against the back of his neck. "I'm really sorry."

"Apology accepted." Reigen relaxes into his chair. As he stretches his legs out, one of his feet bumps against your ankle, and you laugh softly. "I'm still sorry, too. I should have asked more questions. And I didn't... I think I noticed something was wrong but I didn’t realize it was that frustrating for you. Before, I mean. I never wanted to make you feel like you had to do something like that."

"It's exclusively a me problem, I promise. I thought something would have worked by now. I don't... I don't really know what’s getting in the way." He shakes his head, breathing out sharply through his nose.

“I mean, literally speaking, your hands.” You laugh and take another sip of your coffee. He tilts his head. “Because, you know, y-you always grab my hand before I-?” He stares, unblinking. “Sorry, too soon to joke, probably,” you mutter into your cup, taking another sip just to have something to do.

When he moves again, it’s with a jerky start, sitting up and leaning forward. “My hands.”

“Yeah, I-”

“No, my hands.” He throws his elbows onto the table. The bowls clatter and his coffee sloshes; his chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. His wrists come together in front of you, palms up and fingers curled loosely, as he stares, silent, waiting for a glimpse of recognition to cross your face. It takes a moment, but when he finds it, he grins. “My hands.”

“If you want to stop-”

“Saying so has always been enough.”

You stand, leaning to match his eye level. You consider him, searching for hesitation, but you find none.

You take his hand, and you start pulling.

“This is… mine?” An old black tie lays across Reigen’s palms, the ends hanging loosely over his thighs.

“Yeah, you left it here. A while ago, I guess.” You shrug. “You never really liked it, though, plus you’re here all the time anyway, so I didn’t get around to giving it back, and it’s just been here ever since.”

As you slide the drawer closed, he catches a glimpse of an old t-shirt he left on his first night in your place, folded neatly in the back corner, under a small collection of his dress socks.

There are signs of him everywhere, really, if he looks. His toothbrush in your bathroom, a blanket he bought you for your birthday draped over the back of the couch, his favorite sweater of yours hanging on the handle of the closet, never out of service long enough to make it in with the rest of your clothes.

He’s struck with the realization it’s not just in your things, your home, but in you, the way you gesture with an extra dramatic flourish that wasn’t there before, the unwavering, tight smile that settles on your face when you talk to clients, the softness in your voice when you welcome the kids into the office, quietly clearing a table for them to do homework on, the flashes of movement in the kitchen as you dash back and forth whenever you make recipes he taught you - favorites from when things were harder and uncertain and cooking was his escape, before even the hardest parts of his life were laced with joy.

He’s wearing off on you.

He’s known it for a while, but he’s never put it all together like this, never seen it all so neatly represented in a single black tie, satin and unassuming and full of possibility. You kick your abandoned shoe out of the way, pushing the door shut with a soft click that startles him just enough to draw his attention.

“Still okay?”

He wonders how you’ve worn off on him, which parts of him weren’t there before that he doesn’t notice, can’t notice.

“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m ready.”

He smooths his thumb over the fabric, watching it wrinkle and crease where he applies pressure. It slides across his palms, dragging slowly as you wrap one end around your hand, until he’s left with empty air, hands outstretched between you.

He feels light.

You take his hands in yours, turning them in toward each other, and start to lay the tie across his wrists.

“Oh, wait!” You pull back right away, and he holds up one finger. “Not- we should take my shirt off first.”

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me!” You laugh and settle back onto your knees. “Yes, okay, let’s- yeah.”

Reigen stops halfway up. The fabric stays bunched when he lets go, and he pulls your hands to the exposed patch of skin. He can feel the tie, still wrapped around your palm, pressing against his side, cold and smooth, and he swallows thickly. As you drag your hands up, it slides up with you, and a shiver wracks through him when you finally pull the shirt off his arms.

He cups your face, pulling you into a kiss, fingers coming to press at the back of your neck to keep you against him as he topples backward. You catch yourself on one hand, the end of the tie flipping to rest over his shoulder as you climb to straddle him. He’s insistent, both hands tangling in your hair, little sighs and puffs of breath against your mouth as he refuses to pull away for air.

You press a kiss to his cheek to soothe the loss when you lean back. He drapes his arms over your shoulders, locking his fingers together behind your head.

“We could stay like this? My hands are… close-ish together.”

“I can’t see behind me to tie it, but,” you pull his hands around your head, “I’m sure we can figure it out after that.”

He nods. You turn his hands back toward each other and his fingers curl, knuckles pressing together as he relaxes. You drape the tie around his wrists, trying a few different ways of looping it but not finding anything you’re satisfied with.

“Sorry. I just wanna make sure you can get out if you need.”

“It’s alright. I like the attention.”

You freeze, a wobbly grin taking shape as your face heats up.

“‘Taka, I’m supposed to be the composed one!”

“I’m just trying to be honest!” He flexes his wrists, pressing his knuckles together to crack them.

“Don’t worry,” you press both ends of the tie between his hands and motion for him to hold them still, “I like giving you attention.” You fold the middle of the tie over to make two loops and start twisting them in on themselves. “And I wanna hear about it as much as you can bear.”

“You seem plenty composed to me.” He pinches his thumb between two fingers and squeezes.

“Quick recovery. I learned from the best.” You wink and put your fingers through the loops. “Here, hands in here.”

He flattens his hands to squeeze them through, stopping to let you shimmy the tie the rest of the way over. You hold the ends of the tie and give a quick tug before tying them together.

“There, it’ll have to do.” You slip a finger in each loop, making sure there’s enough room to be comfortable without him being able to slip out without meaning to. “It’s a little loose, so don’t pull too hard, okay?”

“Sure.” He folds his elbows down, letting his hands come to rest on his chest. He jerks one hand up toward his hair, pulling his other hand with it, and the tie snaps taut. He has the courtesy to look sheepish. “I’ll try.”

You roll your eyes, smile still wide.

“Hands above your head, please.”

“Hm?”

“I’d like to get at your neck.” You press up on his elbows, and he unfolds his arms. “Those were in the way.”

“O-oh. Right.”

You lean down, tilting his chin up with one hand, and press a kiss to his throat, savoring the way it moves as he swallows. You trail down until you reach his stomach, dragging your tongue along his skin on the way back up. He exhales sharply, breath moving your hair as you get closer to his face. He forces out a laugh, and he rolls one shoulder.

You glance up. The tie is already starting to come loose, untwisting in the middle, but his hands are clasped together, the tie held in place between his wrists, fingers over the ends.

You kiss him, quick and breathless, and slip your fingers under his waistband. When his breath hitches, you smooth your thumb along the bone there, a reassurance you won’t move yet. You can feel him tense under you, pressing up into your touch, then slowly settling back onto the mattress.

You’re both reluctant to acknowledge the fact that you have to get off of him to take his pants off. You do your best to shimmy them under you, and he lifts his hips to help, but you need both hands to make sure his boxers stay on for now, and you want to make sure he can move his legs, so eventually, begrudgingly, you climb off him.

He takes the opportunity to stretch, his back arching off the bed as you throw his pants off somewhere to worry about later.

“Ooh, pretty. Think you can do that for me again?” You press a thumb to the inside of his thigh, at the edge of where his boxer leg has ridden up, and he jumps, hips rolling against your touch.

“Trickery.” He squirms, a whine that refuses to come out shining through in his voice. “Not fair.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get plenty more chances.” You trail your fingers up his thigh, along the “v” of the bone, up his stomach. He shivers when you trail back down, your fingers catching on the waistband of his boxers to drag it over his skin before letting go, settling your hand lightly over the bulge in the fabric. It’s slightly damp against your skin, and Reigen chokes back a moan when you press down.

You pull, grinding your palm down on his cock as the waistband moves until you can see the base of it, then you slide back up, tracing the outline of him with your fingers. When he whimpers, you’re too slow to hide your grin, and he glares halfheartedly.

“Having fun down there?”

“Oh, lots, thanks.” You slip your thumb below the elastic. “Seems like you are, too.”

“Hm.”

“Sorry, what was that?” You lift your hand with mock alarm, and he scrambles to reach for you, slowly lowering his arms to his chest when he sees your smile.

“Yes.”

“So, just to make sure, you are having fun?” It’s just as sarcastic as it is serious, and he seems to take it in equal measures, because he scoffs at the same time he nods. Both hands are on his hips now, both thumbs in his waistband, and you pull up gently to get him to lift his hips.

“Good boy.”

You’re not sure you would have felt it if you weren’t holding him, but he definitely shudders, trembling where your fingers press into his skin.

“Arataka.”

“Hmm?” He sounds breathless, and his chest heaves with effort, the rest of him as still as he can keep it.

“Should I keep calling you a good boy?”

“Um. If you want.” He jerks his hips up, and you take the hint to slide his boxers off, keeping an eye on his face as you do. You climb between his legs and lean over him, wrapping your hand slowly around his cock, firmly but gently, your thumb over the tip.

He squeaks, and he tenses, but he doesn’t reach for your hands.

“You’re doing so well, ‘Taka.” He swallows, and he shifts his hands, twisting the tie so he can lay his arms closer to his hair. “Such a good boy for me.” Precum oozes out of his slit, and you feel it roll down your hand.

“Mhm.” You lean back on your heels. “How about this? You tell me what feels good, and every time you do,” you pull your thumb down, spreading the precum along his length, “I’ll let you know just how much I appreciate it. Sound good?”

He nods, and you stop moving.

“Can I hear you say it?”

“Yes,” he breathes, pressing his wrists together, “yes, sounds good.”

“Good job.” When you lean to kiss him, grip tightening to keep his dick down against his stomach, his knuckles brush over your hair. “So perfect.”

You start slow, focusing more on touching every inch of him then keeping any sort of rhythm. When you trail up the vein on the underside, he shivers, and he gasps when you squeeze the base, and his hips jerk up when you pass over his slit, one leg coming up to press his ankle against your side. It’s not until you slip your other hand around him, though, arm passing through the space created by the bend of his knee to settle on his outer thigh, that he says anything.

“Fuck, that, more of that. P-please.”

“This hand?” You press your fingers into his thigh. He presses back.

“Yeah. I need… just, hold onto me.”

“Okay. Yeah, of course, sweetheart.” You scoot closer to wrap your hand tighter around his leg, spreading your legs to slip your knee underneath him. Once he relaxes, the full weight of his leg on yours, you press a kiss to his knee. “Good boy.”

“Shit,” he laughs, squirming closer to you. “S’not close enough.”

“Let me try something, then.” You slide backwards, reluctantly letting his leg fall to the bed, and you shimmy onto your stomach. When you pull his leg over your shoulder, he immediately hooks his ankle into your back and lets out a breathy moan. The pressure makes it a little harder to reach back around his thigh, but he relaxes into it easier, and the view is incredible. “There you go, perfect.”

You start up a little faster this time, twisting your wrist as you move up and down, and he bucks up into your hand. You risk a kiss to his thigh and his hands fly to your hair, the ends of the tie flowing down against your cheek.

“Sorry, too much?”

“Not enough.” His voice is scratchy now, and he gives a little tug once he gets a hold of you. “Can you, don’t put it- but, closer?”

“You want me here instead?” You press a kiss to the underside of his cock, flipping the loose ends of the tie out of the way to lay across his hip.

“Y-yes. Yes, fuck.”

“Gladly.” Between words, you pepper kisses along his shaft, following the trail of your hand up and down. “Thank you for letting me do this for you. You look so beautiful like this, feeling so good.”

He starts to make a noise of protest, but it quickly shifts into a stifled groan when you press a kiss to his tip, just barely letting your tongue drag across his slit as you pull away.

He whines and bucks his hips to follow you, and you can’t help but let an incredulous laugh slip out. “Alright, love, I’m gonna give you a choice, okay?”

He swallows thickly, then nods.

“Option one, you can tell me exactly how you want me to make you come. If you want my hand or my mouth or to go faster or slower or anything at all you just have to say the word. But I won’t do anything you don’t tell me, so you’ll have to say exactly what you want.”

His breathing is ragged, and he twitches in your grasp. “And option two?”

You grin and lean over him, propping yourself up on one hand. “I do whatever makes you the loudest, and if you stop making those pretty noises for me, I stop.” He seems to flinch at that, and you brush his hair back. “Just for a little while.”

He takes a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed, and he pulls his arms in and down to drape one across his forehead. The tie was never really secure in the first place, but after quite a bit of pulling and flailing, it’s fully undone by now, nothing but luck and stubborn determination holding the loops in place around Reigen’s wrists.

“Both options, of course, come with all sorts of praise and admiration.” You slip a finger under the fabric and give a light tug. He lifts his hands to let the tie slide free.

When he opens his eyes, a shudder running down his spine, he sees you absent-mindedly tying the tie around your neck, uneven and loose, hanging down between you to brush against his stomach. He’s sure you just needed somewhere to put it, something to do with your hands, but it flips a strangely possessive switch somewhere inside him. Not because he’s seeing you in his clothes - he’s had the privilege of that many times before - but because you’ve taken the thing that was supposed to restrain his ability to fuck up the situation, taken something he left safe for you to keep track of without even realizing he’d done it, taken the symbol of his presence in your space and your time and your life, and you’ve put it on without a second thought. He thinks of his misguided reasoning that got you into this situation, that he trusts you with him more than he trusts himself, and he knows what he wants.

For once, words are failing him, which just makes the choice even easier.

“Second one.”

Your eyebrows raise a little, like you’re surprised at his answer, and he almost takes it all back, but then you’re grinning and leaning down to cup his jaw, kissing him like he’s giving you the only air you could ever breathe, and he moans into your mouth.

You lean away just enough to pull in a gasp of air, fingers sliding to tangle into the base of his hair.

“Just like that, gorgeous.”

He laughs, sucking in a shaky breath as you wrap your hand around him again. It pinches into a sort of strained whimper as he starts to quiet himself and thinks better of it, and you start moving.

“That’s it, good boy, just let me take care of everything.”

For all he got into his head before, breaking the seal of touching him seems to have removed any last bits of hesitation, because he relaxes into your touch almost immediately. Your experimenting earlier left you with a good idea of what will get the best noises out of him, and he doesn’t hold back. You’re silently thankful, not only because you get to hear him, but also because you’re not sure you could have followed through on your threat of stopping. And if he’s exaggerating for your sake, all clipped moans and raspy mumbling and bucking hips, well, you’re not going to complain.

After a particularly tight stroke up his cock and a brush of teeth up the inside of his thigh, he pulls one arm over his mouth, pushing it against his lips with his other hand. You’re still deciding if that counts as muffling his sounds enough to slow down when he bites his wrist and yelps, a loud, desperate, frantic noise that seizes what little of your attention isn’t already on him. His head tips back as he struggles to prop himself up on one elbow, hand flipping to clamp down over his mouth, and you can see the bite mark, lines pressed into the pale skin just below the jut of bone where palm meets wrist. It takes you a minute to realize he’s saying something, your brain struggling to piece his noises together into words.

“Can I have your hand?” You hum, scrambling to extract your hand from his leg. “I just- I need,” he opens and closes his hands, “something.” When you hold your hand up blindly toward him, he takes it quickly and holds on tight, fingers lacing together with yours. He gives a few tugs, and you hurry to sit up.

“Please, I need- I can’t take it anymore.” He looks frantic, eyebrows pinched together and his chest heaving with ragged, shaky breaths. His hips buck wildly, quick and shallow into your curled fingers. You realize you’ve forgotten to keep moving as you were watching him, and you quickly correct your mistake, reveling in the shiver that racks through him as your thumb swipes over his tip.

He’s begging now, your name falling out in pieces between gasps and cries; he’s still tugging at your hand like you can’t get close enough, pressing his lips to your jaw like he can’t quite remember how to leave kisses there. He pitches his hips up and presses against you, knees coming together to press into your sides, pinning your hand against your torso as he lets out a final shuddering whimper.

He comes across your fingers, his whole body tense as he holds himself up, back arched and head rolled to the side. He moves to wrap his arms around you, forgetting that his elbow is supporting him, and he pulls you down with him as he falls the short distance to the mattress.

You do your best to roll off him without letting go of him during the aftershocks, but you’re not exactly paying attention to where you’re still holding, and he yelps again from the overstimulation. You yank your hand away with half an apology, smoothing your hand up his side as you lift yourself up on your other arm.

“Nono, wait, don’t-” He scrambles to grab you wherever he can, and you intercept him before he can smack you across the face.

“It’s okay, ‘Taka, s’okay. I’m not going anywhere. I just didn’t wanna crush you. Let’s sit up so you can get some water, alright? All that noise can really make your throat sore, I know.” You slip your hands under him, one at the small of his back and one between his shoulders, gently lifting him toward the headboard. “That’s it. You’re okay. I gotcha.”

Once he’s upright, a glass of water in two shaky hands, you lean over the side of the bed to fumble for a washcloth. When he doesn’t slow down on his own, you start to reach for the glass, but he pulls away for a big gulp of air before you can.

“How you feelin’?”

He doesn’t answer right away, leaving you to fidget with the cloth, slowly reaching for his thigh. He lets his eyes slide closed as you start to wipe him off, smoothing an apologetic thumb over his hip when he hisses from the sensitivity. You wipe your hand on a mostly clean corner before you chuck it in the general direction of the hamper, silently relieved when it makes it in.

“I think I died.” His hands are still shaking as he goes to set the glass on your nightstand, and you gingerly take it from him, lifting yourself up to set it on the far corner where neither of you can accidentally knock it off later. “I understand you now.”

“You didn’t die, I promise.” You allow yourself a smirk and pull a blanket up from the end of the bed. “That’s high praise, though.”

“You’re high praise.”

“You’re the one that liked it so much.”

He rolls his eyes, too tired to argue. As you pull yourself up the bed to sit beside him, he leans over, one hand sliding behind you to rest on your hip. Now that he doesn’t have the distraction of everything else, you can tell he’s starting to think, because his ears are tinting pink and he’s fidgeting with a string on the edge of the blanket.

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t happy to oblige.”

You scoop his hand into yours, leaving the blanket’s seams to live another day, and examine the bite mark on his wrist.

“I can’t believe I did that.” He scoffs, shaking his head a little as you turn his arm over. “The hell was I thinking?”

“Obviously you weren’t, which is both the point and very hot, so hush.” He turns away stubbornly, but he looks pleased. “You could probably say a spirit did it. Biting seems like an evil ghost thing to do, right?”

“With clearly human teeth?”

“Maybe it… stole them?”

He laughs, pulling away from your grip to get comfortable against your side. Just as you start to drift off, soothed by the sound of his breathing slowing and his weight settling on you as he relaxes, you feel his fingers walking down your hip, making their way to your thigh. You crack one eye open, and he looks away with obviously fake innocence.

“Where you going with that hand, darling?”

He smiles, bright and daring, as his fingers dig in. “Your turn?”

You consider it. You’re not quite capable of fully ignoring how turned on seeing him like this has made you. There’s a bit of nervous energy, buzzing over what’s left of your hangover, excitement, the joy that bubbles up in your chest at seeing him smiling at you like that, everything coming together in an overwhelming, swirling feeling of wanting whatever he will give you. But there’s something else, a calm undercurrent to it all, coating the emotion in quiet and directing it all back to a single point, solid and unwavering and right .

More than anything, you are content.

He sees your expression and laughs, must know what you’re going to say the moment you decide, because he mouths the words along with you as he pulls his hand back up to your hip.

“Maybe next time.”

#reigen arataka x reader #reigen x reader #my writing #it's been so long i forget how i tag things lol #hey bestie you're for sure gonna get a notif for this and i apologize in advance lsjkdfk #thank you so so much to everyone that stayed through the hiatus #i have been reading all the kind comments and asks and even though i don't respond they absolutely make my day #i was trying to avoid the internet as much as possible and it kinda... just stayed that way for a long time #if you're worried about this being the “last” aspec reigen pls don't panic #there's a more detailed ramble on ao3 but basically there will be more of these two goofs in love #(and probably a third goof in love)#but i wanna change some stuff and it'll be easier to do that in a new series #since this wasn't really meant to be a series in the first place weirdly #so basically it may be slow going but this isn't the end #i'm dropping this and then going to bed so i'll see y'all in the morning i hope you enjoy!!#i have.... so much to catch up on.....

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laugtherhyena · 2 months ago

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I need to have ibis taken away from me so that i stop expanding Ayame's family tree-

Quite literally the most random thing ever, at one point earlier this week i remembered this throwaway from Asoot's puppetmaster arc at the scene where Akane goes to spend the night at Ayame's house;

This was, obviously, done because back then none of us had any ideas let alone designs and character traits for Ayame's family, hence the need for an excuse to why they're not present.

Cut to present year where i went and made characters for her parents and thought back to this line like "Hey i should make that", since i wrote Bashira as a single child that means this is an aunt from Ippei's side of the family; Mai Hatano!

And hey i was actually nice this time around so she's actually alive post-tragedy :] so here's some general info on her:

-She's 9 years younger than Ippei, the parents were going through a rocky part of their relationship and the mom thought maybe having another kid could save their marriage but it really only made everything worse and the husband left around the time Mai was turning 2 years old.

-The deal is that the father as some kind of businessman that was having an affair with a coworker and would excuse him coming up late or not even back home by saying he was piled up with work and blaming the wife or being “insensitive about his efforts”, but she knew he was bullshitting and could tell he had someone else. So again, she thought maybe if they had another kid that would fix things but it only led to somewhat constantly arguing for over an year until he left with his lover and cut contact with the rest of the family.

-This ties into why later in life Ippei choose financial stability over following his music career, the family struggled quite a bit over the years with just the mom and two kids, they had to move a few times and Ippei even got his job as a waiter during his mid to late teens to help out with money. I guess this also ties into why he and Bashira planned so much to have Ayame, i think his parents married pretty young and inexperienced so he wanted to avoid that and have a normal family.

-On Mai’s side she felt like she was at fault for “ruining her parent's marriage” for a good chunk of her childhood and early adolescence. She's over that as an adult, though it did lead to her avoiding serious relationships with anyone though most of her life. At most she's had some flings/one night stands, but never a proper boyfriend or anything official.

-On top of that Mai is generally pretty bad at dealing with emotions, both of other people and her own. She has no idea how to comfort anyone or help when they're in some emotional turmoil or need someone to vent to, so oftentimes she is kinda just changes the subject or gives a pretty standard response of like “Damn that sucks” before doing so and proceeds to ignore the issue as in sorta of a “forget about it” way. (As you can probably guess, she's not the one to show her hurt to others for a similar reason. When she received the news that her brother and his family had died she didn't express much of a reaction at all at the foundation and only cried when she was back home because she did genuinely care for them, though her odd reaction gave the impression to some coworkers that this wasn't the case.)

-She is a very stubborn person so she doesn't talk to people about this problem of hers, much less seek help when it comes to it because the fact that she can't truly help the people she cares for when they need emotional support really hurts her so she'd rather ignore and forget than deal with her lack of abilities in the area.

-Stubbornness and ignorance are notably her most negative traits (“I was never taught and I will not learn” sorta thing). This extends to circumstances other than her loved ones emotional needs because a lot of the time she will be dismissive or ignorant about certain things solely because they don't affect her directly nor anyone she cares for.

-That being said, she is very outwardly nice and shows care to others. Very chatty and outgoing, pretty much the opposite of her brother and niece since she can talk to people very easily. She's on good terms with pretty much everyone from Tsurugi's division and talks quite frequently to other foundation workers as well. Though she is rather blunt and says whatever comes to her mind at any given moment.

-Before the tragedy she worked as a personal bodyguard in Towa city, this busy and sometimes dangerous lifestyle led to her distancing herself from her brother a lot as they grew older. It wasn't anything intentional, just life bringing them in separate ways so while she did love her brother and his family a lot they didn't see each other super often, it was mostly during holidays, funerals or events like some of Ayame’s competitions or similar situations. This became one of her biggest regrets late in life as she wishes she could have spent more time with them.

-She broke her arm pretty badly when a client was getting ambushed and was set to stay out of business until recovered. Once she was dispatched from the hospital Ippei and Bashira came to drive her home and help her settle back, alongside doing some catching-up. That was the last time they saw each other.

-When the tragedy broke out she became stranded in Towa city because of all the chaos and the Warriors of hope hunting down the adults. Her arm was still broken then, but Mai is a rather reckless person and went around fighting despairs and rescuing other citizens in spite of her injury, which led to her injured arm getting broken and slashed in many other places which then led her developing a nasty infection that she just kept fighting on her own for months until she and a group of adults managed to leave the city.

-She was brought to a hospital pretty much immediately after by the group's leader and by that point she pretty much couldn't feel or move her hand anymore and the whole area around her arm gave her immense pain. When she started getting treated the staff tried to contact any family member which led to them contacting the Kisaragi foundation and upon informing them that she was in their care Rei requested that Mai should be moved to the foundation’s hospital facility, which was where she stayed for the majority of her recovery.

-There wasn't much Hikaru or any of the medical scaff could do to save her injured arm so she had to have it amputated to avoid further spread of infection, but at this point Mai couldn't even think much about the fact and just told them to do whatever it takes to make the pain stop. On top of losing her arm, she also became prone to infections out of how bad hers was.

-It was when she was recovering from surgery that Tsurugi came to speak to her, he apologized for the foundation taking so long to rescue her, alongside informing her how the place functions and most importantly letting Mai know that her brother and his family had died. It was only after he left that the weight of this information and everything Mai had gone settled in and, for the first time ever since the tragedy started, she cried.

-The thing is that unlike her brother, an overthinker who thinks ahead and carefully plans everything in life, Mai tends to throw herself into things head on just hoping that it will all work out in the end and while she's going through things she doesn't stop to think much about the details until it's over. So it was only as she was recovering in the hospital that she thought about everything she had gone through, everything she had lost, and for once tried to think of what her next course of action should be while going through these feelings.

-That being said, she never fell into a depression or took the loss as hard as someone like Keisuke did because that's just not the kind of person Mai is. Somewhat similar to her ignorant demeanor, her way of dealing with grief is mainly by occupying her mind with other things, like going places she enjoys or focusing on training and work. The last one being the reason she joined Tsurugi's division pretty much immediately after being dispatched from the medbay.

-Mai’s an action woman! She has a lot of energy and loves getting into fights, especially if it is to protect others, so it's no surprise she joined his division and not Rei’s or Teruya's. But when it comes to Tsurugi's ideals Mai is by no means a follower, she thinks he's insane, way too radical, but so far his black and white mortality hasn't affected her or anyone she cares for directly so she turns a blind eye to it, this is the guy who pays her after all. (This does change post Sdra2, especially after Keisuke almost shoots Midori)

-She was assigned to be in charge of the new members basic physical combat and self defense training, especially for those like Ryutaro and Keisuke who had no experience in this line of work before. This is part of how she ended up becoming a close friend of theirs, though Mai tends to treat Ryutaro (and Midori by extension) more like younger siblings rather than coworkers.

-The foundation provides her a prosthetic for use only during missions (by Tsurugi's orders). Mai doesn't mind that since she doesn't actually like having the prosthetic on, it feels more like a trouble to put on and use than it's worth, she much prefers not having one at all.

-On a similar vein, Mai isn't a fan of the work uniform, she finds it way too stuffy and clunky so she only puts it on right before going on a mission, alongside the prosthetic arm. Tsurugi doesn't take that well, as he sees it as Mai not taking work as seriously as she should, but she is one of his best soldiers so he refrains from picking up on her.

-Onto some more miscellaneous information. Mai’s apartment is rather disorganized and messy, but for her it’s fine because she knows where everything is, even if it's not in the right place per say. Bashira used to jokingly pick up on her over it.

-She’s also a pretty bad cook, can only really pull off simple meals which is why she's a huge fan of takeout and fast food in general.

-Back in Ippei's late teens/early 20s she was the one to keep pushing him to take initiative and ask out Bashira, though that help absolutely came alongside teasing her brother for being so shy.

-They were really close then, Ippei would even pick her up from school everyday n all. This strong care stayed strong over the years even after they started seeing each other less and less after moving out of their childhood home, and even less after their mother passed away from old age sometime around the late 2000s.

-She never spent much time with Ayame but oftentimes when she would feel self conscious about her lack of femininity her parents would mention how she's just like her aunt on that aspect

-Mai has her brother's collection of music vinyls at her place, she's not the biggest fan of classical music, but listening to it reminds her of him.

#for those who don't read the stupidly long under the cut rambles. this is the same character. not a twin situation #she just as a prosthetic on when out on missions #i feel like ever since i became friends with Poi I've grown more fond of making extended family characters #girl. what have you done to me 💔/J #i love tho it's fine #shout out to Bubbles and whoever that anon was for this thing's late creation #and since my last another series oc post was about character inspos i should note that Mai's are the random cop lady from Cyber sleuth #and Power from csm #hyena ramblings #hyena scribbles #edit #sprite edit #oc #dra #danganronpa another #ayame hatano #mai hatano #ippei hatano

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