#they're always so sweet and earnest | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thriftedtchotchkes · 1 year ago

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dye this space red

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

summary: mike's a pretty sensitive guy, emotionally and otherwise, and there's a theory you'd love to test on his thighs

warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, smut, pwp, marking, biting, hickeys, hair pulling, rough foreplay, thigh riding, touch-free orgasm

word count: 1.3k

You're convinced that Mike's thighs taste sweeter than the rest of him. They're softer than his stubbled jaw or the hard planes of his chest—a milkier shade peppered with barely-there freckles and sparse smatterings of hair. Thick and sweet, and begging to be bitten.

Or maybe it's the way he reacts when you're between them that's so delicious. His typically deep, monotone voice takes on a higher pitch the longer you suck, bite, and cover them in loving bruises, increasing in volume until it cracks.

Every harsh nibble is followed by a soothing swipe of your tongue and a gentle kiss until he's marked up to your liking and painfully hard, whimpering as he desperately bucks into thin air.

Sometimes you think he'd be able cum like that if you paced him just right. If you entertained his moaned instructions and let him guide you by the hair to where he needed you most, he'd probably cum untouched, longer and harder than he would even at his own hand.

So tonight, you test your theory.

He's fresh out of the shower with the fluffiest, towel-dried curls when you sit him on the edge of the bed and sink to your knees, smiling softly at the earnest anticipation on his tired face. Even after all this time, he still somehow manages to look so grateful every time you touch him.

Every groan and hitched breath sounds thankful, but he rarely asks for what he needs, always so eager to be your good boy and accept what he's given. But right now, you're encouraging him to take control. You want him to push and pull you to every spot that brings him closer to quaking with his impending release.

To see his cock pulse against his stomach, coating him in thick, heady spurts without ever being touched, would be your prize. You're so sure you can get him there, but you need him to show you how.

Taking his broad hands in yours, you bury his fingers in your hair and encourage him to pull you down, slightly lower and to the side of where he's already stiffening with interest. Your lips press into his warm, damp skin, and he inhales sharply, his fingers tugging tightly at your strands.

"Show me where it feels good," you murmur, licking away a stray droplet of water he missed when he was drying off. "I know you like it here...," you swirl your finger around a sensitive spot next to his knee, "...and definitely here," his leg hair tickles as you trail over to a patch of skin an inch or two away from his balls.

His lips part around a gasp, and he tugs your head back to his knee, holding you close. He's careful with his guidance, but his restraint is dwindling—quickly.

"H-here," he chokes out, massaging soothing patterns into your scalp, though you're not sure if that's for his benefit or yours. "Start here."

So, he's using you to tease himself. At the realization, your pussy dribbles uncomfortably down your thighs, and you clench around nothing in an attempt to dull the ache. It doesn't work, but it also doesn't matter. He's what matters tonight.

"Okay, baby. I've got you," you reassure him, meeting his eyes as you suck delicately to ease him into it, then a little harder to leave your first mark.

You swear you can feel the capillaries bursting against your tongue and painting his skin in rich reds and purples. The sweetest canvas for your selfishly possessive art. His hips jerk reflexively, and you can't help but smile after you finish soothing the fresh bruise.

A glance up at his lap tells you he's fully hard now and leaking tempting drops of precum you're not allowed to taste. His eyes are closed, brows furrowed in concentration, so you nip at him to pull his attention back to you.

"I'm sorry, I just...god, you feel good," he mumbles apologetically, tugging you inward and a smidge lower. "A little harder here, then—," he winces, his cock suddenly twitching, and you wonder if just thinking about it is getting him closer. "—shit. Then, work your way in."

You nod, kissing his skin wetly before doing as he asks, and his response is almost immediate. The further in you get, the rougher he is with his guidance, struggling not to yank you from place to place with his tensing fingers. He bucks clear off the bed when you lick a broad, curved line that grazes the underside of his thigh and has to hold you in place tighter to keep you from toppling backward.

As his cock bounces off his stomach and lands in a sticky pool of precum, he whimpers louder than he should with Abby playing just down the hall, and you give him a sharp warning slap next to a particularly abused patch of skin. It only makes it worse.

He outright groans, unable to keep himself from rocking upward steadily like he's imagining you bouncing on his lap.

"Do that again. Harder, do it harder," he grits out, and the demand sends another wave of heat crashing through you.

You fall into a rhythm: bite, slap; suck, then a harder slap. His abs tense and relax in time with each rough motion, and you can hear him muttering something dark and incoherent above you repeatedly. Wait, no—no, he's saying fuck over and over like it's the only word he knows anymore.

By now, he's littered with teeth marks and damp bruises, his tender skin tinged a pretty, rosy red, and his legs are trembling on either side of your head just like you wanted. There's a shuddered breath above you, and then he's dragging you to his favorite spot, a not-yet-tainted point just south and to the left of his balls.

"M'so close," he whimpers, sounding like he's on the verge of tears. "Babe, use your mouth. Now, ngh—now."

Bracing your hands on his thighs as well as you can with how frantically he's bucking his hips, you latch on exactly where he told you to, leeching with more suction than you have all night. Then, his fingers abruptly tense in your hair so hard it hurts.

"M'cumming...fuck—fuck, m'fucking cumming," he moans as it slams into him, and you peer up just in time.

His head lolls back, jaw dropping as the veins in his cock visibly pulse and he cums across his stomach and chest. He continues to buck into the air, simultaneously grinding into your mouth, and only slows once he's totally drained and twitching with aftershocks.

"Well, shit," he breathes out, heaving as he releases his grip to pet your tender scalp. "That was new."

You laugh, leaning up to kiss his softening length.

"Mm, but I knew you could do it," you grin, getting up from the floor and kissing his lips next.

He sighs contentedly into your mouth, coaxing it open to brush your tongue with his, and you melt into him, still a little shaky on your feet.

"C'mere," he mumbles against your lips. He splays his hands across your waist and leads you to straddle his leg. "Pretty sure my thigh owes you one."

Looping your arms loosely around his shoulders, you part from him and bury your face into the crook of his neck to muffle your whines, letting him guide your slick core up and down his leg. His five o'clock shadow is scratchy yet grounding against your ear as he works you to your peak.

"You sound so damn sweet right now, you know that?"

thanks for reading!

(divider by @saradika <3)

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt #fnaf imagine #fnaf smut #fnaf movie #fnaf #five nights at freddy's

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imujings · 1 month ago

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[b.sk] boo seungkwan’s guide to love

synopsis. | an easy, four-step guide on how to win anyone’s heart—written by yours truly, boo seungkwan! (or, the three times seungkwan is determined to set up the perfect way to confess, and the one time he realizes all he has to do is be himself.)

♯ pairing(s). | bestfriend!boo seungkwan x gn!reader, non-idol!svt & gn!reader ♯ genre(s). | best friends/idiots lovers & fluff ♯ wc. | 5.4k ♯ warnings. | cursing, friendly banter (someone save dino), two stupid silly sexual innuendos, some kissing, a few silly misunderstandings (sorry!!! They're Idiots <3), whisper of the heart spoilers!!, reader chokes on water

jay’s musings. | HAPPY BIRTHDAY RANIA-BOO @wheeboo !! this one is ALLL for u!!!! and i mean it. ur genuinely SUCH a sweet and loving person, getting to know u has been such an honor. i love our daily convos and interactions, and am just so so so glad to have met u :) always remember that u! are! made! of! stardust! i hope u enjoy this, mwah <3

Boo Seungkwan needs to get a fucking grip.

He’s sprawled across his living room couch, eyes tracking a ladybug as it crawls across his ceiling. How the little creature somehow managed to be birthed in a winter as cold as this one, he will never know, but Seungkwan prays to whatever stars above that this is a sign of luck for the impending doom laying ahead of him.

Chan, Seungkwan’s roommate, ambles into the room with a bag of chips. He sits down on the chair perpendicular to the forlorn boy and interrupts his overthinking session. “Sulking isn’t going to make the perfect birthday gift for them suddenly appear, you know.”

Seungkwan blows a raspberry into the air. Curse Chan and his ability to read the room.

Okay, here’s the current dilemma: your birthday is coming up. His birthday is coming up. He’s known you for three years now, and for all of those three years he’s been painfully, crazily in love with you. So much he doesn’t think he can survive another year without bursting at the seams. (Chan says he’s being overly dramatic, but Seungkwan knows the racing of his heart and the permanent smile on his face whenever he’s around you are very life-threatening symptoms.)

Therefore, Seungkwan has made it a personal mission of his to finally confess this year, preferably before he succumbs to his feelings once and for all. Problem is, he doesn’t know how. Or when.

“At this point, just wrap yourself up in ribbons and present yourself to them as their gift. They’d love anything you give them, you unfortunately included,” Chan continues around a mouthful of potato chips, scrolling through his phone as he chews rather loudly.

He glares at his roommate. “You can’t be serious.”

The other boy swallows—Seungkwan makes a face at this—and Chan finally turns to the brooding man, his voice becoming earnest.

“Kwannie, I have been the victim of your lovesick rants for three years. And for every one of those three years, you two have endlessly pined after each other with the excuse of ‘just being best friends.’ I mean like, come on, dude. Hansol’s constantly sending me screenshots of his conversations with them, asking why he’s the one being texted when he says that you’re the one they’re dating. I had to tell him—like, just last month—that you two are in fact, not together, and then he didn’t even believe me and almost asked them right then and there. I stopped him before he could. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Seungkwan listens with a frown at his roommate’s fed-up tangent. The ladybug that was on the ceiling is now perched on top of one of their shelves, wandering across the pot of a plant you had gotten him as a gift. Snake plants reflect good luck and resilience for growth, you had told him with a smile, and his mouth curves into a deeper pout.

“Channie-ah, if I’m going to confess, it needs to be perfect! It’s not like I can just throw myself at them and hope they’re willing to jump my bones too,” Seungkwan makes a half-hearted attempt at a joke, his hands hitting the sides of the pillow he’s holding with a thump.

Chan mutters something under his breath. The green, fuzzy pillow is chucked towards his head in response, and the boy shrieks.

“I heard that, you idiot.”

“Then you should know that they like you too, you idiot,” his roommate shoots back, tossing the pillow back towards the couch. “And please don’t talk to me about jumping their bones. That is something I do not want to hear about.”

Seungkwan catches it easily and rests the pillow on his stomach. “If they like me back then that’s even worse,” he bemoans. “That means it needs to be more than perfect.”

He’s not exactly oblivious. Seungkwan’s known now for a little bit that you might harbor some sort of feelings for him back, which is why he’s even allowing himself to move forward with a plan as bold as this in the first place. However, the idea of you still rejecting him—whether it be from unrequited feelings, or even worse, because his confession was pathetically lame—gnaws away at his heart with unrelenting constancy.

“I don’t think it needs to be perfect,” Chan tries to reassure and comfort to the best of his ability, but the way Seungkwan frets makes him doubt he’ll have any influence on the older boy at all. “Like I said before, they’d be happy with anything you’d give them. Especially a confession. I think you could FaceTime them right now, ask them out on a date, and they’ll say yes. Fuck timing, you know?”

It’s as if his words had fallen on deaf ears. His face lighting up with an idea, Seungkwan nods, determination set in his jaw.

“You’re right about timing. I’ll just have to choose the right moment, with a foolproof plan,” he declares dramatically, going to type up a plan in his notes app.

Chan runs a hand over his exasperated face at his friend’s awfully selective hearing, and the ladybug seems to take this as its cue to fly to another room.

┊ Step 1: Choose the right place and time for a private conversation!

Seungkwan determines that the first ideal moment to confess is when you and him are at your favorite cafe, comfortably catching up after a week of not seeing each other.

The cafe is in a lull at the moment, the only other customers being an old couple sitting in front of the large bay windows. You’re donning a comfy sweater and thick woollen scarf, one that was given to you by Seungkwan some few birthdays ago, and his face flushes as he tries to focus on the conversation again. Some story about your closing shift at work and coming home to your dog way later than you had anticipated.

It’s… oddly intimate, Seungkwan thinks as your hands make little gestures while you talk.

The soft, warm overhead cafe lamps make your eyes shine and his breath catches, too afraid to exhale. He thinks if he breathes too harshly he’ll wake up with sweaty palms and a racing heart.

God, he’s so nervous, fidgeting with his fingers and counting the seconds in his head on how long he should be making eye contact with you so as to not come off as suspicious. You smile while recounting the excited way your pup greeted you as you finally had trudged through your front door and the corners of Seungkwan’s mouth arch in turn. Bracing himself, he reaches over the marbled tabletop, grasping a hold of your hands in his as you ramble on and starting to play with your fingers.

Your voice falters for a moment.

Seungkwan traces his thumb along your knuckles and raises an eyebrow, doing his best to look unaffected and not like he wants to press kisses to the pads of your fingertips. When all you do in the end is smile at him and pick up where you left off, he makes a mental fist pump, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

Now, all Seungkwan has to do is somehow turn the focal point to him. Maybe wait for a natural pause in the conversation, or–

His brain goes haywire as you run your own thumb along the side of his hand. “Something on your mind?” you tease, though he’s quick to notice how your eyes flit between your intertwined fingers and anywhere but his face.

Interesting.

A boost of confidence surging through him, Seungkwan waits a beat before replying smoothly. “Nothing other than you.”

The hopeless romantic in him cheers.

The larger, more realistic part of him is completely mortified.

He watches with a clenched jaw as your face morphs into one of surprise, to disbelief, and then your face is warming to a hue he, frankly, didn’t know was possible. Seungkwan worries he’s faring not much better, clearing his throat and reassuring himself that he can save this somehow.

I wanted to talk to you about something, is what he wants to say.

“Uh,” he says dumbly instead.

There’s an embarrassingly long period of silence between the two of you, clearly both caught off guard by the other. Your hands are still clasped in his.

He tries again. “So…”

The barista calls your name, a matcha latte and iced americano sat side by side on the counter next to some of your favorite pastries on a cute little tray. As if a spell was broken, the pair of you jump apart like you were caught making out rather than just holding hands. You look at him apologetically. “Sorry, Kwannie. Hold that thought.”

Seungkwan is so, so close to banging his head on the table after you stand up and turn away from him. He momentarily wonders how much the hospital bill would cost.

Miraculously enough, he manages to hold himself back. By the time you’re sliding into the booth, giving him his order and inquiring about what he wanted to tell you, Seungkwan has dreadfully made up his mind to postpone the confession for another day. Cafe confessions are overrated, anyways.

┊ Step 2: Express your immense gratitude and appreciation for your relationship!

The next time Seungkwan decides to try his luck, it's over the course of a few days.

Chan, as per usual, treads into their living room with a snack; this time it’s a bag of sour gummy worms. He blinks in surprise at the sight of his roommate carefully arranging a bouquet of flowers on their table as if he’s approaching a baby deer in the wild. Seungkwan’s eyes are practically slits while he snips away at the ends of the flower stems, tongue caught between his teeth in utmost concentration.

The younger boy hovers near him, a little nervous about interrupting his focus and the consequences that would occur if he did. “What kind of flowers are those?”

“Lilacs,” Seungkwan replies immediately, never losing the attention he has on plucking some of the more wilted leaves off of a particular stem. “With some lavender and baby’s breath.”

Chan lets out a low whistle. He then regards the gift basket sitting next to Seungkwan with a small, knowing smirk. “What’s that in the bag?”

His roommate scowls at him as he ties the bouquet together with a soft, white ribbon, the bow the perfect finishing touch. “None of your business.”

“Who are you giving it t—”

“Channie-ah,” Seungkwan warns in a high, sugary sarcastic tone, and said man only smiles wider. “Don’t you have a gym you should be at right now? Or just somewhere else other than here at home?”

Shrugging, Chan pops the last sour gummy worm in his mouth and hastily crumples the empty bag into a ball. “Guess I could see if Soonyoung is up for going to the gym.”

He disappears into the hallway leading to the bedrooms, leaving Seungkwan to his own devices, and your best friend takes this chance to go over his carefully crafted gifts. He bites his lip. He hopes the flowers are to your liking.

His eyes roam over to the simple wickered gift basket on the table, filled to the brim with your favorite snacks. A handmade card sticks out on the side and he cringes. Maybe he shouldn’t have made that on three hours of sleep. He can see the places where the pen in his hand wavered a little too hard, little imperfections that make his skin crawl.

“Goodluck with your confession, Kwannie-ah,” Chan’s amused tone snaps him out of his thoughts.

He's dressed in more socially acceptable going-out clothes now, opting for a heavy winter jacket over a tank top and sweatpants instead of his favorite fuzzy plaid pajama pants. His gym bag is thrown over his shoulder, a water bottle hastily pushed into one of the side pockets. Seungkwan wrinkles his nose as he catches the sight of the silver chain sitting around his neck. He always told Chan they looked a little tacky, but he never listened. To each their own, he guesses, turning back to the dark oak table.

“Yeah yeah, don’t stay out too late,” Seungkwan waves him off.

Chan throws out a laugh as he steps out the door. “I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back. Y’know, so I’m not interrupting anything.”

The door clicks shut before the man can snipe his roommate with the pair of garden shears he’s holding.

Lee Chan was so fucking lucky he helped pay rent for a comfortable apartment nearby their work and in walking distance from a grocery store. Otherwise, Seungkwan swears he would toss the boy into the street without a second thought.

He still had an hour or two before you arrived; you had texted him earlier saying you would stop by after your work with some takeout, excited for a night in with him to catch up on the dramas neglected lately due to busy schedules. Usually, by this time, he would be sending random voice notes to you pestering you for taking so long and doing an improv song about waiting for a long lost love. Now, though, he blesses the stars that you love to take your sweet time on the train, knowing you spend the minutes with music blasting through your headphones as you gaze out the window lost in thought.

So Seungkwan spends his own time fussing over his appearance, switching from casual clothes to comfy pajamas to business formal (you never know), before he finally settles on some wide-legged joggers and a layered hoodie. That way, he reasons as he fixes his hair for the thirtieth time, no matter if you wanted to go out for a stroll or stay in and cuddle—assuming you accepted his confession, of course—he would be ready to go.

A brrring! from his phone startles him. He rushes to the living room as a muted knock on the door sounds, indicating your arrival.

Okay, Boo Seungkwan, he sucks in a breath. Play it cool.

The first thirty minutes or so go relatively peaceful. You’re fresh in your work clothes, greeting him with a tired smile and your guys’ favorite ramen takeout place. Light, easygoing chatter about your day calms his nerves, making himself comfortable on the couch with your leg pressed against his. It’s moments like these that Seungkwan really cherishes; your skinship and his eagerness, your careful attentiveness and his long rambles, your laugh and his joke being the cause of it.

Photographs and miscellaneous wall prints hang from his walls and watch over the two of you comfortably as you slurp down your ramen, giggling over who can make the most noise. His apartment is homely and he takes pride in it—he never lets anyone forget the amount of hours he spent pouring over what shade of green to paint the walls—but somehow, having you here only makes the place more lively. More homely.

As you’re cleaning up the living room table, a song spilling from your lips, it takes everything in him to not grab you by the waist and kiss you breathless. Instead, Seungkwan makes an excuse to retreat briefly to his bedroom, snatching the flowers and gift basket he had carefully stashed away under his desk.

You look up when he returns and halt in your efforts in stretching his favorite throw—a quilt his mother bought for him—across your body. Surprise is plastered all over your face, and he nervously bites his lip. He really hopes he doesn’t look as whipped for you as he feels right now.

“Hi,” he starts, bowing his head awkwardly and setting the gift basket on your lap. “These are for you.”

Your hands reach for the flowers, lips parted slightly and eyes wide with innocent bliss. Your voice echoes his in a question. “For me?”

“Ah, yeah,” he scratches at his neck and sits down, not wanting to hover over you like some intimidating guy at the bar. Your name falls off his tongue like it was there waiting to be let out. “I wanted to thank you. You um, mean a lot to me, you know? You’ve truly made my life so much more worth living. Whenever I’m sad, you’re right there to hold my hand through it, and whenever I’m happy, it’s like you take that joy and make it tenfold. I truly… don’t know where I would be without your kindness and support. I say this all because… well…”

The words get caught in his throat and he feels himself freeze in panic.

“...Seungkwan?” your smile is puzzled and his gaze pierces you with an intensity that makes you shift in your seat. “Uh, thank you, but my birthday isn’t for another two weeks.”

“I totally understand!—oh.”

He didn't exactly predict you misunderstanding this interaction as one of the thousands of possible outcomes during his nightly overthinking sessions, so he has no idea how to respond. “Uh. Um. This is for another reason other than your birthday, actually.”

“Oh, okay,” you pause. “Then what is it all for? Did you finally snap the friendship bracelet I gave you? You know I can make you a new one; kinda knew it would break with the amount of crap you put it through.”

Before Seungkwan can respond, there’s a heavy series of clunk!-clank!-clink!’s at the door, followed by someone very obviously jingling a set of house keys.

“Seungkwan!” someone sing-songs insufferably from outside the door, and the mentioned person can quite literally hear his jerk of a roommate turning the doorknob multiple times without actually opening it. “My lovely roommate and best friend, I’m home! I cannot wait to tell you about my very productive time at the gym with Soonyoung!”

Lee Chan has his grand entrance through the front door of their apartment, making a show out of kicking off his shoes and bumping against every piece of furniture possible. He doesn’t notice the way you two are fixated on him until he’s face to face across the coffee table with Seungkwan’s deadpan stare and your astonished expression. Chan stops mid-yell, arms falling limply to his side as his brain processes the fact that you two are currently not kissing each other with renewed fervor at the unconcealing of long-held feelings.

“Oh, shit. Was I interrupting something?”

Seungkwan decides right then that being homeless is better than having Chan as a roommate, and that he’ll terminate his lease first thing tomorrow morning.

┊ Step 3: Be honest and direct about your feelings!

After that disastrous last attempt, Seungkwan has sworn off trying to confess—at least, for the time being. He needs time to lick his wounded pride better, and in the meantime, Chan owes him daily morning coffee for a month as an apology.

However, it’s like it's your personal job to make it hard for him to keep his mouth shut.

“God,” you groan and miserably throw your head back against the couch. “Their love is so sweet. I’m so sick of them.”

The pair of you are wrapped up in the thick, white comforter on your bed, your laptop screen illuminating your faces in flashes of bright colorful pastels. Whisper of The Heart is a familiar movie to the both of you, having only watched it millions of times—yet you crawl back to it around the same time each year, heart squeezing excitedly at the life lessons of soul-searching and love taught in the Studio Ghibli film.

It’s the end of the movie, and as you delightfully wring your hands in anticipation for the confession scene, Seungkwan shamefully admits to himself that he spent more time watching your reactions than the movie itself. He can’t help it, eyes flickering to you every time you’d giggle or gush at Shizuku and Seiji’s antics. You were particularly fond of the story Shizuku had written, and he had marveled at the way you couldn’t stop yourself from pausing the movie to explain your analysis of the anecdote to him. He knew your theories inside and out, but he hung onto every word that fell off your lips like it was life or death.

You sigh dreamily and startle Seungkwan out of his thoughts. Your hands are now clutching one of the various stuffed animals thrown haphazardly around your bed. On the screen, Seiji’s arms are wrapped tightly around Shizuku, his words ringing loud and clear through your laptop’s speakers. I love you!

“First loves are so powerful,” you sigh again loudly as the credits begin to roll, the recognizable Country Roads playing. “I wish I got to experience something like them. When is it my turn?”

Time slows down.

Seungkwan knows it’s supposed to be a rhetorical question. That he’s supposed to roll his eyes and tell you to stop playing into your delusions; maybe even joke that you should just download a dating app if you’re this desperate. Perhaps it’s because it’s late into the early morning, or because he had one too many of the devastatingly delicious cookies you two had baked earlier—whatever the reason, he doesn’t even think twice before he’s huffing and throwing his arms around your shoulders, his cheek pressed to yours.

“I love you!”

Oh. That wasn’t how that was supposed to go.

You look at him, eyes wide. He can feel your breath against his lips and it makes his brain short-circuit, pulling away as fast as he had hugged you. The air is suddenly so thick it makes his throat feel choked up, like there’s something dry stuck in it, and he’s desperately reaching for some pathetic excuse as to why he just did what he did.

The credits end and the classic Totoro stares at you two for a brief moment on screen, before going black. It’s eerily silent in your room, your clock ticking like a time bomb on your wall. It’s dark except for the little squishable duck nightlight perched on your dresser, and he watches the way you swallow in the dim lighting.

“Stop messing around,” you ultimately laugh, shoving him away hard in the shoulder and reaching for your bottle of water.

He takes note of the nervousness in your giggles. Messing around? Messing around? He feels a mixture of irritation and frustration well up inside of him, pent up from the past few weeks of misfortune. Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “For goodness’ sake, I’m literally not. I’m serious. I love you.”

A choke.

You’re coughing violently and he’s at your side immediately, rubbing your back in soothing circles. The plushie you were holding is replaced with a proper pillow to keep you upright. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Do you need me to call someone?”

It’s as if you don’t even hear him. You inhale a final breath to steady yourself and gawk at him. “Are you serious?”

“Serious about what?”

“You loving me.”

And it’s as if something in him finally snaps.

“Yes, I’m serious,” he whines, theatrically falling on his side and draping his arms over his quickly reddening face. “But this wasn’t how it was supposed to go! It was supposed to be perfect. I had a whole masterminded plan, where we would go to the park, and there’s no one around but us and we sit on a swing set reminiscing about youth, and then the sun would be setting and you’d look at me and go ‘It’s beautiful,’ and then I’d look at you and go—”

Seungkwan stops when he hears your giggle.

He slowly brings his hands down from his face, staring at you with bewilderment.

You’re laughing. He just confessed his undying love for you and you’re laughing.

“Kwannie,” you gasp between fits of laughter, clutching your side with one hand and covering your mouth with the other. “Oh my God, Seungkwan, hold up. Give me a second.”

After your laughter subsides, you gently take his hands in yours. Highlights from the sole source of lighting line your hair in a halo-like glow. Your grin is as wide and as bright as a crescent moon; though his heartbeat is going wild at the what-ifs screaming in his head, he vows that’s going to be his favorite phase of the lunar cycle now.

“Seungkwan,” you start again, tone raw and sweet as honey, “I love you, too.”

You love him. You love him. Fireworks are going off in his brain, and his heart is rejoicing at the fact that you feel the same as he does. He swears he can hear the band that’s playing the congratulatory tune.

“But…” you trail off, and his eyes widen. “Wait, relax. Just listen to me.”

“All that stuff you said—about your confession being perfect. I hope you realize that I don’t need perfection from you,” he opens his mouth to protest, but you stop him with a look. “I’ve never wanted it, either. In fact, I’ve only ever wanted you. This… okay, this is super cheesy, so look away.”

Seungkwan scoffs. You give him another stern look, and he pouts, his gaze zeroing in on your laptop that’s been discarded off to the side. There’s a moment of your hesitation—palpable, so tangible he could hold it in his hands—before he feels the plush of your lips against his cheek.

“You didn’t make me fall for you by being ‘perfect,’ you made me fall for you by being yourself,” you finish, pulling away and ducking your head shyly.

“I—” Seungkwan pauses, his breathing a little shaky. “God, wait, I wish I had a do-over! Hold on.”

A thousand and one thoughts, all incoherent, are running through his mind at lightning speed. You wait patiently as he racks his brain for anything remotely put together.

“Can I kiss you?” is all he ends up asking. He gives up on being eloquent in his speech for now—his mind can’t really function anymore, only focused on one goal, and you giggle as his palm cups your cheek.

Your eyes meet his, shining. “Of course.”

When his lips press to yours, he swears he can see songs and hear colors. If there’s one thing that didn’t go wrong about this impromptu confession, it’s your lips moving against his, soft and tender and everything else he had imagined. You pull away first and he finds himself following, hoping you’ll indulge him in a second one; when you do, smiling against his lips, he feels like he’s made true inner peace with himself.

“Okay, I know this changes things, but please let me have a do-over,” Seungkwan gripes, finally breaking away and resting his forehead against yours. “Let me ask you out for real.”

“Alright, Kwannie,” you laugh and give him another peck on the lips. “When?”

“When?” he echoes, grinning mischievously. “Honey, the surprise is the best part. If I tell you when, it makes it less than perfect.”

┊ Step 4: Pray they don’t reject you Respect their response, no matter good or bad!

On the day of your birthday, you have your first date with Boo Seungkwan.

It’s confirmed when you and him are out on a leisurely walk, meandering around the park near your place and talking about the meanings of life. There’s not much to it; you’re dressed up in your favorite winter clothes, a scarf once again wrapped around your neck, your nose tucked into it to keep it from getting too cold. Your voice is muffled but pleasant to his ears, a warmth biting away the brisk air as the day winds down.

He’s jittery and he knows it. His gloved fingers brush yours every so often, hesitating before pulling away, and his eyes are embarrassed every time they meet yours. You had looked up at him earlier with mirth swimming in your eyes, giggling. “Nervous ‘cause we’re on a date?”

Seungkwan pouts. “Well, yes, actually. Simple as it is, I’d like this to be our first date of many.”

He sees the shock cross your eyes before it's replaced with pure joy. You tuck your face more into your scarf and Seungkwan physically feels his fists clench with the sudden urge to pinch your cheeks.

“Okay,” you mumble, reaching for his hand and locking your fingers together. “Lead the way, then.”

Seungkwan giddily tightens his hold on you. He simply can’t believe his luck. The love between you two feels like second nature, like something he’s known how to do all his life, and he wouldn’t trade the feeling of your hand in his for the world. You’re his go-to point of contact. His best friend. His partner in crime. His person.

The January sun, long and painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink, is dipping behind the city buildings when he stops. He didn’t really have a spot in mind for what he wanted to say, instead basing it off of how many steps he could take before the golden hour light hit your face just right.

He wants to kiss you again.

You quizzically raise an eyebrow as Seungkwan rubs his glove-encased thumb along yours, his brown eyes warm. “I know you said I just have to be myself, but being myself includes being totally and immensely in love with you to the point of having to confess twice. Also because my pride still can’t take that I confessed earlier than I wanted to.”

You’re laughing, and he is too, but he wipes away the tears welling up in his eyes and returns his hands to yours, proceeding. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. I’m so grateful and blessed by the stars to have had you in my life as a friend up until now, and I promise you, I’ll do everything I can to return the happiness and more.”

He says your name, soft and precious. Your eyelashes flutter. “Will you let me have the honor of being your boyfriend?”

No hesitation laces your reply.

“Yes, stupid. For you, it’s always yes.”

Sharing giggles, you throw your arms around his neck, lips brushing his before closing the remaining distance. The kiss is just as sweet as the first few, however a little colder due to the frigid winds picking up around you. He feels your smile against his lips and knows his expression is mirroring yours. It's silly and profound, and you would think with how dramatic he’s being, he just proposed to you for life. Shit. He’s getting ahead of himself, and stuffs the thought away for another time.

He pulls away this time and clutches you close to him. “Let’s go inside now? I actually had more to say, but I’m freezing.”

You throw your head back in a mellifluous laugh and nod vigorously. Smiling, Seungkwan firmly believes he’ll never get tired of the sound, just like he’ll never tire of his life being entwined with yours.

┊ Bonus:

Your teeth are chattering and your skin tingles as you step into your wonderfully heated and dimly lit apartment. “Wow, it’s so cold out—”

“Surprise! Happy birthday!”

The lights flicker on as you shout, scrambling back into Seungkwan’s arms. Your friend group stands in various corners of your living area, some holding party poppers and wearing poorly suited birthday hats. Seungcheol holds a cake in his hands that’s frosted with your favorite color. When they see the two of your guys’ interlocked hands, a second round of cheers erupt, and you laugh in disbelief.

“Just so you know, you can thank me for you two finally getting together,” Chan exclaims happily from his spot next to a smirking Jeonghan, pumping his fist in the air with the excitement of a kid who just got told he can stay up an hour past his bedtime.

Seungkwan lunges for him.

“Okay, but am I wrong? Stop it—ow, wait, ouch, stop—!”

#seventeen #boo seungkwan #boo seungkwan x reader #seungkwan x reader #seventeen x reader #boo seungkwan fluff #boo seungkwan imagines #seungkwan fluff #seungkwan imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #svt fluff #svt imagines #boo seungkwan x you #seungkwan x you #seventeen x you #rania :3 #🎶 artist discography

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luveline · 1 year ago

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I don’t really have a request I just love anything you write💗 maybe something with girly!reader?

thanks lovely💗

Spencer wrings his hands behind his back, shifting from one foot to the other unhappily. He hasn't felt this nervous since he was young —his PhDs have acted as a shield for years now. Even if he doesn't know what to do, he physically cannot be stupid.

He feels pretty stupid. Less when you look up, smile blinding and sticky with gloss. He's thought about how it would feel to kiss you before and he tries desperately to push the thought away now, his hands shaking where they're hidden.

"Hey, Spencer Reid," you say, lightly teasing as you wave him toward you. "How are you?"

"I'm good."

"Yeah?" You gesture at the empty seat in front of you. "Are you having lunch?"

The bureau cafeteria is less of a cafeteria in the kitchen sense and more of a staff room, though hot food is served at the very back. There are couches toward the patio of an outdoor area to the left. You sit at one of the tables near the doors. The air is cold around his ankles as he sits with you.

"No, I– I came down for coffee, but the jug is empty." It's a bad lie. Luckily you have no idea that there's a kitchen in the BAU offices. "You're not?"

You turn your laptop screen to him. "I ate my lunch at my desk. I'm just catching up with my show." Your laptop has stickers around the screen, silver shiny stars and tiny pink hearts that look like they're made of jelly. There's a closed bottle of nail polish resting near the keyboard. "And I'm gonna touch up my nails, too. They're always chipping."

"They look perfect to me," Spencer says.

You beam at him, beatific, so, so pretty, he could die. He might. "Thanks, honey. You'd look cute with painted nails, have you ever thought about it?"

Spencer honestly forgets about his nails. He should take better care of them. He thinks about hiding them under the desk. "I don't think I could do it."

"No one's good at it, at first. I'd paint them for you, if you wanted. I have a couple of things in my bag."

Spencer's relieved to present freshly trimmed nails to you for painting. Your polish is a light blue colour, milky, and he assumes it'll be the one you use on him, but you decide to ruin his life, taking his hand into one of yours. You hold his fingers in a way that presents the nail as you brush cuticle oil around the edges of his nails with a small pen brush. You chatter as you do in your way, all sweet and gentle in mirror of your touch.

He's proud of himself for keeping his cool. To have you touching him for so long, so kindly, to have your attention, it has him squirming with a mixture of pleasure and horror. He wants to be seen by you but he doesn't know if he likes what you're looking at.

"You have really lovely hands," you say, using the tip of one of your nails to scrape stray wet polish off of his skin, "do you play piano?"

"You can tell?" he asks.

"Pianist's fingers," you say. "That's a thing, isn't it?"

"I haven't played much since I was younger. I got distracted by other stuff."

"Maths," you surmise. "And criminology?"

Everything. He pushed away a want for human connection with books and education until it got too much. Even the wisest of honeybees will brave heavy rain for a beautiful flower, and that's sort of how he feels about you. He knows it's stupid, knows it's doomed, but he couldn't not try to speak to you. You're the prettiest girl he's ever seen, all your lip colours and shimmery eyeshadows, the chirpy way you talk, the earnestness of your please and thank yous.

Your hands. The silver ring on your index finger dotted with tiny pink stones. Your bracelets. The smell of your perfume and your soft sweaters.

"Done," you announce, an uncharacteristic hesitance to your tone. "Are they okay?"

You've done a perfect job. "They're so neat. Thank you. I– I love it."

Your eyes linger on his hands. "I love when guys wear nail polish. You're even handsomer now, it's crazy. I didn't know it was possible."

Spencer should have more style for sure, but he asks you to dinner right then and there.

You smile until the lashes kiss in the corners of your eyes and say yes. This new place opened just around the corner from your apartment, and you've been trying to drum up the courage to ask him all week. When Spencer hears that he almost passes out.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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mysteryshoptls · 2 months ago

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SSR Trey Clover - Room Relaxation Voice Lines

I don't need anything special just because it's my birthday. I'll be happy just spending it peacefully as ever.

Summon: Living in a dorm is always lively and enjoyable, but that's what makes my alone time even more precious. I wonder what I should do tonight?

Groovification: Today's my birthday... So just let me sleep in a bit more.

Home: Guess I'll head to sleep.

Swap Looks: Can't forget to brush your teeth before sleeping and after waking up.

Home Transition 1: Whew... Oh, oops, I zoned out there for a bit. Time flies when you're not paying attention, huh. Guess I'll brew some coffee.

Home Transition 2: It's always good to have a light top layer handy. It's pretty useful to quickly throw on whenever I need to stay up a little late.

Home Transition 3: Jamil's present was a hot eye mask. I really like how soothing it is. He really gave me something nice.

Home Transition - Login: It might be fun to make my own birthday cake, sure... But there'll be so many sweets at the party that it could be too much to try to eat.

Home Transition - Groovy: I was shocked when Silver gave away that Riddle was planning a surprise for me. The fact that he didn't even seem to have revealed it with ill will is a problem in and of itself...

Home Tap 1: I'm starting to feel a little peckish... No, I shouldn't. I definitely don't want to doze off and wake up without having brushed my teeth, so.

Home Tap 2: I got a notif of a new video. Oh, they're making a boat out of chocolate, huh. This pâtissier sure is something, as always.

Home Tap 3: I received some oil from Ortho, and I'll admit, I did tense up a bit... But when I checked, I was relieved to see it was just olive oil for cooking.

Home Tap 4: I wasn't expecting Sebek to wish me a happy birthday. His tone was arrogant, as always, but maybe he's actually a conscientious guy...?

Home Tap 5: I seem different from usual? I don't think I'm doing anything different... Ah, maybe it's because I'm not wearing my glasses?

Home Tap - Groovy: How do I spend time when I'm in my room? I don't really do anything too special... Although honestly, I'm actually not a morning person, so I just try not to stay up too late.

Duo: [TREY]: Thanks for the earnest well wishes, Silver. [SILVER]: I wish you the very best, Trey-senpai.

Birthday Login Message: You're here for my birthday, huh? And this present... Oh, it's honey! Thanks! It's useful and honestly, easy to comprehend. What I mean is, we had a Science Club meeting today, and... Well, while the club members were wishing me a happy birthday, Rook gave me something. Look at this. According to Rook, it's a "wondrously beautiful clover," but... Is there any difference from a regular clover? I don't really get it... What about you? If you can figure out the difference, let me know on the down low.

Requested by @farfalla49 and @sakurakudo.

#twisted wonderland #twst #trey clover #twst trey #twst silver #twst translation #twst birthday

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mirai-e-jump · 4 months ago

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Uchusen Vol.186 (Autumn 2024) Kamen Rider Gavv | Detail of Heroes ft. Main Cast Interviews (other pages and translations below)

Publication: October 1, 2024 (between episode 5-6)

Chinen Hidekazu (Shouma)

"Which shows from the Kamen Rider series have you seen?"

Chinen: From my generation, I watched "Kamen Rider W," "OOO," "Fourze," and "Wizard." I've been watching "Kamen Rider Zero-One," a masterpiece by Director Sugihara, who also directed the pilot of Gavv, and recently I watched "Kamen Rider Den-O" for the sake of studying.

"Who would your all time favorite Rider be?"

Chinen: Including OOO, I like alot of them, but lately I've been particularly fond of Den-O. It was really amazing to see each of the Imagin's personalities being performed by Satoh Takeru-san, the lead actor. The theme song is good too. I listen to the OP every episode without skipping it.

"Please tell us about the time of your audition for Gavv."

Chinen: We were put into pairs, one would play a role reminiscent of the food lover Shouma, and the other played a cool role similar to Hanto. During the first audition, I made a mistake. When I was supposed to do a performance where I entered the room from outside, I mistook the door for an outward opening one instead of an inward one, so I kept trying to pull it when I should've been pushing, and it ended up making alot of noise. I also heard the Producers laughing because I was having trouble getting in, but when I finally did, I continued the performance as if nothing had happened. Thinking about it now……I guess maybe that feeling of disconnect was also linked to Shouma's.

"We're sure you must've been quite flustered at that time"

Chinen: I was really flustered because of that (laughs). I was panicking quite abit because it wasn't an act, I really made a mistake. Still, I thought, "I've come this far, so let's do this!," so it might've been a good thing that I was able to accept it and give an earnest performance.

"How were you informed that you had been chosen?

Chinen: One day, my manager called me and said, "I need you to come to the office after work." I went to the office thinking, "Maybe they're upset at me for failing something?," but they said, "We have a report. We're disappointed to tell you that the final audition for Kamen Rider is no longer available." I was frustrated because I thought I had been rejected, but I still said, "I understand, I'll do my best next time." At that exact moment, the staff came through the door and shot off party poppers. That's when I asked my manager, "This isn't a dream, is it?" I pinched myself just to be sure (laughs). Even though it hurt, I couldn't believe it, and when I finally became aware of it, I felt like, "I'm the happiest guy in the world right now!"

"How did you inform your family?"

Chinen: I immediately called my mother about it. She said, "Hide, will you be okay with having the lead role?" Ever since I was little, I always said I wanted to one day play the main character in Kamen Rider. Both my mother and father supported this dream and saw me off to Tokyo. However, I really didn't think it would come true, and I think I was more worried about whether I'd be able to play the main character in such a big title before I was happy.

"Please tell us your impressions when you learned that Gavv was a Kamen Rider with a sweets motif."

Chinen: I received the proposal at the same time I was chosen to play the lead role, so that was the first time I learned about it. My first thoughts were, "A sweets Kamen Rider?" and "What will the gummies be like?" I didn't immediately understand the concept. It was the same kind of impact I felt when I first saw the orange and armor motif of "Kamen Rider Gaim." Still, when I read the proposal, it was very original and interesting. I could really feel the passion of the creators in wanting to create such a hero needed in the era we live in. I thought, "I want to be that kind of hero, and I also want to do my best!" I was impressed by the way the Rider's design incorporated gummies and potato chips, and I thought, "The person who thought this up is a genius."

"What's your absolute favorite form?"

Chinen: As of right now, it's Zakuzaku Chips. I'm a big fan of dual wielding swords, as I often use dual wielding characters in games. Also, I like the jagged potato chips on its eyes. From a distance, doesn't it look like Kamen Rider OOO? I like that about it too.

"Due to the complicated background of the character, we feel that Shouma, who you're playing, requires difficult performances. What kind of orders did the Director give you?"

Chinen: Director Sugihara said, "While he is a young man, I want him to retain a part of his innocence," and that, "He's friendly, but there seems to be a wall between his heart." He said, "He has a bright side and a dark side that he doesn't show others. I hope you can show us how well you can switch between those two personalities."

"Shouma's upbringing is one thing, but it's also cruel that the enemies he's fighting against are his family."

Chinen: Yeah, I personally think it's so cruel, that I pity Shouma. It's a harsh story for a show that's meant for small children to watch. I personally feel like it's mentally draining to play the role of blood related brothers fighting against each other as enemies. What's more, there's no escape from that fate. However, while the story and Shouma's circumstances are hard, the eating of sweets and poppin scenes help soften the situation. The gap between those scenes gives more depth to the hard story. I also try to be conscious of this when I act differently.

"It seems to strike a good balance between the poppin imagery and the hard content."

Chinen: Some fans predicted, "Is it going to be a show like Gaim?," when they saw the official announcement before the show aired. Kamen Rider productions that start out appealing to the "pop" part tend to have harsher developments (laughs). I myself don't want it to be too serious, so through trial and error, I'm still trying to figure out how to make the "pop" in Gavv stand out.

"The role sounds like a pretty high hurdle to clear."

Chinen: Still, I think it was the same for my seniors who performed in previous Riders. I believe that it's Kamen Riders who overcome their troubles, conflicts, and ordeals.

"How was filming for the transformation pose?"

Chinen: The pose was decided on three or four days before we started filming. We agreed on it through discussions among myself, Action Director Fujita-san, and Director Sugihara. In the first episode, there was no proper pose, as the transformation was done during a pinch, so the pose wasn't done until episode 2, but the transformation scene in the first episode was also very cool. Shouma's body slowly changes, and at the end, we get a closeup of his face and Gavv's mask, but he doesn't change all at once, leaving the eyes unchanged. It was very cool, and I was trembling by the way they showed the expression in my eyes until the very end! This is a special version that's only found in the first episode, so I hope you'll watch it again.

"We think that there'll also be action scenes before the transformation, but what about you?"

Chinen: The action is alot of fun……that being said though, I struggle with it quite abit. Action isn't just about being good at punching and kicking. I have to make the action visually appealing. Despite all that, I of course have to put my feelings into it. Fujita-san was by my side the whole time, and Gavv's Suit Actor Nawata Yuya-san was also always near the cameras, and he was very helpful and gave me advice like, "You did it this way before, but why don't you try it this way?" Also, I practice kyokushin karate, so that might be why I was praised for my kicks. So, when it came to direction, we also had an increase in kicking scenes. Over the next year, I'd like to improve my action skills more.

"How was post recording?"

Chinen: It was my first time, so it was much more difficult than filming. Director Sugihara spent alot of time with me for episodes 1 and 2 in particular, since they're the ones the viewers would see for the first time. After that, Director Sugihara gave me some advice. Shouts like "Hah!" and "Tah!" tend to become monotonous as it goes on, so he said, "I want to see some variation." He recommended the game "Street Fighter" as a good reference. I wrote down the shouts I thought were good in a memo and did them my own way. Naturally, I also referred to the shouts of my senior Riders.

"What's been your most passionate scene so far?"

Chinen: It would have to be the transformation scene in the first episode. Until then, the wind had been blowing so strongly, that it was like a cloud of dust, but it stopped right as it came time to do my performance. Thanks to this, we were able to shoot the cut where the wind makes Shouma's hair rise up and reveals his eyes. I also talked with Director Sugihara about it, saying, "It's a scene where the wind was on our side."

"How's the teamwork with your costars, Hino Yusuke-san and Miyabe Nozomi-san?"

Chinen: Both of them are usually friendly, but when they get in front of the cameras, they quickly switch into their roles. They're the type of people who can clearly switch on and off. Not just for Shouma, they're also my own reassuring friends.

"We were told that among the three of you, Chinen-san's plays the role of the funny guy, while Hino-san's the straight man."

Chinen: Sometimes I'll derail the conversation or make bombshell statements (laughs). Each time, Hino-san puts us back on the right track. Miyabe-san watches from a slightly removed position, but will sometimes react.

"By the way, Chinen-san, what's your favorite sweet?"

Chinen: It's gummies, naturally! However, since I'm from Okinawa, I'd also like to promote "chinsukou" and "sata andagi" (laughs).

"We'd also love to see those two appear as Gochizou."

Chinen: Will they appear?! It seems like they'd be limited to Okinawa. Of course, I'd be happy if they come out, but for now I'll just hope for it within my heart.

"Finally, please give a message directed to all the fans of Gavv."

Chinen: The story of Kamen Rider Gavv began with a young man coming from another world to the human world. I hope that you'll pay attention to how Shouma meets unique friends in the human world and grows. Especially the bond he has with his mother, family bonds is one of the themes, so if possible, I'd like you to watch it with your loved ones. If you watch it, you'll definitely want to show your love and respect to your parents. I'd like to make this a show that you can support throughout the year. I hope you'll pay attention to and enjoy the activities of not only our cast, but also the Gochizou. I look forward to your support throughout the next year!

Hino Yusuke (Hanto)

"Have you watched the Kamen Rider series?"

Hino: I have an older brother, so we had alot of transformation belts from "Kamen Rider Kuuga" and other early Heisei series at home. In terms of my generation though, it would've been "Kamen Rider Den-O." After that, I watched "Kamen Rider Kiva" and "Kamen Rider Decade."

"Who's your all time favorite Rider?"

Hino: I watched it with enthusiasm, so it'd have to be Den-O. When I was in elementary school, I commuted to school by train and was once stopped by a station attendant when I tried to walk through the ticket gate with the pass for the transformation belt (laughs).

"Did you play the role of Hanto during the audition?"

Hino: I also played the role of who I later found out was the main character, but in the end, I was frequently assigned the role of Hanto. Still, I thought his character had a cool position when they explained him to me, so I wasn't sure if he'd fit with my everyday self.

"How was it when you learned that you had been chosen?"

Hino: I was shocked because I wasn't expecting to be picked. The way my agency informed me also startled me abit. I was so happy and shocked, that I was in a state where I couldn't think straight for about five minutes.

"Did you contact your family right away?"

Hino: I was told it was okay to contact my parents as soon as I could. My mother cried and was delighted. Hearing my mother's tearful voice on the other end of the phone caused me to cry as well. My father never seemed very interested in my work, but when I told him that I had passed the audition, he exclaimed "seriously?!" in the loudest voice I had ever heard (laughs). It made me really happy when I heard that. My father's always worrying about me. I started this work when I was in high school, but was told, "You're a student, so your priority is your studies and to then go to college." However, my work became so busy, that it became difficult for me to attend college, and my parents were constantly worried about me. That's why I think I was finally able to reassure them by passing this audition, and it's a new starting point for me as well. In this day and age, TV dramas that run for a year are rare, so I'm grateful for the opportunity to participate in one, and I'll do my best this year without forgetting to keep my mind fresh.

"What was your first impression when you read the script?"

Hino: When I first heard about the motif, I thought, "What would a sweets Rider be like?" I think everyone's first guess would be a poppin, cute hero. So, while yes, the designs give off a cool, cute and modern feel, the story is very dramatic. The lives of Shouma and Hanto, who I play, will gradually overlap, and many other appealing characters appear, which always makes me wonder what will happen next. I myself look forward to the next script whenever I receive one. How will Hanto become a Kamen Rider, and how will he relate to Shouma after becoming one? I hope that you'll look forward to that.

"Did the Director give you any orders regarding your performance?"

Hino: I was told, "It's good to be more flexible." There's the way he approaches people with his fake smile when he's a freelance writer, and his "I'll crush you" anger when he confronts a Granute. It didn't matter what others would think, he told me, "I'd rather you vary his strengths and weaknesses so that he looks like a different person." At first, I thought Hanto was a cool character. It certainly looks that way when compared to Shouma and Sachika, but there are surprisingly few scenes resembling that in the show, it's more like he's clumsy around people. The Director raised the mood of my first appearance scene, up to the point where it felt like a silly older brother had appeared. That part changed the impression I had when I first received the script considerably.

"We have the impression that freelance writers are prone to being disliked, as they're always snooping around and are persistent in pestering the main character."

Hino: While I can't speak for myself, Hanto himself is a character who's teased during the show, so he's the most lovable character. He acts with conviction, and I think that's what makes him so cool, but he sometimes ends up getting nowhere, so he gets teased. And yet, when he's teased, he'll get angry and say, "Don't screw with me!," but he doesn't deny it (laughs). The reason Hanto's slowly becoming more like that may be due to the fact that my own character is starting to come out. In this sense, I feel that the synchronization with the role has risen. This way, Hanto's character has a wide range, so I'm able to play him rather freely.

"After this, Hanto reaches a major turning point when he becomes a Kamen Rider, so did you switch up your performance there?"

Hino: For Hanto, it's not so much a situation where his fate has taken a turn for the worse, it's more like his connection from the past has further unfolded. That's why rather than switching between before and after he becomes a Kamen Rider, I tried to separate his role as a freelance writer from his desire for revenge against the Granutes. To tell you the truth, after I learned about Hanto's early life, I tried to avoid "seeing" his family as much as possible in order to understand his loneliness alittle better. That's why when he confronts the Granutes, I think his eyes are pretty much burning with anger. It is of big help for him that he's surrounded by cheerful characters like the Gochizou and Sachika.

"How was the first transformation scene?"

Hino: Before his first transformation, another major event happens to Hanto which leads to him becoming a Kamen Rider. With the power he's acquired for the first time, Hanto's first transformation is a scene where he shows the anger and hatred he's been holding onto for such a long time towards the Granute. Trying to convey those emotions through my performance was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I think that Valen's transformation itself was also unrefined, unlike the image of a perfect hero with overwhelming strength. Still, he's unrefined but works as hard as he can, so I'd be happy if everyone who watches the show can feel that there's a cool feel to him. In a scene where "tears" are an important point in the direction, I was so emotional, that tears genuinely ran down my face as well. I still remember this because it was a moment when my emotions and my performance matched up.

"As Hanto, did you feel like he reached the climax from the earliest stage?"

Hino: No, no! This isn't the end of his story! (laughs). I'm sure there'll be many more climaxes from now on, and I'm personally looking forward to them.

"What did you think of Kamen Rider Valen's design?"

Hino: There was more chocolate than I expected (laughs). Despite that, it's cool. I also like that Valen is a "helmet type," while Gavv is a "mask type."

"By the way, Hino-san, what's your favorite sweet?"

Hino: Chocolate of course!

"Do you have a favorite secondary Rider from previous Riders?"

Hino: It's Kamen Rider Zeronos from Den-O. I love his "I'm pretty strong!" catchphrase! In terms of actors, I like Yoshizawa Ryo-san, who played Kamen Rider Meteor in "Kamen Rider Fourze." When you're that cool at giving a performance, you can't be beat. Director Kamihoriuchi previously told me that when Yoshizawa-san was told to "do something like this," he instantly made it his own performance instead of following instructions. He also said, "His ability to adapt was exceptional." It made me want to be an actor like him. He's a respectable person.

"We'd like to see a catchphrase from Valen as well."

Hino: Yeah. He currently doesn't have any lines that he's always saying, but I'll try to bring out Hanto's human appeal while standing beside Shouma, the hero from another world.

"Do you want to film some action of yourself before transforming?"

Hino: Action is fun! I do voluntary training on a daily basis together with Valen's Suit Actor Kaji Kotaro-san, Gavv's Nawata Yuya-san, and everyone else on the Action Team. The day before an action scene is set to be filmed, they would assist me in practicing for it. With the exception of impossible scenes, I've been challenging myself to not use a stand in.

"How's the teamwork with your co stars, Chinen-san and Miyabe-san?"

Hino: We get along very well. They're both really adorable, but they're professional actors who are reliable on set. In a good way, we're rivals and friends. I hope I can build a better relationship with them from now on.

"Not long ago you said, "It might be his own fault that Hanto's become a character who's teased," but is Hino-san himself a character who's being teased?"

Hino: Basically, I play the role of responding to Chinen-kun's jokes (laughs). However, including Miyabe-san, when the three of us are together, I sometimes play the role of a fool, and will often be the one saying, "Hey, cut it out~." That's the way things usually go. Just so you're aware, I am the oldest (laughs).

"And now finally, please give a message to all fans of Gavv."

Hino: For me, Kamen Riders are the heroes I've dreamed of being since I was a child, so I'm very happy that I'm able to be involved in this historic series. Over the next year, I'll do my best to meet and exceed everyone's expectations with sincerity, and without forgetting my original intention. I look forward to your support!

Miyabe Nozomi (Sachika)

"First, please tell us about the time of your audition for Gavv."

Miyabe: I'll be honest, the audition was a disaster. The audition script contained several assignments, each being individually numbered. At that time, act 2 was a fainting performance and act 3 was a conversation between two people, and even though I thought, "I absolutely have to pass!," I was so incredibly nervous, that I ended up doing a fainting performance for act 3. The other actor spoke to me according to the script, and that's when I realized, "This is wrong!," but it was too late. The final audition didn't go well either. The Director told me, "Act like an aunt from Osaka," but I wasn't confident that I could pull it off, and that's when I became depressed and thought, "This is a lost cause." In spite of all that, I was surprised that I was chosen.

"How did you receive the report that you had been chosen?"

Miyabe: After the audition, my manager called me to come to Ginza. As I headed there and thought, "I wonder if they're upset about something?," they messaged me with, "Take a selfie with your phone." I didn't understand what they meant and was like, "Eh? Did I gain weight or something?" but then I got a message saying, "You passed the audition." It seems that the selfie was to document me going from freaked out to smiling. I had never been so emotionally moved as I was at that moment. This video captures a memorable moment in time, so I hope to be able to release it in some form someday (laughs).

"Have you watched the Kamen Rider series?"

Miyabe: I have a younger brother who's eight years younger than me, so we watched "Kamen Rider Drive," "Ghost," and "Ex-Aid" together. After I passed the audition, I watched "Kamen Rider Gotchard" in order to study.

"We're sure your brother was happy to know that his sister was going to play a role in Kamen Rider."

Miyabe: I still haven't told my brother yet (at the time of this interview). I was given the okay to talk to them about it, so I did contact my parents right away. I plan on surprising my brother by not telling him until the official announcement.

"What were your impressions of Gavv from reading the script?"

Miyabe: Each and every character has a story to tell, so I thought it was a production that'll keep you interested even early on. That's why I can never wait for the next script. I'm sure all the viewers feel the same way.

"Did the Director give you any orders regarding your role?"

Miyabe: Along with Shouma's Chinen-kun, Director Sugihara gave us acting lessons even before filming began. Each time, I was told, "Cheerful, cheerful." It was required at the auditions, so I always try to have the cheerfulness of an Osakan aunt and the kindness that seems to embrace everyone. Sachika is a gyaru president, but I've personally lived a life with no connection to gyarus. I also wasn't the type to stand out in class. That's why after I was chosen for this role, I learned to be more like a gyaru by listening to songs with a cheerful tempo, reading gyaru magazines, and watching official Youtube channels and TikToks.

"What does Miyabe-san think a gyarus mind is?"

Miyabe: I wonder…….No matter how difficult a situation may be, you can always think, "Well, I'll figure it out!," and in a positive sense, I think it's important not to "overthink" things. A friend of mine often says, "Keep a gyaru in your heart,” and I thought it was a very good saying. Thanks to those words, I'm now able to have a gyaru named Amane Sachika reside in my heart.

"Playing the role of Amane Sachika is also a "transformation" for Miyabe-san."

Miyabe: You're right! There's quite a gap between myself and Sachika, so I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that it's a transformation for me. I've never played a role so different from my own self before, so it's fun (laughs). It's not just acting that I enjoy, but also doing alot of research for the role.

"Did you also make your hair blonde for the role of Sachika?"

Miyabe: I did. I've always had black hair, but I bleached it three times to make it blonde. At first, every time I looked in the mirror, I was like, "Who are you?" (laughs). Still, once I got used to looking at it, I started to see myself in photos as a different person from who I used to see when I had black hair. Sachika also wears heavy makeup, so you might not even notice me when I walk down the street during my private time. That's why I'm thinking of wearing colored contacts and false eyelashes in my private time so people will notice me (laughs).

"Sachika isn't a fighter, but are there any plans for action scenes?"

Miyabe: There are no particular scenes set for me, but I was once allowed to participate in an action session. I didn't do very well at the time, but I'd be happy if they could prepare some action scenes for Sachika too! Since I went through great lengths to appear in Kamen Rider, I'd like to try my hand at action.

"Would you like to transform into a Kamen Rider like Shouma and Hanto?"

Miyabe: I'd like to do that too! Recent series always have female Kamen Riders, and my dream is to be one of them. However, Sachika's a woman with a strong heart, so even if she can't transform, I'd like to use the strength of her feelings as her "weapon."

"Miyabe-san, which Rider do you like more, Gavv or Valen?"

Miyabe: That's a tough question! (laughs). Gavv's a Rider from another world, so he's incredibly strong, but when he's alone he usually ends up in a pinch. And since Valen's the one who helps him, it's like they're one and the same. So, I guess I'd go with both.

"Have you ever directly seen the Kamen Riders on set?"

Miyabe: They're so cool! Being able to see those forms up close and personal will definitely motivate me for the next year. Before I entered this set, I thought the camera work was what made the action so powerful. Naturally, there are scenes like that, but the action itself is very powerful. When I watched episodes 1 and 2, I was surprised to see that the scenes that were already powerful without CG were even more powerful with CG.

"Were there any other spectacles unique to tokusatsu heroes?"

Miyabe: The Gochizou are made by using both props and CG, so during filming of the CG scenes, Chinen-kun talks to Gochizou that aren't there. I thought that kind of performance was difficult. Still, Sachika doesn't know that the Gochizou exists. She also doesn't know about the Granutes, or that Shouma and Hanto are Kamen Riders. They're so close, yet she only knows about Kamen Riders through gossip. I can only imagine what would happen to Sachika if she knew of the Granute's existence. She might want to try to get along with them instead of fighting. Of course, she'd become angry if someone she cared about got hurt by them.

"What's been the most impressive scene up to episode 5?"

Miyabe: Sachika runs a general store, so she and Shouma do alot of jobs together. I enjoyed the scene where they were handing out flyers to advertise the ramen shop. I'm looking forward to seeing what other jobs they do in the future. I also like the scene in episode 3, where Hanto comes to Hapipare and Sachika pokes him with a toy. I thought it was a good representation of their relationship. It's not that Sachika can't read the room, as when she has to do something, she'll do it, but the mood of the place comes first (laughs).

"Hino-san himself said that Hanto's a character that everyone teases."

Miyabe: Hino-kun himself often makes the set feel more relaxed when he's teased. I also mess around with him alot (laughs). It's kind of easy to tease him, almost like there's a sense of security and that it's okay to tease him. He's the oldest out of the three of us (laughs). Chinen-kun lightens up the mood with his interesting remarks, like when he says, "That's one way of thinking about it!" Once Hino-kun gets into it, it becomes really noisy. We screw around when it's time to screw around, but we're very serious when we have to face our roles. They'll suggest things like, "Let's try this here," or "Let's practice this alittle." I'm glad that the three of us will be together on this set for a year.

"Miyabe-san, what kind of sweets do you like?"

Miyabe: I like plum types of sweets, like crunchy plums and dried plums. On days when we have filming, I'll stop by a convenience store and buy one of those before heading to the set. However, the makeup artist pointed out to me that I should be careful not to eat too much, otherwise my face might puff up (laughs).

"And now finally, please give a message to the fans of Gavv."

Miyabe: Kamen Rider Gavv is poppin and cute, and I think it's a show that'll be easy for all kinds of people to relate to. I really hope that people of all ages will watch it. Since I'm also "armed" with a gyarus mindset, I'll do my best to cheer up tons of people. I look forward to your support over the next year!

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paulmescalsbiceps · 3 days ago

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𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆, 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆, 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 ˚ ⋆｡˚ Roommate!James x Reader.

Synopsis: a part two to slim pickins in which James and Reader finally decide to unpack the tension between them wc: 1.6k warnings: mentions of drinking, slight angst

Friday nights were usually reserved as time for yourself. Whether it be staying in and eating junk while watching your favourite show or spending a night out with your friends, it was the one night a week you were able to be completely in your zone.

James knew this and often spent the night out when you were in, or stayed out late when you needed the house to yourself. You had a mutual deal with each other that as roommate’s you would respect each other's desire for time for yourself.

This friday evening however, was Remus birthday. You liked James' friends, especially Remus and Sirius. They always brought out the best in each other regardless of how chaotic it could become. You saw them from time to time when they’d come round to your shared apartment to have a few afternoon drinks with James and they never forced you into unpleasant conversations.

James sat on the edge of your bed practically begging you to come with him. “Please, please, pleaseeee.” He pulled out that last please to emphasise how desperate he really was. “I love them, they're my best friends.” He turned to you, eyes filled with earnestness. “But I can’t deal with the flirting, they look like they want to eat eachother but never do anything about it.”

You almost scoff at his words. James, who had been teasing you relentlessly for months on end, making you blush and sputter simply by just looking at you, was complaining about someone not making a move. Ironic. You felt a little guilty for also not coming forth with your crush. But other than the flirting and occasional possessiveness, you had no proof James really liked you. Much more certain he just likes to see the way you hide your face in your hands when he calls you sweet names.

“James, I’m not ready at all, my hair hasn’t been washed since like Tuesday and half my clothes are in the wash.” You pull at your hair to show James just how bad you think it is. Instead of just observing like a normal person, James leans down and shoves his face in your locs. Inhaling deeply he sniffs at your hair before pulling back with a satisfied expression. “Smells good to me, Lovey”.

He was always sending you mixed signals. One minute he’s comforting you after a bad date and offering to make you breakfast, the next he’s on a date of his own. Maybe that was just his love language? Did he go around sniffing everyone’s hair? Either way the bond you had was not worth the risk of attempting anything, regardless of how badly you wanted to kiss his pretty blushed lips.

“Ok, Ok, if you stop sniffing my hair I’ll go.” You fall for James charm, “Who's going to be there?” His face lights up at your words. “Sirius and a few of Remus’s friends, I’ll stay with you the whole time if you need me too” he smirks before rolling sideways off your bed, leaving to get ready in his room.

—————————————————————————

Arriving at the pub you feel totally out of place already, James' arm is wrapped around your waist guiding you to a booth in the corner. He greets the table, introducing you. “This is my roommate, I bought her along if you don’t mind.”

“Always good to see you, works good?” Sirius asks, sitting so close to Remus he’s practically on his lap. Remus, whose face is bright red, politely greets you with a soft smile and small wave of acknowledgement.

Sliding into the empty space in the booth James scoots close to your ear, voice so close as he whispers “See what I mean? They’re basically humping each other.” James' dirty words make you feel flushed all over, heart beating at even the mention of something remotely sexual said by his smooth deep voice so close in your ear.

He pulls back and switches his attention from you to the rest of the group. You lean back against the booth as you try to recover, slipping away from the conversation to stare at James profile.

His beard has come through ever so slightly, stubble giving him a rugged look. Even like that, he looks as handsome as ever. March still brings in cold nights but James still wears a t-shirt, tight around his muscular biceps. Looking at him you feel warm.

—————————————————————————

Drinks go down as the midnight nears closer and closer. You hold a small bowl of pretzels close to your body alone at the table as the rest of the crew has moved to the bar. James occasionally checks in on you, making sure you're okay and comfortable. You can feel your body growing tired, eyes feeling droopy either from the alcohol you've consumed or weeks worth of exhaustion finally catching up to you.

Looking towards the bar you spot something that makes your heart drop. James leaned far over the bar counter making firm eye contact with the waitress in front of him. You instantly feel numb. James is a flirt with most people, even Sirius sometimes. But you felt deep down that his ongoing banter with you was real, not to just lead you on. At least you wanted to feel that.

Tears form in your eyes but you're too embarrassed to let them fall. Especially in public. You consider just leaving on your own and letting James make his own way home when he's ready but it doesn’t feel safe enough, especially this late. Not wanting to make a scene you continue to nurse a glass of water and nibble on the remaining pretzel to distract yourself.

The group begins to make their way back to the table one by one, saying their goodbyes and taking their leave. James comes up beside you, taking your jacket and holding it out in front of your face. “Ready to go, love?”. You know he means it to be enduring, but it sounds like torture coming out from his mouth.

Frustration fuels your body, grabbing your jacket and pulling it aggressively over your shoulders you politely say goodbye to a very drunk Sirius and Remus before making your way to the door. Not bothering to acknowledge James in the process.

You can hear him faintly behind you quickly say bye, before jogging behind you calling your name. “Wait up.” You pause, letting James catch up. “Are you okay, did I do something wrong?” His face is full of concern. It makes you feel guilty. You don't own James, he's allowed to flirt with other girls regardless of how sick that thought makes you feel.

“Just really tired James.” You choose not to bring up how you're really feeling, it's too late to properly process your emotions, let alone make James try to understand. The walk home feels a little awkward, walking side by side you choose not to acknowledge each other until you’ve entered the apartment.

Moving to the couch to take your shoes off, James follows you crouching in front of you. Soft hazel eyes meet yours, looking up at you. He looks like a deer, so innocent and docile. “Love, I just want to know why you're upset, did I do something?.” You're beginning to regret even going out tonight, confession heavy on your chest you breath out.

“I’m just really tired.” you explain, trying your best to excuse your outburst.

“No.” James' warm hands dwarf your own as he grips them tight in his palm, brushing his thumb against the side of your own. “I want you to really tell me what's wrong.” His voice sounds so small, like a child. You can see the guilt eating up at him as you study his face.

“I just got really jealous.” You breathe out. “Of what.” James' expression remains the same, waiting for you to spell out exactly why you feel this way. “I kinda thought you liked me because you flirt with me all the time, and then I saw you tonight with that girl and I just-” Searching James face to gauge his reaction before continuing. “Felt really angry.”

“With me?” He asks not moving from his position crouched on the floor. Your chest feels so tight. “Yeah, and myself.” James pulls his body upwards and sits next to you on the couch. He seems shyer than usual, eyes looking into his lap, hand still fiddling with your own. “I think I was just talking to her to distract myself, from you. You're so insanely beautiful and kind and just everything I could want in a partner I just don’t want to scare you off.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, heart pounding as he looks up again, gazing into your eyes. “I can come on pretty strong and I honestly didn’t think you would ever like me.”

“Of course I like you Jam-”. He cuts you off before you can finish talking. “YOU LIKE ME?” He all but shouts. You giggle at his energy, playing with the hem of your dress to calm yourself enough to speak again.

“You didn't get that from my tantrum earlier?”. James pulls your body closer, face barely an inch from his. “You were just being possessive, nothing wrong with that.” James grins down at you. You can feel the heat from his breath on your face. “Can I kiss you?” He breathes out, voice so soft. Pulling his lips to yours, you submerge yourself in the kiss. His lips move skillfully against your own before pulling back.

James keeps you close resting his forehead against your own, smiling a smug grin. “Should've done that a lot sooner.” He joked. You drawl back, attempting to stand up from the couch, laughing along with him. “Shut up.” He grabs at your hips pinning you back down, crashing his lips into yours. Yeah, you might be there for a while.

#james potter x reader #james potter fic #jamespotter #jamespotterimagine #james potter drabble

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

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poly!marauders x reader but reader is contemplating their relationship?

(IDK IF YOU DO ANGST SORRY 😭)

No worries!! It's definitely not my most practiced genre but I'm happy to give it a try :) Honestly unsure if this came out as angsty enough, so please do not be shy and let me know if not! Thanks for requesting

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 886 words

James, Remus, and Sirius balance each other out perfectly. James is so sweet he should come with a warning label, always showering everyone in affection and bringing joy into every room he's in; Remus emanates a quieter sort of contentedness, and he provides a calm, rational perspective when the others need it; and Sirius takes everything they have together and dials it up to eleven, the depth of his feelings so intense that being around him is almost a sort of high.

The issue is, you're not sure where you fit into all that.

The boys seem to care about you, but you can't really figure out why. You have none of James' lightness, Remus' patience, Sirius' humor. You've been trying to hold onto this thing between you, to enjoy it while it lasts, but waiting for the other shoe to drop is becoming maddening. Eventually—someday soon, likely—they're going to realize that they're better off without you.

Naturally, you're pondering this while Sirius braids your hair, James chattering about why he thinks you all need a dog (Sirius has pointed out that you already have him) and Remus reading with his back leaned against your side.

You're trying to figure out the least needy way to ask why they care about you when Remus nudges you with a movement of his shoulder.

"You've been quiet tonight, dove."

It's far from accusatory, but the other boys pick up on the implication nonetheless. Suddenly, all the attention in the room is on you. It's a bit overwhelming.

"I was just thinking..." you say tentatively, unsure of your words. "Do you think we'll all stay together?"

James looks as though you've slapped him, and though Remus doesn't turn, you feel the muscles in his shoulders tense.

"Why would you say that?" James asks. "Of course I think so."

"But..." Merlin, there's no easy way to go about this conversation. "I just, I don't really see what I'm bringing to the table here." You cringe at your own words, awaiting judgement—or worse, epiphany—from your boyfriends.

Sirius, whose hands have been motionless in your hair since you spoke up, abandons his project entirely, letting your hair drop limply from his grasp. "Wha—what does that even mean, what you bring to the table?"

Remus turns around, placing a reassuring hand on Sirius' shoulder. "Easy, love," he murmurs. "Y/N, can you tell us what you're worried about?"

You look between them as Sirius comes to sit beside Remus, feeling stupid and immature. "Sorry, it's not...a you-guys thing. It's just that, I can see how well you work together, and why you love each other, but I don't really see why you'd love me." Your voice gets quieter as you finish, shameful of your thoughts and the position you know you're putting them in.

Sirius releases a disbelieving exhale, slumping into Remus' side, and the taller boy wraps an arm around him, looking at you like you're one of his crosswords and have just given him a particularly perplexing clue.

"Sweetheart," James says, pulling your attention towards him, "it's not a matter of why we would love you, just that we do. Do you need to list off reasons for why you care about every person in your life, or doesn't it just happen?"

"I don't need to," you admit, "but I could. I love you guys because of who you are."

"And so do we," Remus says. "Dove, we care about you. Isn't that enough? Can you trust us with that?"

"It's not..." It's not a matter of trusting them. You'd trust any of them with your life, with everything. It's that you don't trust yourself. It's that you're worried you won't live up to it, to this earnest affection they're offering you. You don't think you deserve it.

"How about this," Sirius says, in his typical cut-to-the-chase manner. "If we didn't love you—and have damn good reasons for loving you—we wouldn't be with you. So there." You must look unconvinced, because Sirius arches a brow. "You don't think that, with James' bod and Remus' hot accent, not to mention my boyish charm, we could have anyone we wanted?"

You crack a smile, but Sirius just looks at you, awaiting an answer. You shrink a bit under his gaze.

"You could," you say sheepishly.

"Right." Sirius grins suavely. "And we used those combined faculties to snag this hot piece of ass." Without warning, he reaches out and drags you into him, the two of you piling an unfair amount of weight onto Remus.

You squeal, and James shouts "Oi! Leave our poor Moony alone," tugging on Remus' arm until Remus sighs, disentangling himself from Sirius and going to sit beside James. James ruffles his hair, planting a triumphant kiss on the taller boy's cheek. If Remus blushes a bit, you pretend not to notice.

"Got that?" Sirius looks at you threateningly, but his voice is soft, his eyes imploring. "We want you, baby. Finders, keepers."

James nods as if this is a sage decree. "Think you might be able to get used to that?" he asks, and you know he's only partly joking.

You relax into Sirius' hold, giving Remus and James an apologetic look. "Yeah," you say. You can definitely get used to this.

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omi-boshi · 11 months ago

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thinking of little omi wanting a dog but his parents tell him he has to earn it because it's a big responsibility for someone as young as he is. so, he sets up a piggy bank to save up for adoption fees. he doesn't tell his parents about it because he wants to show them when he's saved up enough money.

surely if he has the money that means he's responsible enough right?

in the following months, omi sets aside a fraction of his daily allowance to put into his piggy bank.

it's slow-going until his siblings find the piggy bank labeled with "dog savings" in omi's messy scrawl. they're so charmed by their baby brother's antics that they slip in their own spare change behind omi's back.

they never tell him of course because knowing their brother —their sweet and earnest little brother — he would want to do this on his own.

by the time omi's 10th birthday comes, his piggy bank is practically bursting at the seams. he holds it tightly in his little hands as his family sings him a happy birthday.

when it's time to blow out the candles and he has to make a wish, he lifts up the piggy bank and tells his parents how he's been saving up the past few months. that he has enough to pay for the adoption fees. that he's 10, and he's a big boy now, ready for big boy responsibilities.

"i'm responsible enough for a dog now, right?" he would then ask, eyes bright with earnest hope he tries so hard to tamp down just in case they say no. his parents would exchange surprised looks followed immediately by shaking heads and laughter. lots of laughter. omi is rightfully confused. he frowns.

are they laughing at him? the thought makes him flush in embarrassment. his dad leaves the room, still laughing. when he comes back, it's with a box that's almost a little too big for omi. the birthday cake lays forgotten, candles melted, as omi looks curiously at the box in front of him, then to his parents, and then his siblings, and then back to the box.

his older brother nudges him to open it and when he does, omi doesn't know what to do with himself. the akita puppy yipping at him in the box was too much for 10-year-old omi to bear that he starts bawling.

he's hugging the puppy to hide his tears, and in the background he hears cooing and more birthday wishes from his family.

see, his parents had always intended to give omi a dog the moment he asked. omi rarely asked for anything so whenever he did, his parents were always more than ready and excited to give it to him. however, this time, they waited until his birthday because, admittedly, they had a hard time thinking of what to get him.

it seems they made the right decision watching their son pet the akita in quiet awe. they're happy that their little boy loved his birthday present but when they see his dejected little pout a little while later followed by a sad, "i saved for nothing then..." they knew they had to make right with him (not really but what is omi if not their precious youngest).

and that's how omi ends up with not one but two puppies for his 10th birthday.

#i just think the sakusa family dotes and spoils their youngest a lot #but kiyoomi is a quiet kid who rarely lets his parents know what he wants so the rare occasion he does they're practically vibrating #in excitement to provide;;;;#they just love him a lot :(#i guess this counts as an early birthday piece :'))#advanced happy birthday kiyoomi (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)!#sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu #sakusa headcanons #haikyuu headcanons #sakusa kiyoomi fluff #haikyuu fluff #san's blobs #san's omi brainrot

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themeraldee · 5 months ago

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I feel like Homelander would be caught off guard by southern mannerisms in the way that nicknames and pet names are given out very easily. Like reader is a new stylist or something and Homelander doles out a rare compliment and she just beams. "Well aren't you just a sweet thing, thank you Hun"

"Well aren't you just a sweet thing, thank you hun."

Homelander is caught off guard by your earnest words, a genuine sparkling smile on your face while you spritz his hair with a bit of hairspray.

He's used to saying similar words condescendingly. So to have you say it so genuinely and with such honest politeness totally throws him off.

People who work for him are usually annoying, either spewing out fake pleasantries or they're jittery, all scared and walking on eggshells. Either way you're different.

In his eyes this gives you good motherly qualities he's very much drawn towards. The kind of southern hospitality and attitude that just makes him want to please you just so you praise him and tell him what a sweetheart he's being all over again.

It becomes a routine anytime he sits in the dressing chair. He stares at you through the mirror in front of him already giving you a beaming smile.

And there you go again.

"Well ain't you just a ray of sunshine today. What got you all happy?"

"Just having a good day." He shrugs, melting into your hands gliding through his hair, separating the strands to see what you're working with.

Or another day you hit him with a "Well, don’t you look like a million bucks today!"

And already he's puffing his chest out, squaring his shoulders so you see him in the best of lights. And does he purr under your care... You may just be touching up his hair a bit or styling it either softly or more professionally, depending on the event Vought brought you in to style him for. However, to him it's pure self-indulgent pampering as you softly run your fingers through his hair, giving him killer scalp massages. You always take care to make him comfortable and happy.

And you're not blind. He's being painfully obvious in his growing attraction towards you.

That's why you dare to stop him before he heads out to the stage. And you pull him in placing a soft kiss on his cheek, careful not to disturb the make-up he's had put on for the camera.

"Go get ‘em, sugar, I know you’ll do great."

And he's flustered. Looking away, the-tips-of-his-ears-red kind of flustered. It's an event like any other. Like he's done thousands of times yet now it feels like his entire life depends on it.

"You betcha." He gives you a salute and a little wink and with that he's off to, for once, give the next public appearance his all. Juuust in case you're watching.

#just a lil something someting for u #my boy has the fattest praise kink #so give him a few sweet words and he's eating out of your hands #homelander x reader #fic request #asks!

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goldsainz · 3 months ago

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# HIGH INFIDELITY — CHAPTER ONE !

SERIES MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ no matter what you do or who you’re with, rafe is the thorn in your side that persists.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ drinking, rafe’s a bitch.

003. NOTE !

✯ the italics part is meant to be past, normal is present. not a lot of rafe in this part, but we’re building up the tension, bear with me guys. also this is short n’ sweet, but it was either this or waiting like a week sooo 🤗

word count : 3,1k

Summer is, without a doubt, your favourite season of the year—a time when everything seems a little brighter, warmer, and full of promise. But above all, it’s the chance for romance that makes it truly special. As the breeze grazes your skin, you're struck with all the endless possibilities for a breezy, passionate fling. Summer brings not just warmth, but the promise of memories waiting to be made.

Perhaps that is why this summer feels different, why you're filled with a sensation you are not used to. Because, in true you fashion, you cannot help but fall for the first guy that makes eye contact with you. It’s as if that single look, just a fleeting connection, has already set something in motion within you. It doesn't really matter who they are, you just hope they're decent enough that when the summer ends you won't wallow until the next one.

Despite everything you’ve always been told—that Kooks and Pogues live in separate worlds, that some lines are best left uncrossed—you can’t help but feel all that advice slip away in a single moment. A single glance across the bonfire, a glint of warmth and interest in his eyes, has you questioning every cautionary tale you've ever heard.

He lifts his hand in a simple wave, and without thinking, you lift yours in return. He smiles, and you find yourself smiling back, helpless against the pull he seems to have over you. It’s such a small exchange, yet it sends a thrill through you. So simply, your heart is already in the hands of a Kook that probably doesn't even know your name.

For a single moment, just when you finally let your guard down and begin to lose yourself in the summer night, you feel a hard shove against your shoulder. The unexpected force nearly sends you toppling, and you stumble awkwardly to keep your footing. A quick flash of irritation floods your mind, and as you turn, you see the culprit—and, oh, if it isn’t the most predictable sight in the world.

It’s Rafe Cameron. Of course, it is. He moves through the crowd like he owns it, barely glancing your way, as if you’re invisible, or worse, just an obstacle on his path to whatever or whoever he’s fixated on.

“Watch it, Kook!” You shout at him, your voice sharp, as you glare down at the mess now soaking into the sand, the drink he so casually spilled with his careless shove. Typical Rafe—he couldn’t just bump into you and keep walking; no, he had to leave a mark, a small reminder of how easy it is for him to disrupt whatever, or whoeever, is in his way.

There’s no point in trying to get Rafe to acknowledge his mistakes. He wouldn’t care, and honestly, why waste the energy? Annoyed, you make your way toward the drink stand, trying to shake off the aggravation and enjoy what’s left of the night. The makeshift bar is stocked with copious amounts of beer, a few murky-looking bottles of whiskey, and vodka that looks questionably watered down. You sigh, filling a red cup and trying to hold on to a sliver of the excitement you felt earlier. Maybe it’s time to call it a night, to forget the rude shove and, disappointingly, to forget the boy you shared glances with.

“Hey,” a voice interrupts as you lift the cup to your lips, pulling you from your thoughts. You look up, and there he is—the guy from across the bonfire, standing right in front of you, his expression soft but earnest. “I’m sorry about him,” he says, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Huh?” The word slips out, and for a moment, you forget all about the spilled drink, the scowl on your face, even Rafe Cameron’s entitled shove. The memory of the night seems to blur, leaving just this moment, this exchange. You’re left with that same rush from earlier, only more intense now, standing close enough to see the way the firelight reflects in his eyes.

“He shoved you, right?” he asks, raising his voice slightly so it cuts through the noise around you. There’s a hint of concern in his eyes, and he leans in just enough for you to catch the faint scent of saltwater and something earthy, maybe cedar. “Or did I mistake you for someone else?”

“No, no,” you reply, shaking your head, a small, sheepish smile creeping onto your face despite yourself. “That was me, unfortunately. Rafe Cameron’s idea of saying ‘excuse me,’ I guess.”

He laughs, a low sound that somehow makes the rest of the chaotic night fade into the background. “Sounds about right,” he says with a shrug, like he knows exactly the kind of person Rafe is—and isn’t surprised in the slightest. His gaze lingers on you, though, holding a warmth and sincerity that feels like a stark contrast to everything you just experienced. It’s as if he’s actually seeing you, not just some girl who got shoved around in the crowd.

“So… can I get you another drink?” he asks, nodding toward your mostly empty cup. “You know, as a ‘sorry for my obnoxious friend’ kind of thing.”

"I don’t even know your name,” you say, keeping your tone casual, though you can feel a flicker of heat rising in your cheeks. Of course, you do. But he doesn’t need to know that. Not yet, anyway.

He raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes as if he’s caught on to your feigned innocence but decides to play along. “Is that so?” he asks, a grin curving on his lips. “Well, then. I guess that makes us strangers, doesn’t it?”

You bite back a smile, shrugging, as if the flutter in your chest is no big deal. “I suppose it does.”

He extends his hand, the light from the bonfire casting a warm glow on his face. “I’m Joshua, but you can call me Josh.” he says, as though you hadn’t already heard the name whispered among your friends a hundred times. “And you are?”

“YN,” you say softly, letting your name slip past your lips like a secret, as if saying it too loudly might break the spell of this moment.

“Well, YN,” he drawls, your name slipping off his lips like honey, rich and warm. Somehow, in the noise and firelight, it sounds sweeter coming from him than you’ve ever heard it before. “Can I get you a drink?”

You hesitate, just for a second, but then you nod, feeling a lightness in your chest that hadn’t been there before. “I’d like that, yeah,” you say, and suddenly, youre not so ready for the night to end.

As you lie peacefully on the beach, your head resting on Josh’s chest and the sun’s warm rays caressing your skin, a deep contentment settles over you. The waves roll in rhythmically, their soft crashing mixing with the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

Josh’s fingers trace lazy patterns along your arm, a quiet gesture that says so much without a word. Somehow, these last days have passed in a perfect blur, each moment with him slipping effortlessly into the next. It’s as if the rest of the world has faded into the background, leaving just the two of you and the freedom of these warm summer days.

It hasn’t been more than three days, you’re sure. But in the rush of everything—of his touch, of the laughter, of the long talks that stretch into the night—it feels like so much more. It doesn’t matter, though. Summer is fleeting by nature, and relationships, much like the warmth of the sun, can’t last forever. You’ve always known that.

Maybe that’s why things feel so easy with Josh. There’s no pressure, no rush to figure it all out. You don’t need a lifetime to know that this connection is real, even if it’s only for now.

“I was thinking…” he whispers, his voice sending a shiver down your spine as it tickles your ear. “Why don’t you come with me to a party? It’s very casual.”

You turn your head slightly so you can look at him, feeling the heat of his breath against your skin. “Where?” you ask, curiosity piqued.

“Just… at a friend’s house,” he replies, his words vague, as though he’s trying to keep something hidden. You sense it, the hesitation, like he’s afraid the full truth will make you back out.

“Okay… whose house?” you ask, your voice a bit firmer now, wanting a little more clarity.

You roll your eyes and let out a dramatic groan, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Fine. But the second he crosses a line, I’m out. Don’t try to stop me.”

Josh raises his hands, feigning innocence, though there’s a gleam of victory in his eyes. “Deal,” he says with a grin, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

“I’m serious,” you press, your voice soft but your gaze steady, locking onto his as if to underline your words. You want him to know you’re not playing around; Rafe has crossed too many lines before, and you’re not about to give him any more chances.

Josh’s grin softens into something more earnest as he takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I know. And I won’t let him pull anything. I’ll be right there with you.”

You nod, reassured—well, mostly. There’s still a twinge of anxiety at the thought of walking into Rafe’s space. But with Josh by your side, it feels like a risk worth taking. You take a deep breath, pushing away the doubts, letting yourself focus on the warmth of his hand in yours.

You know you’ll probably regret being so compliant later, but in this moment, under the warm sun and the gentle pull of his charm, you can’t find it within yourself to care. Not right now, anyway.

The party is at its peak when you step inside with Josh, his hand a steady presence on the small of your back. People weave around, stumbling and laughing, drinks sloshing as they chug another round. The air is thick with the smell of beer and perfume, the music pounding loud enough to shake the floor.

Tannyhill is enormous, every inch of it polished and perfect. Compared to the flimsy house you call home, this level of luxury feels surreal, almost insulting—like you’re trespassing in a world you’re not meant to be a part of.

“You good?” Josh’s voice is low against your ear, his fingers pressing lightly, reassuringly, into your back.

“Yeah,” you manage, glancing around at the high ceilings and spotless marble floors. “Big house,” you mumble, trying to play it off, but Josh catches the edge of awe in your voice and lets out a soft chuckle.

“Sometimes I forget,” he says with a smile, “that this is all just… normal to me. It’s weird, huh?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “A little.” There’s an underlying discomfort, a feeling of not quite fitting in, but with Josh beside you, you tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

As you navigate through the crowd, you spot Rafe across the room, casually leaning against a table, a smirk on his face as he watches the crowd unfold around him. His gaze shifts, and for a brief second, his eyes lock onto yours, his smirk turning into something sharper, something that sends a prickle of irritation through you.

Josh notices and gives your hand a squeeze, as if grounding you. “Remember our deal,” he murmurs, his tone playful but his eyes serious.

“Right,” you reply, taking a deep breath and letting it go, trying to shake off the feeling of being under Rafe’s watch. Tonight, you tell yourself, is about being with Josh, about experiencing his world—even if only for a night.

There are barely any Pogues here, you realize, glancing around at the faces in the crowd. Maybe a few who hover on the edges, those who toe the line between a bad season of hard luck and those who might actually crawl and beg to be part of the Kooks’ world. They’re the ones who keep their heads down, wearing uncomfortable clothes, trying to blend in without drawing attention.

You feel the difference even more now, the gap between you and this place, this crowd. Everyone here is effortlessly at ease, basking in the privilege that’s been theirs since birth. And yet here you are, standing in the middle of it all, aware of every sideways glance, every slightly raised eyebrow as you pass by.

“You’re sure it’s okay for me to be here?” you ask again, your voice low, almost like you’re bracing yourself for Rafe or one of his friends to notice you and kick you out.

Josh squeezes your hand, his expression softening. “Of course. They don’t care, really,” he says, his tone steady, almost casual, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You wish you could believe him. You’ve noticed, over these past few days, how little Josh seems to care about the whole Kook and Pogue divide. He doesn’t see you as an outsider, doesn’t seem to register the tension that hums just beneath the surface. To him, it’s all irrelevant, a line drawn in the sand that doesn’t matter. It’s refreshing—and it’s blinding.

Because Josh’s indifference almost fooled you into thinking the world works that way, too. Like the Kooks and Pogues can just coexist, that the labels and histories are meaningless. But tonight, standing in this mansion with strangers’ eyes glancing your way, you feel the weight of it again, the silent reminders that you don’t belong.

He notices the hesitation in your eyes, the way you’re pulling back, and his hand slides to your shoulder, a gentle reminder that he’s here with you. “Listen,” he murmurs, leaning close so only you can hear, “I don’t care about any of that, and if anyone else does… well, that’s their problem. You’re with me.”

His words are a comfort, but they’re not enough to erase the uneasy feeling that lingers. You force a smile, hoping he can’t see the doubt flickering there, and nod. “Right. I’m with you.”

For the slightest moment you feel at ease, but almost like clockwork, the grating voice of Rafe Cameron breaks your reverie, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Hey, man,” he greets, slapping a hand on Josh’s back in that familiar, boy-ish way.

“What’s up, Rafe?” Josh replies, his smile wide, clearly used to this dynamic, his tone casual and easygoing.

“Nothing much, just trying to keep everything at bay,” Rafe responds, his voice dripping with indifference as he talks like you’re not even standing there. Like you don’t exist in this moment, and it stings more than it should.

“Cool,” Josh shifts slightly, turning toward you. “I’m sure you’ve met YN, hope it’s all good that I brought her?”

At that, Rafe finally looks at you. The weight of his gaze makes your skin prickle, and for a moment, you almost squirm under it. “Yup, all good,” Rafe says, his voice laced with something colder, something discomforting. “I said you could bring anyone… and you did.”

The way he says it is so backhanded, so typical of him. You can practically hear the unspoken judgement in his words, feel it in the way he looks at you, sizing you up.

You’re not surprised, of course—this is Rafe, after all—but the little jab only adds to the discomfort that’s been creeping up on you all evening. You force a tight smile, but it feels too small, too weak for what’s really going on inside. Still, you keep your eyes on Josh, hoping he doesn’t notice how the atmosphere has shifted, how Rafe’s presence has twisted everything just enough to make you feel smaller than you are.

“Well, enjoy the party,” Rafe says, his smile almost too practised, like he’s delivering a line he’s said a hundred times before. The kind of smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, that’s meant to keep things cordial, even if the undercurrent of judgement is thick enough to cut through.

“We will,” Josh replies easily, not missing a beat, his voice smooth and unbothered, as though none of the tension is hanging in the air.

Josh’s hand finds yours, his fingers warm against your skin as he gently pulls you away from the conversation. But as you pass by Rafe, you hear him lean in slightly, his voice just low enough for only you to hear. “Not too much, yeah?”

It’s a whisper, but it feels like a slap. You can feel your brows furrow instinctively, the words gnawing at you. You’re tempted, so tempted, to turn around and shove him and ask, What the hell is wrong with you?

But you don’t.

Instead, you let Josh lead you away, his hand tightening around yours in a subtle reassurance. The music swells, the noise of the party grows louder, but it all feels distant now, like a blur around the sharp edge of Rafe’s comment. You try to ignore it, try to shake it off, but it clings to you, sticking in your chest like a splinter.

Even as you move through the crowd, you know that this night isn’t just about the music or the people—it’s about the silent things too. The things you can’t control, the things you have to push past in order to keep moving.

And Rafe Cameron is the one thing you can’t push past, no matter how hard you try. The one who thinks he can push you down, who sees you as something beneath him, a reminder of everything he’s convinced he’s better than.

But if there’s one thing he needs to know, it’s that you don’t go out without a fight. He might have the money, the reputation, the home twice the size of anywhere you’ve ever lived, but he will not ruin your summer.

He’s attempted to get under your skin before and failed. And you’re not about to let this be any different. The summer isn’t his to take from you, no matter how hard he tries. He’s not a force you’re willing to let derail everything good about these days. Not the warmth of the sun, not the nights you spend with Josh, not the taste of freedom you’ve felt since you stepped into his world.

You’ll be damned if you let Rafe Cameron, of all people, get in the way of that.

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pookalicious-hq · 2 months ago

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blue velvet... jinx x reader

| 1.4. progress not perfection | prev | next | masterlist

synopsis: two girls trapped within a world full of hate would do anything for eachother. too bad they're both crazy. tags/tws: mentions of mental health illnesses, mention of suicide, blood and gore, mc has split personalities word count: 6.4k

present day: age 23

The sea of bodies sucked you in from either side, a swirling tide of motion and sound. Figures twisted and jostled, their voices rising over one another in a cacophony of excitement as they vied for a glimpse of Progress Day’s marvels. The air itself seemed to hum with energy, the sharp scent of steam and fuel mixing with the sweeter notes of caramelized nuts and fresh pastries. Somewhere nearby, a musician’s lively tune spilled over the noise, adding a whimsical rhythm to the chaos. The skies above were dotted with colourful banners snapping in the wind, their vibrant hues adding to the sharp contrast of the gleaming metalwork around you.

You tugged your hood lower, the fraying edge brushing against your cheek. Your wings, folded tightly against your back, twitched with the urge to stretch, but you kept them carefully hidden beneath your cloak. You’d made sure to preen yourself before leaving—the careful shaking off of loose feathers, the smoothening of your clothes so no stray plume could give away your presence. The last thing you wanted was to leave a trail. This was one of those rare moments when you could blend in, wander the city unnoticed, a fleeting chance to lose yourself in the celebration. A chance to be anonymous.

Still, you allowed yourself a small indulgence. The half-eaten pastry in your hand was sticky, crumbs clinging to your fingers as you weaved through the press of people. The sweet, greasy scent clung to the air, masking the slightly metallic smell of the machines around you. Your sharp eyes flitted between the vibrant displays, absorbing the cacophony of sights: clockwork animals that chirped and hopped, automatons strumming clumsy tunes, and an inventor passionately proclaiming the future of pneumatic transport.

You couldn’t resist. It was too tempting.

As the inventor’s voice crescendoed into the dramatic pitch of a sales pitch, you let your fingers brush against the edge of your cloak, a small static charge crackling through the air. The spark zipped into the exposed wiring of the machine, and the entire contraption jerked violently. Its spindly mechanical limbs flailed, thrashing through the air, smacking into the inventor’s leg and sending him tumbling into the air like a ragdoll. He landed in a tangle of metal and steam, and the crowd erupted in startled laughter.

You grinned, stepping away from the scene before anyone noticed you had been involved. Mischief always seemed to find you when you least expected it. In a crowd like this, no one ever connected the dots—Piltover was too busy admiring itself to worry about one little disruption.

As you sauntered away, a small voice called out behind you, tentative and high-pitched.

“Um, excuse me, miss?”

You paused and turned, blinking down at the small figure tugging at your attention. The little girl, no older than seven or eight, gazed up at you with wide, earnest eyes. Her dirty-blond hair framed her face in soft waves, and her tiny hands were clutching something in front of her.

In her grip was one of your feathers, big and gray, its edges tipped with silver like moonlight on dark water. It shimmered in the light, reflecting the kaleidoscope of colours around you.

Your heart sank.

Shit.

You’d made sure to shake out your wings before you flew up—checked every inch to make sure there were no stray feathers left behind. So why now? Why this one?

“You dropped this,” she said, as if it were a treasure instead of an accident.

“Oh,” you started, trying to hide the momentary panic in your voice. You reached out to take the feather, tucking it quickly beneath your cloak as you flashed the girl a forced smile. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

For a moment, she hesitated, eyeing the hidden feather with wide, curious eyes. You bit your lip, embarrassment creeping up your neck. But you couldn’t help the soft, genuine chuckle that escaped you. “You know what?” you said, crouching down to her level and gently taking the feather. “Why don’t you keep it?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, then her face broke into a smile so bright it made the noise of the crowd feel distant. “Really?” she gasped. “For me?”

You nodded, tucking the feather carefully into her hands. “Tell you what,” you said, leaning in close, your voice taking on a conspiratorial whisper, “this feather isn’t just any feather. It’s magical. I got it from a storm bird all the way in Ixtal.”

Her face lit up, her small fingers brushing over the edges of the feather as if expecting something to happen. “A storm bird? Like, one that makes lightning?”

“Exactly,” you replied, your eyes gleaming with mischief. “They’re rare creatures, and their feathers are said to bring good luck. So, if you keep this, you might just find yourself a little magic of your own.”

She gasped in awe, clutching the feather to her chest like it was the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you very much!” she beamed, barely able to contain her excitement.

Before you could say anything else, the girl’s mother appeared, her hands already reaching out to tug her daughter away. The woman’s eyes flicked over to you, scanning you from head to toe with quick, dismissive contempt. The glint of judgment was unmistakable in her gaze.

“What did I tell you about talking to strangers?” the mother snapped, her voice sharp and cold.

You stood, pushing your shoulders back as the woman’s eyes took in your worn cloak and scuffed boots—your mismatched, patched-up appearance. The clothes didn’t fit right, and the grime of Zaun still clung to your skin like an old memory. It wasn’t lost on you how quickly people like her could size you up. You weren’t part of this world.

“Come on,” she said to the little girl, her tone softening as she tugged her away. “Stay away from people like that.”

The girl hesitated, clutching the feather tightly to her chest, her wide eyes locking onto yours. You gave her a reassuring smile, though it didn’t reach your heart.

The bitterness crept in slowly, curling at the edges of your mind like smoke—dark, lingering, and impossible to shake off. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen it. That look. The judgment, the fear, the instinct to pull away from someone different. But something about seeing it in that little girl—someone so young, so full of wonder—made it sting more than usual.

Kids didn’t start out like that. They weren’t born to look at the world through a lens of suspicion and hatred. They didn’t come out of the womb fearing people they’d never met, or fearing the things they couldn’t understand. That was something that was taught. Something that was learned, and twisted, and fed to them like poison over time.

It was the system that did that. The walls that divided Piltover from the Undercity, the invisible lines that separated the 'worthy' from the 'unworthy.' Kids weren’t born knowing the difference between the two—they learned it by watching the way the streets were built, the way the towers reached higher and higher above the polluted depths of Zaun. They saw how people in the Upper City looked down at the world below them, how they turned their noses up, how they judged everyone and everything in it.

They heard their parents talk about 'the undesirables,' the 'unfortunate ones' from below. How they were a threat to everything Piltover stood for, how the poor, the outcasts, the criminals—those who lived in the shadows—were all 'dangerous' and 'dirty.' It was the kind of talk that seeped into a child’s bones without them even realizing it, until one day, it was as natural as breathing.

That same venom dripped into the veins of the next generation, and before you knew it, it wasn’t just the parents. The kids, too, started looking at you with the same disgust. The same fear.

But that wasn’t where it ended, was it? No. The system kept feeding into that fear, kept reinforcing the lies. In Piltover, it was about power and wealth, about who owned the shiny things, who had the money to pay for protection. And in Zaun, it was about survival. People didn’t get to choose who they became when they grew up. They either adapted, or they were crushed by the weight of the world around them.

It didn’t matter if you were born in the Undercity or the Upper City—you had no control over the cards you were dealt. But the kids, they didn’t know that yet. They didn’t know how the system stacked the deck before they were even born, how it trained them to see the world in black and white, to fear anyone who didn’t look like them, who didn’t have what they had.

The little girl’s eyes had been full of that. Her innocent excitement, all that wonder, until it was tainted by the shadow of her mother’s words. “Don’t talk to strangers.” A simple phrase, but one that held so much more weight when it was uttered with disdain. It was a lesson wrapped in a cruel package: ‘People like you and me don’t mix with people like her. Stay away. Protect yourself.’

It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t the little girl’s fault at all. You couldn’t blame the kids for the hate that was woven into them. They didn’t choose to be born into it. They didn’t have a choice in the matter. It was just how the world worked. The system taught them to fear, to distance themselves, and to ignore the humanity of those who lived beneath them.

And that was why it hurt so much. You’d seen the same pattern play out over and over, each time making it harder to believe that things could ever change. Because how could they, when the foundations of the world were built on this kind of cruelty?

You let out a slow breath, shaking off the sting of the encounter. It wasn’t worth dwelling on. Not today.

The thought barely had time to settle in your mind before a familiar shadow flickered across the ground, and a sharp, high-pitched screech split the air. You blinked, looking up just in time to catch sight of your falcon cutting through the crowd, her wings slicing through the sunlight like blades.

“Hey there, sweet pea,” you murmured with a half-smile, but something was off.

Instead of her usual graceful descent toward you, she veered wide, circling above your head in erratic loops. Her usual comforting presence felt distant now, her flight pattern erratic, as though something had startled her. You furrowed your brow, your fingers instinctively twitching at your sides, almost reaching for a weapon, but you held back, watching her every move.

Then you saw it.

Her talons flashed in the sunlight as they dipped lower, catching your eye. In the clutch of her claws dangled something delicate—too delicate, too out of place in this bustling crowd. You froze, every muscle in your body tensing.

A single strand of blue hair, eerily familiar, dangled like a silent warning from her sharp talons.

Your stomach churned, the blood draining from your face as a sick realization crawled up your spine.

Something had gone wrong.

As gracefully as you could, you navigated through the throngs of bodies. The air seemed to tighten around you as the crowd closed in, their cheers and chatter blurring into a dull roar at the edges of your consciousness. Every instinct screamed for you to break into a sprint, to push past the mass of bodies clogging the streets, but you forced yourself to move carefully, methodically, with purpose. You couldn’t afford to make a scene, not here, not now.

You adjusted the hood over your head, the fraying edge brushing against your cheek as you ducked beneath a banner strung low across the street. A vendor called out nearby, hawking some mechanical marvel, his booming voice cutting sharply through the noise, but you barely registered it. Your focus was locked on weaving through the shifting sea of people, each step measured, your wings pressed tighter against your back beneath the cloak.

The strand of blue hair swung like a pendulum in your mind, its presence as vivid as if it were still dangling before your eyes. Jinx’s hair. There was no mistaking it. The vibrant hue was burned into your memory, a colour that belonged to her and her alone. That single strand carried weight—a message, a warning, maybe even a cry for help.

Your falcon circled above, her sharp screeches drawing a few curious glances from passersby. You clicked your tongue softly, a signal for her to keep her distance. The last thing you needed was her drawing more attention to you.

Ahead, the crowd thickened near a towering automaton display, its gleaming brass limbs performing a mechanical ballet to the delight of onlookers. You gritted your teeth, scanning for a gap, anything to slip through without shoving your way forward. The anonymity Progress Day offered was a double-edged sword—perfect for blending in, but a nightmare when every second counted.

You slipped between two gawking spectators, their laughter grating against your ears as you brushed past. A child darted in front of you, clutching a toy bird that flapped its wooden wings. You sidestepped just in time, your heart racing as you narrowly avoided knocking them over. The mother shot you a wary glance, her hand tightening on the child’s shoulder as she pulled them away from you.

That glance stung more than you’d like to admit, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Jinx was somewhere out there, and something was wrong.

Your falcon screeched again, louder this time, and you couldn’t help but glance up. She was circling tighter now, her movements frantic, as if urging you to move faster.

“I know, sweet pea,” you muttered under your breath, your voice barely audible over the clamour around you. Your fingers itched to do something—spark a current, clear a path, anything—but that would only draw eyes to you. You couldn’t risk it.

Not until you found her.

You quickened your pace, your movements fluid as you wove through the crowd. The sticky remnants of the pastry clung to your fingers, forgotten, as the urgency in your chest grew heavier with every step. Sorry Bluejay, I owe you one. You kept your head down, your breaths shallow, every nerve on edge as you closed the distance.

Somewhere in the city’s maze of streets and alleys, she was waiting. And you wouldn’t stop until you reached her.

The further you moved from the festival’s epicenter, the air shifted, growing cooler and quieter. The cacophony of laughter, music, and sales pitches dulled into a distant hum, like a fading memory. You kept your pace brisk but not hurried, eyes scanning every alley and shadow for signs of trouble.

This part of Piltover, on the fringes of the Progress Day celebration, was practically deserted. Banners fluttered lazily overhead, their vibrant colours muted in the dimming light, and the scent of roasted nuts and sweets thinned, replaced by the faint tang of salt from the harbour. The cobblestone streets underfoot felt uneven, and less polished, as if the city’s shine didn’t quite reach this far.

The shipyard loomed ahead, its silhouette jagged and imposing against the horizon. Tall masts and metallic scaffolding stood like sentinels, their shadows stretching long and dark. A faint tension buzzed in the air, something too subtle for most to notice but unmistakable to you.

Then you heard it.

Bang.

The sharp crack of a gunshot echoed across the empty yard, slicing through the quiet. Your heart jolted, and before you could process it, another shot followed, then another—rapid, erratic, like thunderclaps in a storm. The sound reverberated through the metal structures, amplifying its intensity, though you doubted it carried far enough to reach the festival crowd.

But out here, where the world had gone eerily still, it was deafening.

Your wings twitched beneath your cloak, your instincts screaming for you to take to the skies and close the distance faster, but you resisted. Drawing attention now, even in this desolate stretch, was too risky. Instead, you quickened your pace, your boots hitting the ground harder, each step echoing your growing urgency.

A scream tore through the air, shrill and desperate. The sound froze you mid-step, a cold weight settling in your chest. You knew that voice.

“Jay,” you whispered, fear threading through the name.

The screeching caw of your falcon pierced the air as she dove ahead, her wings slicing through the shadows like blades. Her presence was a beacon, guiding you toward the source of the chaos.

You rounded the corner of a massive stack of shipping crates, the metallic tang of gunpowder sharp in your nostrils now. The faint glow of flickering lamplight danced along the hulls of the docked ships, their reflections fractured in the water below.

And then you saw her.

The gunfire didn’t stop. It came in bursts, uneven and frantic, each shot like a scream.

Then came the actual scream.

High-pitched and sharp, it tore through the air and lodged itself in your chest. It wasn’t just panic—it was her.

Your pace quickened, every instinct propelling you forward. You rounded the corner of a shipping crate and stopped short.

She stood on the deck of a docked cargo ship, her shoulders hunched and trembling. Her gun—the one she never let out of her sight—was clenched tightly in her hands, the barrel still smoking.

There was no laughter, no sly grin, no sarcastic quip. Just frantic, shaky breaths and wide, wild eyes darting around like she couldn’t tell what was real anymore. Her hair whipped around her in the harbour wind, and her face was streaked with grime, sweat, and tears that carved clean lines through the filth.

Scattered around her were bodies, some crumpled and still, others groaning in pain. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the acrid stench of gunpowder, clinging to your throat like a sickness.

You’d seen her like this before. Episodes like these weren’t new—they had haunted her for as long as you’d known her. Back then, you’d been younger, just learning what it meant to be her anchor. You’d sat with her through sleepless nights and shattering breakdowns, trying to soothe chaos you could barely comprehend. It broke your heart every time.

But no matter how many times you’d helped her through it, seeing her like this never got easier.

“Bluejay,” you sang softly, your voice careful, your heart pounding so loudly it felt like it might burst from your chest.

The sound of your voice snapped her head around. But instead of recognition, there was fear—raw, primal fear—and anger.

She spun toward you, lifting the massive weapon and pointing it at you in one sharp, fluid motion. The sheer size of it dwarfed her trembling frame, but her grip was iron-tight, her fingers dangerously close to the trigger.

“Don’t—don’t come any closer!” she yelled, her voice cracking like glass. Her wide, unseeing eyes locked onto you, her chest heaving like she couldn’t pull in enough air.

“I’ll blow ya to itty-fuckin-bitty bits!” she shrieked, her voice teetering between rage and desperation.

Her hands shook so violently that you almost flinched, but you didn’t stop moving.

“It’s me, Bluejay,” you said, your voice as calm as you could muster. You kept your hands visible, palms out, as you took a careful step forward. “It’s Y/n.”

Her breathing hitched. Her grip faltered, the barrel of the gun dipping slightly. Her gaze flicked over your face, her lips trembling as if trying to form words.

“Birdie?” she whispered, the nickname falling from her lips like a prayer.

You nodded, your heart squeezing at the small, broken voice she used. “It’s me,” you assured her, stepping closer. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

Her arms dropped an inch, the gun lowering enough for you to fully see her tear-streaked face. She looked so small, so fragile like a child lost in the middle of a nightmare.

“Vi—” Her voice cracked, and her knees buckled slightly as she shook her head like she was trying to shake loose the chaos in her mind. “She wouldn’t shut up! They— They wouldn’t stop! They said I was—” Her voice broke entirely, her words tumbling out in a messy, disjointed rush. “I didn’t mean to— I didn’t mean—”

Her words splintered apart, her thoughts shattering faster than she could hold them together.

You stepped closer until you were right in front of her, the barrel of the gun nearly brushing your chest. Slowly, carefully, you reached out and rested a hand on the weapon, gently guiding it down.

“Bluejay, look at me,” you said firmly, your voice steady but laced with warmth. “You’re okay. Whatever happened, I’m here now. I’ll protect you. Just like always.”

Her lip quivered, and for a moment, her wide, tear-filled eyes searched your face. Then the gun clattered to the deck with a metallic thud as she let it slip from her hands.

You didn’t hesitate. You closed the gap and wrapped your arms around her, pulling her trembling form against you. She collapsed into you, her knees giving out as she clung to you like a lifeline, her fingers tangling in the fabric of your cloak.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, stroking her hair as her body shook with silent sobs. Your own throat tightened, but your voice stayed steady. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

The chaos around you blurred, fading into nothing but white noise. All that mattered was Jinx in your arms, her breath hot and ragged against your shoulder, and the quiet, desperate promise you made to her with every heartbeat.

For now, that was enough.

But the peace shattered as sharp shuffles of boots echoed across the dock. Angry voices followed, low and bitter, cutting through the thick harbour air.

“What the hell is wrong with her?!” one of the crew barked, his voice raw and wet with pain, clutching his bloodied side. His fingers dug into torn fabric, crimson dripping between them and staining the dock below. “You think this is a game?! She’s gonna get us all killed!”

“Useless,” another spat, his voice sharp as broken glass. His glare cut through the dim light, landing on Jinx like a predator circling wounded prey. “Always doing this shit! What good is she if—”

Jinx stiffened against you, her shallow breaths hitching sharply, each inhale sharp and jagged as shattered glass. Her trembling form grew rigid, her knuckles white as she balled her fists. The air around her felt heavy, charged, her anger flickering to life like a spark in dry timber.

“I’ll show you useless!” she snarled, her voice raw and splintering as she lunged toward the crew. Her face twisted into a storm of fury and fear, cheeks flushed, her wide eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“Jay,” you murmured, your tone cutting through the crackling tension like a blade. Firm, soothing, and edged with unyielding control. Your arms tightened around her, holding her back with an ease that belied the strength it took to still her wild energy. “They’ll get what’s coming.”

She struggled, her body writhing against yours like a coiled spring, but you didn’t let go. Her breaths came in short, shallow bursts, the sound raw and ragged in your ears. You leaned in, pressing your forehead gently to hers, forcing her gaze to meet yours.

“I've got it covered, Bluejay,” you whispered, your voice soft and steady, cutting through the storm in her chest. “They’re not worth your precious wonderful time.”

For a moment, the fire in her eyes flickered, the embers dulled by the weight of your presence. Her lip trembled, and her breath hitched again, less sharp, more uneven. Slowly, you felt the tension in her muscles loosen, though not completely fade.

But the crew, blind to the tempest brewing around them, kept going.

“She’s a damn liability!” one snarled, their voice dripping venom. “We don’t need her screwing up every—”

A sharp crack split the air, the wood beneath them splintering as electricity struck like a viper. The faint, acrid smell of scorched wood and ozone burned at your nostrils, mingling with the salt of the harbour breeze. Sparks danced at your fingertips, painting jagged, dancing shadows across the blood-streaked dock.

“You’re fucking crazy, watch it!” one of them yelled, their voice faltering under the weight of their own fear.

You stepped forward slowly, each step deliberate, the faint buzz of electricity humming around you like a storm building at sea. Your voice dripped venom, sickly sweet and suffocating as honey left too long in the sun.

“Did you forget who’s been cleaning up after your pathetic mistakes?” you asked, each word curling like smoke around their ears. “Who’s been saving your asses every time you screw up a job? Oh, wait.” You tilted your head, a mocking smile tugging at your lips. “That’s right. The ‘crazy ones’."

The crew shrank back, their earlier bravado dissolving under the weight of your words. Their faces twisted with unease, the fear in their eyes glinting like shards of broken glass under the dim, wavering lantern light.

“Let me remind you,” you continued, your voice a sharpened blade, “that without her getting to everyone first, you’d all be corpses by now. So maybe, just maybe , you should be grateful you’re alive to complain.”

One of them opened their mouth, a flicker of defiance flashing across their face, but you raised your hand again. Sparks leaped to life, sharp and bright in the darkness, casting flickering shadows that danced across their faces like wraiths.

“Not another word,” you cooed, your voice soft and poisonous. “Unless you’d like me to show you what it feels like to be really worthless.”

The crackling air hummed with unspoken tension as silence descended, broken only by the faint, uneven rhythm of Jinx’s breathing behind you. Her trembling form leaned into your back, her fingers clutching the fabric of your cloak like it was the only thing tethering her to the world.

Before the tension could snap further, the distant shouting of enforcers broke through the air. Their sharp, barked orders rang out like cracks of a whip, growing louder with every second. Beams of harsh, unforgiving searchlights swept across the docks, their light cutting through the murky night and scattering shadows in their wake.

You turned sharply, your gaze narrowing like the edge of a dagger. “We’re leaving,” you said coldly, the finality in your tone slicing through the rising panic like steel.

To the crew, you added, your voice dripping with the sweetest of venom, “Try not to get caught. Because if you do…” Your smile sharpened into something deadly. “…I’ll kill you myself.”

Without another glance, you turned back to Jinx, gathering her into your arms. Her head rested against your chest, her uneven breaths brushing warm against your skin. Her small frame trembled like a fragile bird caught in a storm.

The growing shouts of the enforcers spurred you into motion. You broke into a sprint, your boots pounding against the dock, each step echoing like a gunshot before you leaped into the air. Your wings unfurled with a sharp, commanding snap, catching the cold harbour wind and propelling you upward.

The air bit at your skin, the sharp tang of salt and smoke mingling in your lungs. The faint, distorted echo of festival music drifted on the breeze, growing fainter as you ascended. Below, the shouts and clatter of enforcers dulled with each beat of your wings, swallowed by the dark sprawl of the city.

“Hold on, Bluejay,” you murmured, your voice softer now, stripped of its earlier bite.

Jinx clung to you weakly, her trembling fingers gripping the fabric of your cloak as if it were her last anchor. Her breath was hot and uneven against your neck, her body curled into yours with a fragile, childlike vulnerability.

You tightened your hold, soaring higher into the night. The glittering festival lights faded into specks below, swallowed by the jagged edges of the city’s darkness.

For now, the only thing that mattered was getting her somewhere safe.

The noise was impossible to miss.

The air inside The Last Drop was thick, heavy with the pungent mix of sweat, alcohol, and something sharper—the metallic bite of shimmer, sharp enough to catch in your throat. The crowd pulsed with frenetic energy, a relentless hum of voices blending together, their laughter too loud, their words too fast, a chaotic blur that rang through the dimly lit space. The floor trembled beneath the thrum of bass from the jukebox, deep and vibrating, a constant undercurrent to the clinking of glasses, the slurred conversations, and the heat—an oppressive, wet heat that soaked into your skin, a heat that clung to your hair and stuck to the back of your neck.

You didn’t mind it. You were used to this. The noise, the crowd, the chaos—it had always been a part of your world. You’d learned to carve out little spaces of quiet, little bubbles where you could retreat from the noise, even in the most crowded rooms. Your fingers tapped idly on the edge of your glass, the sound of the condensation trickling down the sides almost lost in the ruckus. The glass was half-empty, a dull reflection of the mood that buzzed through you—too much, too fast, and yet never enough. You let the noise wash over you, the calls, the laughs, the heat of their presence pressing against you like an extra layer of skin.

Your smile was small, but it felt wrong, like an echo of something that used to mean something to you, but no longer did. It didn’t feel like it fit the moment, but you kept it there, polished and practiced, the same smile you’d perfected over years of playing a part.

You were the one they all watched—beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way they felt the pull of you, the way your power hummed beneath your skin, crackling like electricity just waiting to surge. Like bees drawn to honey, the crew and patrons swarmed around you, though most were too oblivious to realize it. They didn’t see that they were all just following orders, buzzing mindlessly through their routines, desperate to get closer to you. To take a little bit of what you had, to touch what they couldn’t reach.

As a child, the looks started off small—glances that lingered a little too long, just enough to leave a prickling sensation along your spine. And then there were the others—the more blatant stares, the open admiration that felt less like appreciation and more like an invitation to possess . They didn’t know it, but they weren’t seeing you . They were seeing something they wanted—a piece of the power that made your very presence dangerous.

You shifted in your seat, your hand brushing against the cool surface of the bar, and let your eyes sweep over the room again. A man—a stranger—was inching closer, slipping into the seat next to yours with that practiced, insincere confidence you had seen too many times before. His eyes didn’t meet yours; they moved over you like you were something to be catalogued, a thing to be desired, a game to be won.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, his voice far too smooth, too rehearsed. It wasn’t about the drink, not really. You knew that. You could hear it in the way his words came out, smooth but heavy with intent, the faintest trace of desperation hanging just below the surface. He was trying to draw you in, to make it seem like he was offering you something when, in truth, he was just hoping for something in return.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence settle between you, and when you finally turned your head, your smile never wavered. It was perfect—polite, cool, a mask you had worn for so long it almost felt natural now. But underneath it, you let the smallest hint of disdain curl in your eyes as you reached for the drink. Your fingers brushed the glass slowly, deliberately, holding his gaze as you did.

“On the house, huh?” you asked softly, the words drawing out, almost teasing. You took a sip, letting the cold liquid slide over your tongue, the ice cubes clinking softly in the glass. "That’s sweet of you."

The man’s smile faltered for just a moment—only for a split second, but you noticed. You always noticed. His hand lingered on the bar, just a fraction of a second too long, and you could feel the weight of his gaze, how he wanted to take more than just your attention. He wanted to claim you. But you were too sharp to let that happen.

You leaned in just slightly, your voice low, soft—but sharp enough to cut through the murmur of the room. “But I’m not interested.”

The man stiffened, his grin faltering entirely. For a second, there was an almost imperceptible shift in his expression, something between frustration and confusion. But he didn’t give up. They never did. They’d try again, maybe with different words, maybe with different promises. But the game would always be the same.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he muttered, and there it was—the line, the one they always crossed. “A couple of … things came to mind when I saw those wings of yours.” They thought they had you figured out, that you were just another pretty face, just another prize to claim. But they never realized the truth—they never saw the real you, just a reflection of their ideals.

Your eyes darkened as you leaned back in your seat, the glass in your hand tight enough to make your fingers ache. The words you spoke were soft, but they carried weight.

“Maybe I do,” you said. “Maybe you’re not as interesting as you think.”

The man’s face reddened, his words swallowed up by the thrumming noise around you. He muttered something unintelligible before standing and backing away, vanishing back into the crowd.

You let out a slow breath, the tension easing from your shoulders as you turned your gaze back to your drink. The amber liquid wobbled gently, catching the dim light in fractured reflections, but it didn’t hold your attention for long. It never did. The weight in your chest was harder to shake, a hollow ache that no amount of noise or drink could fill.

The game always ended the same way, with you sitting here, staring at the untouched drink like it held answers you’d never find. You didn’t know why it left you feeling like this—like a puppet with its strings cut, empty and slack after the show was over. The glass was cool beneath your fingertips, but your skin felt too warm, prickling with the phantom press of their stares.

What do they really want from me?

The thought slipped through your mind, bitter and sharp like the burn of strong liquor. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. You’d been asking yourself that question for as long as you could remember.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the hum of the room fade into the background. Flashes of faces blurred behind your eyelids, half-formed memories of people reaching for you, their hands outstretched, their smiles too wide, too eager. They’d always wanted something—a piece of you, a piece of your power.

But love? That was different. Love was supposed to be soft, wasn’t it? Gentle. It wasn’t supposed to come with strings attached or sharp edges hidden behind kind words. You’d seen it before, a long time ago, in a life so far removed it felt like it belonged to someone else.

You tried to picture their faces—the ones you’d called family. You tried to remember the way their hands felt, the warmth in their eyes, the way they laughed. But all you saw were smudges, shapes that shifted and blurred, fading like smoke on a breeze. The details were gone, slipping through your grasp every time you reached for them, leaving only the faintest impression of what once was.

Your fingers tightened around the glass.

You thought of love as something distant now, like a language you’d once spoken fluently but had long since forgotten. The meaning was there, buried somewhere deep, but the words never came out right. All that remained was the idea of it—bright and fleeting, like the glow of fireflies you’d chased in the forests of Ixtal as a child.

A faint, sharp laugh rang out nearby, pulling you back into the present. Your eyes opened, and the bar came rushing back—the noise, the heat, the press of bodies. It was all too much, and yet it felt like nothing at all.

Love wasn’t real here, not in places like this. Not in the way it should’ve been.

And yet.

And yet, there was one face that cut through the haze. One voice that could pull you back when everything else felt like too much.

“Hey, stranger,” a familiar voice called from across the room, light and sing-song, the words laced with just enough chaos to make the air buzz.

Her.

You turned your head toward her, and there she was, weaving her way through the crowd, her braids bouncing with every step, her grin wide enough to split the world in two.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t know if it was the kind of feeling you’d been searching for or just another sharp edge to swallow, but when she was near, the hollow ache didn’t seem quite as deep. For a little while, at least, you could forget the faces you couldn’t remember and the love you’d forgotten how to understand.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

a/n: hi lovelies thank you so much for your patience <33 updates are gonna be a bit slower this time around since school and work sorry <3

taglist: @deathvidal , @stupendousbananasharkcop , @titusmouser , @itosh1teru , @0sunnyside0 , @pulcen , @chuucanchuucan , @fluffygreatness , @pebble-peddle , @brocoliisscared

#arcane jinx #jinx x reader #arcane x reader #powder arcane #jinx arcane #vi arcane #arcane s2

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