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staraxiaa · 2 months ago

Text

+ extra lines bc i ran out of tag space .

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

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

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

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

shinsuke kita x GN reader character study for shin, reader is a river/rain spirit, themes of disaster, mentions of dying/minor character death, fluff and angst, slow burn (i think), slight spoilers for haikyuu!! timeskip 20.4k words | oneshot, complete

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

ao3 option

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

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

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

So you watch, now that you're here.

"Granny, who's that?"

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

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

She knows how this story will go.

Someone is always watching, Shin-chan.

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

Someone is watching over you.

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

The sun rises. Over and over and over again.

Childhood

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who are you?

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

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

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

Unusual, Kita wonders to himself. Because of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just don’t know things.

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

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

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

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

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

He closes the screen and goes back to bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs, uncaring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come with me today.”

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

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

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

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

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

“The forest!” you cheer easily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another question: “Are ya goin’ home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you say. You apologize again.

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

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

Adolescence

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods at that. He knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. “Good luck tomorrow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To wish you luck again.”

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

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

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

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

You don’t visit again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is running to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I’m not yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tries to explain while walking home with Aran.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re right,” he tells Aran.

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

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

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

Adulthood

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life goes on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I made it, Shin-chan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have an idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s like your hair,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A life with you. Here.

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

anyways here's the afterword

#[❀] — fics #s.haikyuu #c.kita #can i just say i really love the opening? it gives such a poignant fairytale vibe - esp w the hint of granny lore like omg .#ik we talked a bit abt kita but its so funny to me how the parts u like to him start young. like yes thats so accurate but i ugly laughed #i adore the relationship between kita and granny actually like it feels so authentic on both parts #LAMOO his urge to clean and the reader's dirtiness is also so real. adore how the reader is portrayed as a child here #help why r we eating grapes from the ground (dirt included) and why does our supposed grandpa not say shit #the fact that kita knows what we r... doesnt say a thing tho... pookie omg #actually adore the way u've portrayed nature spirit. like i dont think i can emphasize this enough because there's a sort of authenticity #there's a childish aspect to the reader - beyond just being a child; like human but different in all the ways i'd expect a nature spirit to #be. wild and untamed and entirely free in how they're 'dirty'? in a sense? uncaring about cleanliness which just makes sense to Me. idk its #such a small detail but i fixated on that sm LMFAOAO its terrible #'wonders how someone from the city would run without shoes through mud' your attention to detail KILLS ME #the river being alive... oaufshdjf i love that detail so much #'granny gave him some books. you're giving the forest' AFDHSLKAJFDSGDFADK I LOVE ME #omg i love how the reader just popped out of the pipes. like bro . HAHAHFSim sorry how happy it made kita tho.... :>#contrast between first impressions and ingrained familiarity was such a lovely way to describe things btw #'these questions bring a pain to his chest. sometimes he calls granny and it gets better; sometimes it gets worse' is such #idk its just. the homesickness is so poignant here. loved it sm #“even with your skin always cold; his body will forever warm at your touch” what if i cried #?? what the fuck #did reader die #im #[redacted]#are u going to pay for my therapy #what the fuck #kita learning from reader and becoming the omnipotent eyes im ghalsdjfk im shaking literally #granny's death and her becoming another pair of eyes :(((((#HASLKDFJSD WE LIVED

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jaylaxies · 10 months ago

Text

ENHYPEN REACTION: to you being in the rival house at Hogwarts

PAIRING: enhypen hyung line x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, slytherin!hee with gryffindor!reader, slytherin!jay with hufflepuff!reader, ravenclaw!jake with gryffindor!reader, gryffindor!sunghoon with slytherin!reader

WC: 4.7k words

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, my loves <3 this was requested by my anonnie here and i loved writing about enha and hogwarts omg! all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

Slytherin!Heeseung x Gryffindor!reader

Trope: Headboy x Headgirl

Heeseung was beyond elated when he got his letter back at the manor, stating how he had become the head boy of Hogwarts. His family of pure bloods were even prouder, however, his cocky smirk dropped the second he met with the entirety of the prefectorial board at the Hogwarts express, prefect compartment to be precise.

Seeing you standing there with the batch stating ‘head girl’ was not something he wanted to see, not when you were someone who came from a non wizarding background, someone who was in Gryffindor.

How could they make you the head girl? How could they think he’d be willing to spend his time working with you of all people. His hatred for your likes was visible from day one, his taunts and threats didn’t bother you, and that’s exactly what bothered him. The urge to make your life living hell was his motto more or less, even more so this year.

“It’s absurd, man. Let her be now, it’s our last year here for Godric’s sake,” Jay huffed out, irritated that Heeseung couldn’t shut up about the new Gryffindor quidditch captain giving you too much attention despite your blood status.

“It doesn’t fucking matter, why do people like her anyway? What happened to keeping the muggles away from the likes of us?” He gritted his teeth, accidentally stabbing the piece of chicken too hard with his fork at dinner. The sight of you snuggling close to the said captain infuriated him more than he let on.

“Well, she’s not a muggle if she can do magic, and extraordinarily well at that,” Jay offered, having done with Heeseung being a dimwit and not realizing the truth behind his anger.

“Wow, thanks for the support, mate,” Heeseung rolled his eyes, looking back at you again.

He’d make sure to wipe that smile off of your face while taking rounds later—at least that’s what he promised himself. Taking rounds was probably the time he looked forward to the most, given that it was the perfect time to criticize and show hatred towards you.

However, the second you meet up at the staircase, telling him to divide areas since you do not wish to work with him anymore, he loses it. He completely loses it, scoffing and grabbing your wrist, pulling you into the room of requirement right behind you.

“What the fuck—” you tried to scream, but he was quick to cover your mouth with his hand.

“What? Can’t even look my way now that you have a quidditch captain chasing you around?” He scoffs, eyes full of hatred, the kind you had never seen before and it made you scoff.

“Well, newsflash, Lee. I never wanted to look your way from the very start. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s you who’s clearly obsessed with me,” you seethed out, not caring about the proximity despite your breathing getting heavier.

“Ah? Me obsessed with the likes of you? Don’t flatter yourself, darling,” he said, tone almost challenging, his hold on your wrist tight, just like the hand that was grabbing your waist now, making you gulp but not back down.

“So, it shouldn’t matter to you if I snog my quidditch captain, or more,” you whispered with a smug smile, feeling his hand squeezing your waist tighter.

“You cannot do that,” he warned.

“Oh but I did—”

You couldn’t finish your statement and nor could Heeseung control his actions anymore, pressing you up against the wall and shoving his tongue down your throat, kissing you in the messiest way he could muster to mush out all the sane thoughts coming his way.

This was the sanest he had felt in ages.

“You’re fucking mine,” he groaned against your lips.

“No, fuck I’m not,” you smirked, testing him further, loving how he had finally given in to the truth—that he wanted you.

The room of requirement was sly, preparing a bed as he pushed you on it, getting on top of you while getting rid of his robes, “oh, babe, I’ll show you who you belong to.”

“Took you way too long, Lee,” you chuckled, gasping the second he pushed your panties aside, feeling your wetness on his fingers with a smirk.

“Been waiting, eh?” He asked, cocky as he pushed two fingers in with ease, your back arching as you moaned.

“Talk about yourself,” you smirked, pulling him into another rough kiss, messy of all sorts as he sucked on your tongue, pumping his own cock by lubricating it with your wetness.

He wasted no time, in aligning himself to your entrance, pushing his cock in one go to bottom out, groaning at the tightness that squeezed him, thrusting almost instantly when he saw nothing but pleasure on your face with a promise to claim you his.

“Fuck, I knew you’d make a perfect whore, always so desperate for my attention,” he groaned, snapping his hips to yours, the noise resonating the room.

“You can’t even thrust properly, ah—” he sped up to shut your mouth, your toes curling as you held on to him for support, chanting his name like a mantra the whole time as he proved just how much and how well he can fuck you.

All night.

Slytherin!Jay x Hufflepuff!reader

Trope: Animagi Jay

It took him a lot of patience.

In fact, it took everyone in his friend group a lot of patience to keep their mouths shut for a whole month, a single mandrake leaf resting in their mouths. However, they wanted to do something iconic, which would be—turning into an animagus to cause trouble whilst being unregistered at that. The whole process was tedious.

Jay was losing his last bit of sanity, watching you smiling softly and being kind to others, which was a usual thing per se.

The only problem was how he couldn’t verbally bother you.

It was known to be his favourite pastime, inserting himself in your life and bothering you for existing.

Why? Because that’s what he should do, being a slytherin. He had a personality he needed to live up to, and he knew hell would break if anyone as much as gets a hint about Jay’s infatuation with you.

The solution? To make sure he says the meanest things so he wouldn’t have to see your smile. You don’t get why he’s mean to you. His hatred goes as far as it concerns you, and you’ve never seen him calling anyone else names but you.

So, seeing you being happy and not once thinking about him since he put the leaf in his mouth had his blood boiling, especially when you agreed to attend Slughorn’s party with a random ravenclaw boy. The same party he was gonna ask you to attend with him—or bully you into attending with him, but the smile on your face gets him mad.

He scoffed, ignoring the whole situation and focusing on the transformation process, completely missing the look of sadness on your face when he left without even acknowledging your presence, his mind deep in different thoughts.

Of course you’d be happy without him.

However, the success in becoming an animagi had him smiling. He was a big black cat—a royal panther, while his other friends turned into a bird and a dog.

He went out to explore the place in his animal form, getting out of Hogwarts castle to visit the black lake, not once thinking that he would find you here at night.

Your back looked peaceful as you stared at the lake, and he was silent as he made his way towards you, almost scaring you the second you saw a black panther settling down next to you, a gasp leaving your mouth as your eyes shined under the moonlight.

“Hi, I’ve never seen you around before,” you spoke up, fascinated, extending your hand to stroke his fur.

Jay didn’t expect this, and he knew he didn’t have to pretend in this form, making him purr with pleasure as you gently caressed him. He was a cat after all. The warmth of your kindness was driving him crazy, he so desperately wanted you to like him back, but he knew you wouldn’t.

It became a routine for him to sneak out to meet you at night in his animal form, and he adored how you shared all your secrets with an animal, talking to him, letting him rest his head on your lap and as far as kissing his head in adoration.

He was in love with you.

He loved how you welcomed him with a pretty smile, the same smile which he wipes off your face in his human form.

Everything was going smoothly, to the point Jay had even started staring at you between classes, not being as rude as he used to be before and you never hesitated on smiling back at him, ever so kind. He wanted to talk to you, face to face, and confess.

However, that plan went down the drain. The same Ravenclaw boy was seen standing close to you, a conjured flower in his hand which he presented to you with a wide smile while Jay watched it unfold with the nastiest scowl on his face.

So being petty, Jay practically shoved you out of the way, not looking back even after hearing a little “ouch” coming from your direction as you stumbled, ignoring when you called out his name, rather proceeding to the next class.

He didn’t see you there, and he tried not to act affected by your absence, assuming that you’d have gone with the other guy, relaxing when he saw you in potions class again, his eyes never leaving your face which looked distressed. Especially after you took a sniff of the amortentia, the love potion.

His heart lurched, wondering if you smelled the other guy. And in his case, he knew he was doomed the second he took a sniff and instantly smelled of your body lotion and your favourite delicacy. His eyes met yours that very second and he had to gulp, looking elsewhere to pretend that he was fine.

That night, with a heavy heart, he sat down next to you in his animagi form yet again, this time he found you at the astronomy tower, a bandage around your arm.

“Hey, love,” you welcomed the black panther, “it’s such a pretty night,” you sighed dreamily, petting the panther next to you.

“You mind if I talk?” You asked, chuckling when the panther nodded as if he understood what you meant, “I don’t understand boys. I really like this guy but he’s been mean to me to see. It’s pathetic, isn’t it? That I smelled him in the love potion and he’s the reason why I stumbled and hurt my arm—I just can’t help it, I wish Jay would like me back but he doesn’t even look my way without wanting to look away or just comment about how I’m just a weak Hufflepuff girl,” you mumbled, not focusing on how the panther had stood up all of a sudden.

Jay’s heart thumped, he wasn’t sure if he heard it right, but it was too much, he couldn’t wait anymore.

He transformed back into his human form right there, your eyes widening as you opened your mouth to scream, which he put a hand over to muffle your voices.

“That—that was you!” You whisper-yelled, shoving him away.

“Did you mean it?” He asked, grabbing your wrist which made you lean against the wall, “that you like me?”

You could barely breathe, biting your lip as you nodded, “I know you hate me—”

“Oh, you know nothing, baby,” he chuckled, grabbing your nape and pulling you into a kiss, making your eyes widen before he pulled you even closer, making you kiss him back eventually, getting fervent with your actions.

“Fuck, I like you so much. It was you who I smelled, in the love potion, I mean. I’m sorry for being an asshole, I never knew how to handle feeling this way for you,” he apologized, cutting the kiss and leaning his forehead against yours.

Instead of replying, you pulled him into another kiss, letting his hands wander all over your body, his self control leaving his body. He knew he had you now, and he knew he wouldn’t be letting go, especially after the little whimpers leaving your mouth the second he started kissing your neck after leaving your lips all swollen.

You were too sensitive, too forgiving.

Rubbing your thighs together didn’t help either, but the second he squeezed your bare thigh, you knew you were gone. It was the ideal place for you both to be doing this, but stopping wasn’t an option, not when he was so passionately marking you just after you told him you rejected the other boy.

Spreading your legs was easy, asking you to be a good girl and keep your voices at bay was even easier for Jay, and you obliged, your eyes rolling back as he lapped at your cunt, licking big stripes while fucking your cunt with his fingers, trying to be gentle but you were too pent up to ask him to go slower, only urging him to move faster.

That’s how you spent your night, he took you to his chamber, kicking everyone out shamelessly to fuck you into the mattress, his cock not having enough of you and your pussy clenching him, trying to hold him in for as long as you could before you both reached your high.

He knew he fucked up before but now that he actually had you in his arms, he knew he was going to cherish you forever.

Ravenclaw!Jake x Gryffindor!reader

Trope: Yule ball, fake dating

Jake was loved by everyone and he basked in the warmth of it. Being good in academics came naturally to him, he was a Ravenclaw after all. Adding to it, he was selected to represent Hogwarts at the triwizard championship, his fame and name more glorious than ever these days.

The problem? He had everyone’s attention but the girl who he claimed to have a tiny crush on.

He wanted to ask her to be his date for the Yule ball, however, the chances were slim as another Gryffindor boy named Heeseung, asked her right before Jake could even call out her name.

Jake wasn’t the only one suffering. You stood there beside him, watching the scene unfold with the same wrath in your eyes.

You wanted to go to the ball with Heeseung.

“Tough luck?” Jake asked, not sparing you a glance as you both watched him from a distance as they hugged gleefully.

“Talk about yourself, champ,” you crossed your arms, “she didn’t even think twice before saying yes,” you commented, jaw clenching, “she’s gonna get her heart broken, he’s gonna turn her into a situationship too.”

“What? We have to warn her,” Jake spoke, eyes widening.

“Oh, I tried, but she actually really likes Heeseung,” you huffed, “and here I thought I meant something to him.”

“Go with me,” Jake breathed out, finally looking your way, taking your beauty in.

“What?” You exclaimed, turning your head to look his way too.

He was beautiful, there’s no denying him. His hair was a bit on the messier side, lips pink and swollen from biting (he was nervous), and eyes full of hope.

“To make Heeseung jealous, of course!” He defended his statement and your eyes widened in understanding.

“Oh,” you let out, “so we’re doing all this fake dating thing, now?” You teased him, loving how his cheeks got redder but he only stepped closer, shrugging.

“We’ll have fun, you’ll get to be with the triwizard champion, it’s a win-win for you,” he offered, smirking and you smiled humorously.

“Sure,” you agreed, not paying attention to Heeseung who witnessed this interaction of yours.

It was easy to keep up with him, the rumours of you two being together spread like wildfire, especially with the Yule ball coming up, which only favoured you, granted that Heeseung had tried to approach you several times but Jake hadn’t left your side at all.

In fact, you were scared how easy it was to be in his company, “she wanted me to teach her how to ride the broom,” Jake had told you once, and he was one heck of a flyer, despite him not being in the team.

Naturally, you offered him to teach you that instead, watching how his eyes lit up and he nodded. Something about Jake was endearing to you—like how he helped you ride the broom with him sitting behind you. It felt real, too romantic the way he held on to you, smiling as he pointed out the various spots you could see from the height.

And you knew he felt it too, his heart pumping out of his chest as you rested your back against him.

It felt too real to him when you got him a tie that matched the colour of your dress, asking him to match with you, and he realized he had stopped thinking about the other girl completely as he helped you around with studies and you helped him feel alive.

Somewhere along the lines, you had forgotten that it was all fake, simply because it felt real to the both of you. The hand holding, the snuggling closer, the soft smiles on your faces, none of it was fake.

It didn’t hit you till you were on your way to meet Jake, only to find the other girl already talking to him in a corner, your jaw clenched at the sight of them talking about something you couldn’t make out from this distance. Your mind wasn’t sane as you stepped back and rushed to your own room, wondering if they had gotten together.

You knew it could very well be a misunderstanding, yet you didn’t do anything about it, especially when Jake didn’t come to meet you at all today.

You were slightly heartbroken as you woke up the next day, everyone seemed happy to the point they couldn’t stop talking about the Yule ball tonight, doing their hair and skincare already and you tried to join them, knowing that you can’t run away from it no matter what the situation would be.

Now, clad in your gown, you most certainly did feel better, looking in the mirror to find the prettiest version of yourself, you felt beautiful as you walked down the stairs, smiling gently when you found Jake waiting for you by the stairs.

His breathing hitched the second he saw you, eyes twinkling as he took you in, heart beating faster when you stood in front of him. It was magical how he took your hand, kissing your knuckles gently, “you look beautiful,” he whispered, your face heating up at the compliment.

So, you postponed asking him about the other girl, focusing solely on him as you were called for the first dance with Jake—the Hogwarts champion. He treated you well, he looked like the prettiest man alive, pulling you closer and dancing with you like he meant it when the rock band came out, but after a while, you stopped, pulling him out when he got you drinks to talk by some secluded area—a classroom nearby.

“I saw you guys talking,” you told him, admitting how you would be okay if he leaves you now and he how doesn’t need to put up this act anymore, making his heart lurch, “fuck—no! I asked her to stay away because,” he gulped as he met your eyes, “because I like you, not her.”

Everything felt rushed after, his lips on yours, your fingers in his hair, bodies pressed against one another as he messed up your lipstick, “I like you so much,” he kept mumbling between the kisses, lips trailing down to mark your neck.

He knew what he had to do—kiss every inch of you till you understood the depth of his words. He wants you so genuinely it makes your heart beat faster, his eyes full of earnestness as he comes up to kiss you again, but more than that, he wants to taste you, give you the pleasure you deserve.

Getting down on his knees was easy for him, getting under your gown even easier. You breathed in deeply when you felt him burying his nose in your pussy, pushing your panties aside to lick a stripe of your cunt, leaving a small kiss on your clit right after.

His movements were slow and calm, his hold on your thighs tight as he devoured you, seeming as if he’d be hungry for ages. You could have sworn you never felt this way before, gripping the table you were leaning against tightly, you tried your best not to fall down with how your knees were getting weaker by the second as his tongue was pushing around much faster than before.

“Jake—” you gasped, seeing stars as you finally came undone, your whole body felt as if it was on fire but Jake was just getting started with you.

Getting out, he looked more disheveled than ever, taking your hand and making you feel his hardened cock, “see what you do to me, baby,” he whispered, pulling you into another kiss, unzipping your dress as you cried about how much you need him.

Soon, your dress was on the ground and his body was connected with yours in a slow rhythm, full of lazy kisses and smiles, your face hidden in his neck as you bit him to conceal your moans when he hit that one spot which had your whole body weak.

You looked so beautiful, it made him lose his control, the sight itself had him twitching with the need to fill you up.

When you kissed him again, he finally let go, loving each second of it, knowing that you were truly his now.

Gryffindor!Sunghoon x Slytherin!reader

Trope: quidditch players, enemies to fwb

“Gryffindor! Gryffindor! Gryffindor!”

“Slytherin! Slytherin! Slytherin!”

The chants were loud, the crowd going wild at the sight of you and Sunghoon circling around each other before the game—something you always did as a challenge. It most certainly didn’t help that you were on par with each other, both chasers for your respective houses.

Watching you guys bicker was something everyone enjoyed, especially when it was about your houses and their reputations.

“You better watch out, Park,” you smirked, taking your position, “Slytherin is taking the win today,” you sang, watching his smirk grow.

“In your dreams, darling,” he whispered, winking at your right as the whistle blew.

The chants were loud and so was your motivation as you grabbed the Quaffle, successfully throwing it in one of the hoops as the crowd cheered. Watching Sunghoon scowl was a sweet treat, especially when you winked at him, passing by with the quaffle again.

The game continued for a while, your house leading by thirty points, much to Sunghoon’s dismay. You were having more fun teasing him rather than playing the actual game.

However, the second the snitch was caught by your seeker, Sunghoon got hit by a bludger, falling off his broom. You should have been celebrating his downfall (pun intended) yet you couldn’t help but worry, eyeing his figure while your team celebrated their win.

It was out of character for you to visit him in the hospital wing, but you did it, showing up with the pudding he liked—and you had no clue why you knew it. He was surprised to see it, looking away with a scoff, “why are you here, huh? To boast about your win?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes, “I came here to see if you were doing well but seeing as you can still work that mouth of yours, I’ll just assume it’s alright,” you huffed, leaving the pudding behind. Sunghoon gulped, watching you leave the hospital wing with a huff before eyeing the pudding and eating it, a sudden warmth spreading in his chest.

The bickering worsened since that day, because you had to overcome the fact that you showed care to him, your friends telling you to fuck the sexual tension out—which you won’t do even in your wildest dreams.

Sunghoon was just as furious cause he couldn’t stop thinking about you showing up at the hospital wing just to visit him, his taunts and that smirk annoying you more than ever now, you just wanted to punch him, or shut him up. It didn’t help that he looked awfully attractive with that smirk of his.

Fighting even during the dinner time was getting on everyone’s nerves, to the point you had to go to detention for pulling pranks on each other.

To diffuse this tension, he met you before the next quidditch match you had against him, “oh, ready to have your ass beat, Park?” You asked him with a mock smile.

“We’ll see who gets their ass beat, darling,” he spoke, invading your personal space by whispering in your ear, “let’s make a bet, if I win then I get to fuck you tonight.”

“What the fuck, Park?” You asked, eyes widened.

“You want it too, baby.” He says, a lazy smirk playing on his face, “besides, I won’t bother you ever again if I lose. So, do we have a deal?”

The deal was too tempting, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the fact that you’ll, (1) either be ignored by him or (2) have sex with him.

You grabbed his hand, shaking it with no aim whatsoever, you felt too lost but also determined to put up a good game.

However your mind was busy imagining his lips on yours, the smirk still present on his face, and that’s how you barely put the Quaffle in through the hoops while Sunghoon played with more energy than ever, awfully determined to win the match—win you.

The verdict? He won.

And as lost as you felt, you weren’t sad about it, in fact you were staring at Hoon who was celebrating, his eyes still on yours with that stupid smirk on his face which clearly said: you’re mine for the night.

Being in his room was crazy, the fact that he had successfully pushed out all his roomies was even crazier.

“Not fighting back anymore, kitten?” He raised his brows, his features looking sharper up close now that he had you under him, his weight on you barely giving you any space to move, his scent only driving you crazier.

“You’re the one who gave up, Park,” you finally whispered, pulling him closer by the collar with your usual expression full of mock, your finger tracing his jawline, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, “you proposed the idea of fucking me—been thinking about me then?”

His fingers traced the curve of your neck, trailing down till he settled on grabbing your waist, “what if I have? What if I wanna see you shut the fuck up when I make you cry on my cock?”

“I’d like to see you try,” you chuckled, pushing your knee up to caress against his crotch, making him hiss.

It didn’t take him any longer to practically rip off your robes, attaching his mouth to your nipples, flicking them with his tongue as he cupped your cunt as a warning to shut your mouth, but you couldn’t let him win, opening your mouth to mock him again, only to have his tongue shoved down your throat, his fingers kneading your flesh, rubbing your wetness with all his strength to have you whimpering under him.

“I hate you so much, Park,” you mumbled, breathless.

“Feeling’s mutual, kitten,” he groaned right beside your ear, finger fucking you now as his thumb worked your clit roughly, yet giving you the kind of pleasure you never thought you’d receive.

You feel hot as the guy you hate makes you moan uncontrollably, stopping right before you were about to reach your high with his same stupidly attractive smirk when you whined out of desperation.

“What’s the hurry, kitten? We’ve got all night.”

#enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #jay smut #jake smut #heeseung smut #sunghoon smut #kpop smut #enhypen #enhypen reactions #enha smut

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historical-fashion-polls · 6 days ago

Note

Our historical Halloween winners enjoying a haunting evening together!

hello my dear! 💕

I am so sorry I am quite late in responding to this, but I wanted to wait until I had the energy to properly express my love for this, so allow me to try:

OMG THIS IS INCREDIBLE I ABSOLUTELY ADORE THIS AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS IS SO UNBELIEVABLY COOL!!!!!!!!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰

genuinely, I am so touched by the fact that you took the time to make this and send it to me – this made me beyond happy when it came into by inbox and I have been thinking about it frequently ever since! ☺️💕

would you mind if I saved this to use as the header for the blog next october? then the previous winners could be presiding over the proceedings of the next bracket 🎃🎃 I'd be happy to tag you as the creator in the blog bio if you would like! but also no pressure at all! if you would rather not, I completely understand! ☺️☺️

allow me to just say again how much I love this and how truly touched I am that you made this lovely image! 🥰🥰 genuinely, thank you so so so much for this, it brings me such joy and happiness! 🥰🥰

#the curator speaks #curatorial correspondences #nice things 🥰

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kingkat12 · 3 months ago

Text

affair (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, oral sex (female receiving), dub-con, Roman using his powers for bad shit, angst, cheating, toxic relationship, justice for Peter omg

summary: when your ex-boyfriend shows up at your door, how are you supposed to push him away?

word count: 5,136

"No, please!-- We need to talk!"

Roman forced a foot in my door to make sure I wouldn't close it on him. He was wet from the rain, his usually styled hair sticking to his forehead as he panted, desperately pleading for me to hear him out. "I made a huge mistake," he breathed, regret glossing over his green eyes. "Could you please just hear me out?"

This was definitely not the most ideal situation to be in-- my boyfriend, Peter, had just left my apartment to go home and get ready for his early shift, so I had gotten ready for bed. And I certainly wouldn't be dressed in my pyjamas and slippers had I known that my ex would show up at my door looking beyond frantic. My mind raced with uncertainty, filled with endless questions and doubt; what was he doing here? Was he drunk? Why was he doing this now, after two months of being broken up? "You-- You need to go," I didn't have the time or energy to deal with the mess Roman always dragged back into my life, especially now that I was finally happy with someone else.

Worst of all, I knew for a fact that Roman had someone else too. I knew he was seeing some woman with long, blonde hair whom I refused to stalk for my own good, so why on earth was he here? The question lingered in my mind, but I had to remind myself about the one thing I had the answer to at the moment; I needed to close the door on him now.

Upon hearing my words of rejection and feeling the door press up on his foot in an attempt to force him out, Roman wedged his arm between the door. "Let me explain," he pleaded, chest heaving. "I just ran seventeen blocks in the fucking rain to see you, could you at least spare me a minute?"

As if that was enough of a justification to show up out of the blue? "No one asked you to do that. I certainly did not," To say that I was pissed off was an understatement, but Roman's pleading eyes were making me sick with guilt. He looked like a lost puppy of sorts, and it was certainly not helping my restraint. The hand I had on my doorknob felt like it was starting to lose blood because of how hard I was holding on-- I couldn't let him in. I shouldn't let him in.

"I know," Roman eventually said, moving his wet hair out of his eyes. "I know you don't want to see me, but I just... I needed to see you."

"... I think you should go back to your girlfriend," I started to push at his shoe with my slipper, preparing to slam the door in his face. "You shouldn't be here."

It didn't take long for Roman to figure out what I was doing, and it became apparent that he wasn't going to go down without a fight. It didn't take much strength for him to grab the door, forcing it wide open, staring down at me with a damning look of desperation I hadn't seen in any man before. "Just a minute," he breathed. "Please let me say my piece. If I don't, I swear I'll die."

I didn't enjoy this one bit-- coming to my doorstep, threatening to die if I didn't comply? I had forgotten how manipulative he could be. Being with Peter had shown me that Roman's behavior in our relationship had been beyond toxic, and I could see it clearer than ever as he stood before me now. "You're not going to fucking die," I grumbled, feeling myself grow annoyed with how he was throwing himself back into my life, completely uninvited. "Roman, it's almost midnight, maybe this manic behaviour of yours will go away with a good night of sleep?"

Frustrated, Roman tapped his fingers against the door. "Now you're just making it hard, as always,"

"And you're being crazy, as always," I mumbled, shifting my weight from foot to foot, a sense of restlessness taking over my stance. "Could you please leave? We did this back-and-forth thing months ago, I'm not interested in doing it all over again."

In true Roman fashion, standing face to face with rejection, he didn't know what to say or do. I could recognize his patterns now that we weren't together, and it was so damn typical of him to attempt to distract me from what was making me mad; "I remember those," he said, nodding toward my slippers. "Good to see you've kept them."

I knew he was distracting me, so why did it work? Sighing, I shrugged; "They were expensive... Wasn't going to throw them away just because you picked them out,"

Letting go of the door, knowing he had tranquilized the danger of getting it slammed in his face, Roman leaned against the frame in a James Dean-esque fashion. He let out a dragged-out breath, eyes rounding out; "I've missed you,"

His words snapped me out of my daze, and I immediately pulled away from the door with a groan. "Ugh, Roman, you need to go!" I turned my back to him, walking further into my apartment, my instincts telling me to get as far away as possible. "I'm finally happy with Peter, and you have no right to show up at my door just because you're bored!--" My trail of words came to a halt as I suddenly heard my door close; I knew I was fucked in an instant. My heart trembled at the recognition of the sound of the lock turning, realizing I was in for a long night. Fuck. I turned around, holding my breath, watching as he took wary steps towards me.

"One minute," Roman said, voice low and unsteady. "That's all I ask."

"No!" I took a few steps back, not daring to get too close. "You can't be here! This is completely inappropriate, Roman, I have a boyfriend! And I know you have a girlfriend too, along with a huge fucking drinking problem!"

Roman sighed, a silent declaration of his frustration. "I'm not drunk," he said, gaze falling to the floor. "I just... I've come to realize that I can't live like this anymore. I want to be with you."

I clenched my fists tightly in a futile attempt to quell my agitation, but my hands continued to shake. "That's too bad," I said, a sinking feeling taking hold and clinging to me. "I'm not doing this with you again. I'm not getting up in the middle of the night to look for you, wondering whether you're either dead or drunk in some alley. Not when I have Peter."

Exhaustion drugged Roman's movements, every movement slow, every breath. It was clear that the mention of Peter was an unpleasant reminder that we were over; his shoulders slumped, the weight of guilt settling upon them. "I haven't had a drink since the day you left me," he said, his sincere eyes finding mine. "I want to be good for you... I want you. Every second of every day."

At this point, I had taken so many steps back that I had hit the wall. It was getting a little harder to breathe, and I ended up hyperventilating-- I couldn't do this. I could still feel Peter on my shirt. Everything about this was wrong. "You need to stop," I breathed, stepping away from the wall and wandering further into my living room as I grew restless. "Please stop. Don't do this to me."

To my dismay, Roman only followed; "I'll leave her," he pleaded. "I'll leave her if you tell me to, I'll do whatever you want! I should've fought for us, I should've done so many things that I didn't do... It keeps me up at night that I let you go. I can't sleep, I can't function, I need you to know how this pains me!"

"No, I don't need to know that!" My steps came to a halt, and I pivoted on the heel of my slipper to face him. "You put me through hell, and now think you can just show up like this! Don't you think I have enough emotional baggage from you? You think I don't have enough or something, so you come here to unload some more? What the fuck am I to you, a loading dock?!"

Roman let out a harsh sigh; "Is that a serious question?" he asked, brows weaving together in frustration. "You are everything. I see that now!"

I was already exhausted from the day I had just had, and I barely had any energy left to fight with Roman. This was what we did-- we fought, we fucked, then we made up. However, this time was completely different, and it was throwing me off my course; we couldn't fuck and make up this time. But it was clear that he hadn't shown up to fight, so what on earth was this?

"Well, it's too damn late!" I groaned loudly, hiding my face in the palm of my hands. This was way too overwhelming. When the love of your life shows up at your door telling you everything you've ever wanted to hear, you want to rejoice-- not cry? My eyes burned with the tears that begged to be set free, distorting my vision as I lifted my face from my hands, unveiling that I was swimming in tears. "Do you not see what you do to me?" I breathed, sniffling. "Did you come here to drive me to tears? Do you have no remorse, Roman?"

Roman's lips parted, the worried look on his face revealing everything, his concern written all over. In the quiet moments that followed, the only sound was the echoing resonance of regret filling the space between us with its haunting presence. Our unsaid words were scattered in the air, and it felt like I was suffocating from every apology he could muster up.

"Let me be happy," I begged, swallowing hard. "Leave now and let me forget. I'm happy with Peter... Please."

It was clear that Roman was debating whether or not to comply. His conscience was gnawing at him-- I knew him well enough to be able to spot the signs. I hated how familiar he was, how it felt like we hadn't been apart at all, like it was yesterday that he had made me feel things I never knew I could feel. The feeling of pure bliss had been like a drug that Roman constantly pumped into me, making me a complete and utter junkie. It had resulted in me falling for him despite how beyond bad he was for me.

I remembered it all too well. The binge drinking that would go on for days, which often had him disappearing off of the face of the earth. His wandering green eyes used to leave me with such crippling anxiety, I would spend hours crying with a lingering feeling of nausea in my throat. He used to make me so, so sick in every possible way, and my body remembered it better than I did.

However, I could also sense that something had changed. Here he was; standing in my living room, drenched in rain, clinging onto his last slivers of hope, and I knew I was in for a good run of Roman-mania.

Of course he would come back to claim what he thought was his. Of course he'd be arrogant enough to believe it would be okay, that I would take him back, and that it would be completely alright for him to come towards me with rushed steps, kissing me with desperation that I had never felt from him before.

Our bodies were pressed together heatedly, Roman's hands on my waist keeping me in place. I could taste our shared nervous breaths, feel the thud of my heart against his, and it was all too much-- I pushed him off of me, tears pooling in my eyes as they streaked down my cheeks. "No!" I cried, my words getting choked. I couldn't believe what he had just done; my heart was actively breaking at the thought of Peter, the loveliest boyfriend I had ever had. I couldn't do this to him. "Roman, you can't just!--"

I hated the warmth that spread in my chest as Roman pulled me back in, sparks igniting in the pool of my stomach as his impossibly perfect lips moved against mine once more. I balled my fist, landing a firm hit against his chest, fighting the ecstasy that always followed any kiss from Roman. But his grip around me was impossibly tight, not letting me budge. You'd think he'd been starved for months with the way he was kissing me with hunger unmatched any other moment I'd ever shared with him, completely taking my breath away. Like this, I could almost believe that I had been on his mind in every waking moment, ravaging through his veins like a burning ache-- I couldn't lie and say that he hadn't been on my mind either.

No one could match Roman; not even my sweet, sweet Peter. I hated it with every fiber of my being.

The only thing I hated more, was that I never wanted him to stop.

"No," I cried against his lips, my fingers gripping his wet shirt, bunching it up, unsure whether to pull him closer or push him away once more. Was it maybe that he sensed how much I wanted this too that made him allow himself to continue?

Lightning struck in the distance, illuminating my apartment with a flash as my tears rolled down, mixing in with our kiss. No matter how wrong I knew this was, it felt like my soul was slowly leaving my body and giving itself to him once more; I knew I was dealing with a force outside of anything I could ever control. The love I had for Roman was all-consuming, crushing, devastating-- I could barely bring myself to fight him. "Stop," I breathed in between kisses. "Don't, Roman--"

My breath hitched as I realized my back was now pressed against the wall, and Roman pulled away barely an inch; I could feel the soft tickle of his breath beneath my nose, his fingers now moving through my hair as we breathed each other in. "Leave him," he whispered against my lips. "Let's try again."

My heart had become like melted wax in my chest, making it painful to breathe. "We'll crash and burn all over again," I breathed, feeling the salty traces of my tears on my lips. "We'll kill each other, you know this."

"Let me die by your hand, then," Roman connected our foreheads, closing his eyes. Like this, I could almost believe him, I really could-- he had actually missed me, hadn't he? "A death by you would be a death worth dying."

I felt my lower lip quiver in a sob; I wanted him more than anything in the world, and I had an inkling that he knew it better than I did. I couldn't allow myself to feel all the feelings I had bottled up in our time apart, knowing it would break me and lead me right back into his arms.

But Roman was insistent-- "I love you," He whispered it as though it was a secret he had been keeping for a thousand years. I could barely accept that this was real; the words I had wanted from him our whole relationship were being spilled out like a consolation for my pain.

I knew there was no reason for me to fight anymore; Roman knew me too well. He knew that this was all I had ever dreamed to hear, and he knew exactly how to use it against me. Unsure whether he was telling the truth or not, the emotions I had let fester deep within came rushing through the floodgates, making it impossible to do anything but feel; the love I had for him, the feelings that had never left me, the burning sensation of need and hope coursing through my veins.

So, I didn't fight him when he kissed me once more. I didn't fight the arm he snaked around my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I didn't fight the rush I got from finally being reunited with him in this way; I had wanted his back mouth against mine since the second we were over.

My conscience gnawed at me as Roman pressed himself up against me, but my guilt didn't hinder me from letting my fingers run through his wet hair, giving in to the engulfing infatuation I had with him. As his hungry kisses moved down my jawline and to my neck, I dared to inhale a shaky breath; I was getting dizzy from the rush of feeling him close to me like this, grabbing my waist, running his hands up my body as though he had no self-control at all.

The inner corners of my brows turned up, giving in to the crushing feeling of relief and sadness, closing my eyes as I held him tightly against me. There was so much I wanted to say, to do, but I couldn't bring myself to push him away-- not when it felt this good. Not when his hands dipped beneath my shirt, grazing at my bare skin, drinking me in as though I was water. It didn't take long for Roman to get my shirt off of me, and I could taste our shared breath along with the thud of our combined heartbeat as it got tossed to the floor.

Roman's fingers pressed themselves into my skin, getting reacquainted after our time apart. I hadn't realized that I was tracing my hands up and down his arms, mindlessly relishing in the familiarity; I had missed him dearly, and I couldn't bring myself to lie about it any longer. My hands went back up into his hair as he kissed down my chest, my breaths getting short and choppy as I allowed myself to bask in the feeling of his lips against my body.

"We shouldn't," I tried, the memory of my boyfriend lingering in the back of my mind.

Roman hummed against my skin, now kneeling before me. He grasped at my hips as he pressed a wet kiss against my lower abdomen, making my breath hitch. "Push me away, then," he murmured, his wet tongue tracing where he had just kissed me; it was impossible not to shiver.

He knew he had control. He knew, that bastard knew so well-- I couldn't push him away. I was never able to do it before, so how was I supposed to do it now? I felt my tears dry up, the familiar ache between my legs pooling, threatening to run over. As if by instinct, my hips rose from the walls, begging for him to finally do something.

Roman's grip on my hips tightened, pushing me back in place. Something about the growing smirk on his face had me questioning everything; what was I doing? Was this just a ploy for him to get laid? A big, dark part of me didn't care at this point. The fingers I had in his hair loosened as he hooked his fingers in my pyjama pants, dragging them down with a satisfied look on his face. Roman wasted no time, humming as he leaned forward to press a keening kiss against my dampening underwear.

My breath hitched, my back arching off the wall in a knee-jerk reaction-- I had missed this more than I should've. There was no passion like this with Peter, although he was sweet and considerate. But Roman was so all-taking, so consuming, I couldn't do anything other than let him do whatever he wanted to do to me. He pulled my underwear to the side, laving his tongue against me as I whimpered, tasting me. Roman's big hands grabbed my leg, forcing it over his shoulder, pushing himself closer to my sex with an aching need.

"Roman," I tried, my guilt mixing in with the pleasure. "Don't--" All other words suddenly fled my mind as his lips sealed around my clit, sucking at me in a way that had me crying out in shock, my vision nearly turning black.

Just as I thought I would faint from the flood of emotions, Roman came back up after taking his time, breath heavy against my lips. "Still want me to go?"

My eyes glossed over, meeting his. Thunder and lightning struck outside again, lighting up my living room, and allowing me to see the traces of my slick around his mouth. Something about it was just too scandalous-- I couldn't believe any of this was happening. But we'd gone too far to go back now; "No," I breathed, slinging my arms around his neck, pulling him into a heated kiss.

As I tasted myself on his lips, Roman picked me up, and my legs automatically wrapped around him as they always had. He didn't need to watch where he was going as he knew my apartment almost as well as I did, walking away from the wall and laying me down on the couch with ease.

It was hard to focus on the true nature of what was going on when it felt so damn good. Everything happened in a blur; I couldn't recall how or when Roman had lost his shirt, when my underwear got pulled off and discarded, or how I had allowed this to happen. Roman's cock pressed into me slowly, still trying to be sincere despite the complexion of our encounter. With every thrust, my chest arched up against his, back curving as I whimpered at the stretch.

My hands rested on Roman's neck as he kissed me once more, stealing my breath with every roll of his hips. The part of me that was outraged with the both of us withered away as I continued to moan beneath him, coming out in broken cries. I couldn't focus on the infidelity I was committing when he was inside of me like this, his hands wrapped around me, moving me against him.

"Fuck, I've missed this," Roman breathed against my neck, letting out a laboured sigh of satisfaction. "All of you... All of this..."

Everything about this was dizzying; maybe this was my mind playing tricks on me, maybe this was all some dirty dream? But I could feel myself clinging to him, wet and dripping-- there was no way this wasn't real. "Rome," I cried, the old nickname slipping past my lips.

I could feel him give in to a shiver, ears perking up. "That's sweet," Roman kissed my cheek, driving his cock further into me as I whimpered, no longer used to his length like before. Even as he whispered my name, needing me, I briefly thought of how less intimidating he was at this moment-- this was the part of Roman that would show up in my dreams, caress my cheeks as I cried, and fall asleep on top of my chest after a long day, clinging to me. I had spent so much time resenting him, that it was weird to see him so... human. Desperate.

I let out a short gasp as I suddenly realized I was almost folded in half, my legs creasing at his arms. One thing hadn't changed; Roman would always take his liberties with me, no matter the circumstances. It somehow bothered me that I was being fucked with the same amount of love as before; did he have no guilt? No thoughts of his girlfriend at home?

Fuck-- Peter!

As I remembered my boyfriend, I felt my anxiety rise. My hand shot up to Roman's chest, lips parted, ready to protest and push him away-- but as I met his eyes, the green of his irises practically engulfed my being, and not a sound would come out of my mouth. "Shh, it's okay," Roman said, voice calm, reading my panic. "It's just me... It's okay."

Something about his voice was so calming, soothing, that a certain sense of relief washed over me-- I could recall several similar instances. This had happened before; it was almost as though a greater power controlled me every time I looked into his eyes for too long.

The hand I had on his chest went up into his hair, pulling him forward to capture his lips in a kiss. I was caught off guard as Roman pulled out only till the tip of him remained, letting out a soft gasp against him as he pushed back into me to the hilt. I felt him hum against the kiss, sighing in satisfaction. "There you go," he said, words softer than ever. "Just relax, enjoy... Let me take care of you, just like I used to."

Despite how hard my guilt was eating at me, I still felt ridiculously calm, unable to do anything else than comply. I could only moan, shivering with pleasure at the feeling of being driven forward against the couch with every thrust.

I wrapped my arms around Roman, kissing his broad shoulders, giving in to the pleasure. I had missed this, I had missed him... All my feelings started to ball up, crying out against his shoulder at the realization of what was about to happen. "Rome, I- I can't--"

"Gonna?" His question came out along with a grunt and another snap of his hips, repeatedly pushing himself into me.

I couldn't hold it-- I really, really couldn't. Something about the nature of our get-together mixed in with my climax, and I let my head fall back down against the couch as I cried out. It was so hard, so intense, that I had forgotten to breathe; I hadn't had an orgasm like that since the day we broke up.

I knew I was screwed. I knew it.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

As everything started to dawn on me, my breathing got heavier-- what had we done? I pulled myself closer to Roman on the bed, completely spent, seeking comfort from the person who had dragged me into this mess in the first place.

Eventually, Roman broke the silence; "We should do porn," he mumbled, taking another drag of his cigarette.

What? I looked up to glare at him; "Fuck you,"

"You just did," Roman smirked, glancing back at me with a rather proud expression on his face. "But I'm serious. We're damn hot."

I groaned; this was not what I needed to hear right now-- not after we had just finished round three. Roman reached out for me with his free hand, pulling me even closer, lazily running his fingers through my hair. I embraced him as I sniffled, burying my face in the crook of his neck. I was so tired, feeling my sore legs ache as I realized that up close, Roman's hair smelled like cigarettes as well. He might've quit drinking, but quitting cigarettes was a no-go in his book.

"We're horrible people," I mumbled, my words muffled up against his skin, taking in his presence. There were many times I had dreamed about us being reunited, but never that it would end up with me cheating on Peter.

Roman shrugged, turning to press a kiss against my temple. "I told you, I'm leaving her. We're fine,"

Nothing about this felt fine. I propped myself up on my elbow, watching him as he laid comfortably in my bed, almost done with his cigarette. Even after convincing me to commit such a heinous act against my boyfriend, he looked like an angel. Fucking Lucifer. "... Don't do it. Don't leave her."

"What?" Confused, Roman's green eyes rounded out. "Why not?"

I sighed, shaking my head. The decision I had made for myself was hard to air out, and I knew that protests would ensue; "I'm not leaving Peter,"

But despite my predictions, Roman got quiet. His wide, empty eyes stared right back at me, lips parted as though he was ready to speak. "... You're kidding me?" he finally said, the hurt in his face mixing in with a smidge of anger. "After this, you're going to stay with him?"

"He's good for me!" I tried, sitting up properly. "Roman, please, just-- I don't know what came over me, but this was a mistake... We're not good for each other, you know this!--"

"You're kidding me?" Roman repeated, clearly in a state of shock.

This whole ordeal was making me feel like the second worst person in the world, with the first place going to Roman. I buried my face in my hands, realizing that I was trembling. "Please don't make this harder than it already is," I pleaded, inhaling a shaky breath. "You had no right to show up here... I was fine just the way I was, and I'm going to go back to that."

I heard Roman shift, sitting up as well. His long, slender fingers wrapped around my wrists, prying my hands away from my face. His green eyes burned into me, the fire intent on destroying whatever it could catch, and I knew I had to look away before it was too late. "I'm leaving her," he said, intertwining his fingers with mine. "I love you. I'm leaving her."

It took a lot of willpower to shake my head, rejecting his words. "Don't,"

"I will,"

"No, Roman, I don't want you to!--"

My words came to a halt as Roman leaned forward, capturing my lips in a rushed, desperate kiss. I did my best not to cry again, having previously burst into tears in the middle of round two-- I couldn't do this. This wasn't good for me. Peter was good for me.

I felt Roman's hands leave mine, and before I knew it, his fingers twisted into the hair at the nape of my neck, forcing me to look at him. His eyes searched mine, looking to find some shred of doubt to hang onto. "Do you love him?" I barely had time to open my mouth to speak before he cut me off; "You wouldn't have done this if you did."

My tears came back, pressing up on my eyes with a burning fire, begging to be set free. "Please, just... Please just go,"

Roman let out a sigh, leaning forward to press his lips against my forehead. "Call me when you change your mind,"

"I won't,"

"You will," Roman's hand slid out of my hair, caressing my cheek with his thumb, his green eyes finding mine once more. And just as I was about to look away, I felt that familiar calm wash over me as the colour green took over my vision, the numbing of my thoughts ensuing; there was no way I could fight it. I didn't stand a chance.

Roman's lips quirked into a shameless smirk; "You will,"

a/n: (should I do a pt.2? hihi)

#roman godfrey #roman godfrey x reader #hemlock grove #x reader #bill skarsgård #fanfic #oneshot #smut #bill skarsgard #fanfiction #peter rumancek #the crow 2024 #angst #toxic relationship #purr the way he is gripping her hair in that gif is making me kick my legs

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sungbeam · 2 years ago

Text

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞

nonidol!chenle x fem!reader

premise. you and chenle fell hard and fast. but chenle’s been hiding something from you, and he’ll try his damnedest to keep it that way. but no matter how hard he may try, the truth always finds a way to be revealed. and that just may cost him everything.

genre. not exactly slow burn, fluff, angst!!, s2l, arranged marriage au later, college basketball star!chenle, richkid!chenle problems, college au, theaterkid!reader

warnings. ANGST, fluff, low-key cheating-ish?, chenle embodies down bad, reader tries and fails to resist, flirting and innuendos asf (it’s chenle, cmon), kissing+making out (like one scene), cursing/swearing, chenle is kinda smooth asf, did I say ANGST yet?, angst, panic

word count. 24.2k (heh)

permanent taglist: @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @justanotherkpopstanlol @johlee @frickyratz @liamsholygrail @staysstrays @w3bqrl @y3jiishot

taglist: @j4eminie777 @jenosbliss @hibernatinghamster @user103843 @watermelonlee05

a/n: i speedran this fic and i am in shambles. i hope u all enjoy tho! pls pls pLs help a girl out and reblog, comment, or even send asks abt the fic! pls spread the word if u do enjoy reading this. it would mean the world to me <3

also huge thank you to @tayunji for being my sanity check and letting me live word count dump on her (and for always sending kind words, even if she angst cancels me 🤡)

You remembered the exact day you met Zhong Chenle.

Keep reading

#feedback #sixzeroes #WOW OMG IM IN LITERAL TEARS??#thank you SO SO MUCH FOR ALL UR KIND WORDS!! seeing ur reblig truly made me so happy and warm :'))#i am beyond words tbh (´Д⊂ヽ #but so glad u liked it and thank u so much for ur reblog!!#hope u have a wonderful day/night !!

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coff33andb00ks · 5 months ago

Text

Until You

Part One | Part Two

charles leclerc x female pop singer!reader x oscar piastri f1 smau with intermittent scenes fc: none it's a mix of taylor swift, sabrina carpenter, and random pinterest ladies. {voice claim is adele}

Summary: he drives vroom vrooms, she sings soulful tunes. there's no way in hell this is gonna work, right? Warnings: language Notes: my first foray into smau and holy shit these are a lot of fun (and work omg). special thanks to @driverlando for the encouragement and listening to me whine

ynyln

liked by charles_leclrec, landonorris, pierregasly and 3,689,476 others ynyln: Merci beaucoup, Paris! Je t'aime et à bientôt!! ❤️💋 user1: formula one what are you doing here user2: she's always been a fan? user3: hope you're ok!! <3 user4: mother showing us all why she's mother pierregasly: magnifique spectacle, rendez-vous à Monaco! user5: did anyone see the fan vides of the f1 boys there? user6: she's gonna be at Monaco?!?! user7: were they in vip? user5: yeah but from what I've seen they didn't go backstage or anything user7: announce split from shitbag bf then perform best show of her tour? queen shit

ynyln

liked by mclaren, charles_leclrec, scuderriaferrari and 2,912,672 others ynyln: For the first time I will be attending a Grand Prix! Vroom vrooms make my heart go brr. Eternally grateful to scuderiaferrari for the invitation. (They don't have to know my favorite driver is on mclaren) 📷: poster of the gp I was supposed to go to 2 years ago scuderriaferrari: 🤨 scuderriaferrari: we're sure you'll be a converted tifosi by Sunday mclaren: yn is our fan 🙏🏻 Oscar and Lando on cloud 9 now f1: Looking forward to (finally) welcoming you! user4: alright y'all is she a Lando or Oscar girlie ynyln: can't I love them both 🥺 user8: great now I gotta watch all the grand prix stuff this week for a glimpse of mother user7: why didn't you go 2 years ago? user8: J*stin that's why ynbff: I know this is so beyond huge for you! You're going to have such a great time!! (liked by ynyln) user4: idk but it's weird she's all happy and stuff right after the end of her relationship with IDK user1: not really? If you look back for the past year they were rarely seen together. He didn't even go to her launch party in London user5: yeah anyone could see they were over long before they announced it. she probably mourned it already

ynyln

liked by charles_leclrec, ybffn, oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 4,698,981 others

ynyln: Dinner in Monte Carlo. Do I go all in on black or red?

scuderriaferrari: red, obviously landonorris: black charles_leclerc: Red maxverstappen1: Black ynyln: all these blue check marks where are my lil lattes 😩 user2: yn stays forgetting she's the biggest blue check mark user1: not max joining in the mclaren vs ferrari fight for YN mclaren: Papaya 🥺 (but black) scuderiaferrari: go comment on your own guest's posts mclaren: you sent the invite after we mentioned doing it landonorris: do better admin mclaren: We'll get her next time redbullracing: not if we get her first landonorris: if not we're going on strike oscarpiastri: we what landonorris: for legal reasons that was a joke 🙄 oscarpiastri: I quite like the red user3: I love that YN asked opinions on her fit but it's just f1 drivers and admins fighting over her 🍿🍿 (liked by author) ynyln: it's amazing right? no one's fought over me before user3: bffr sabrinacarpenter: love the black but the red slays 🫶🏻 redbullracing: we vote blue mclaren: that's not an option? redbullracing: we still vote blue scuderiaferrari: don't you have an energy drink to go sell user4: came for the pics, stayed for the f1 chaos

ynyln has added to their story

caption: making men wait for selfies before i order food? yes

Y/n and Charles lingered over their wine, and when yn/bff made the signal that they should get going y/n waved her off. Usually she hated social settings, but Charles was so personable and warm that she felt like she was chatting with a longtime friend. "You can go, Pete can get me back to the hotel," she said, glancing to the table in the corner, where Pete and Charles's bodyguards sat. The dining room was private, and she had the feeling that Ferrari had paid to have the restaurant closed to anyone but their small party for the night.

"I will make sure she gets back safely," Charles promised.

Yn/bff relented, excusing herself and leaving. The next several moments YN bid goodnight to the others, smiling sweetly and shaking hands of the Ferrari personnel and members of the team, and finally Carlos, who shared a knowing look with Charles before he left.

"You don't have to stay with me," she said as the waiter came to refill their glasses.

"No, I am having a wonderful time." He smiled, asking the waiter to leave the bottle. "I have wanted to meet you for a long time."

That surprised her. "Really?" she asked, sipping her wine.

He nodded, standing and bringing his glass and the bottle around so he could sit next to her. "I've been a fan of yours since – ah, I'm bad at song titles. The song where it's – I heard that you're settled down. I can't sing, I'm sorry."

She smiled. "Someone Like You?"

"Yes, that one." Charles leaned one arm on the table. "A few of us came to Paris and we were supposed to come backstage after the show, but after what happened…"

"I saw pictures and videos of you and – Lando and Pierre right? I wish I could have met you then – I've been a fan forever, but…" She swallowed hard, glancing down briefly. "I cancelled my post show meetings," she murmured. "It didn't seem right."

"Were you…" He paused, then shook his head. "It is none of my business."

"Was I too upset?" she guessed, taking another sip as the surprised flashed in his eyes. "I suppose I was. You were at the show… Those emotional moments weren't rehearsed."

"I could tell."

"Do you want to know the crazy part?" She didn't know why she was sharing this with him. He was a stranger. Yet she felt so at ease with him. More at ease than she had in a long time, really. "I wasn't crying for him."

"Who were you crying for, chérie?" he asked softly.

"Myself. For the wasted time, the pain I put myself through." Y/n gave her head a little shake. "I'm sorry, you don't want to hear about that."

"I want to hear about anything you wish to say."

"Are you always this charming?" she asked.

"I'm not charming. That makes it sound like I'm trying to make you like me. I am just… Me, y/n."

"You. Charles Leclerc, one of the top drivers in formula one."

"And you are just y/n, queen of music."

"I wasn't always."

"Neither was I."

"Touche," she sighed, lightly clinking her glass to his. "But you are charming."

"Perhaps I am just charmed. I am glad you went with the red." His eyes stayed on her as he finished his wine. Then he glanced to the corner, hesitating before facing her again. "Would you like to go somewhere more private?"

She hesitated. She didn't know him. The last thing she needed was some messy disaster of a fling, or to dive into a new relationship. And yet… "Yes," she whispered.

tbc.

#charles leclerc #f1 #formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc social media au #charles leclerc smau #f1 x reader #f1 social media au #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri #oscar piastri smau #my writings > cl > smau

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 5 months ago

Note

OMG, I just love your writing! Especially the yandere Big Brother shigaraki HCS! If your requests are still open, can I request Yandere Big Brother Shigaraki with his little sister being AFO's daughter and they used to be really close for years but one day He had thought she had died after some villain got her and there was not even a body left behind, but in truth, she had run away and joined UA. Some platonic headcanons of yandere Big Brother shigataki and yandere Father AFO about that?

Thank you! 🖤🖤🖤

Rebellion | Yandere AFO and Shigaraki Tomura

Rebelling in such a way is going to be hard beyond belief

Whether you do this in your youth or closer to your teens it’s a battle

That can’t be won without the hero specifically All Might’s intervention

But eventually they do it

Faking your death and making it seem believable enough for Shigaraki

But it sends him spiraling

His old life and now you

He’s so consumed with grief he doesn’t pick up on AFO’s minor reaction

AFO is probably more than aware that you’re probably alive

Already planning to recapture you but it’s not a priority

He knows they won’t kill you

And he knows they’ll likely use you as bait

But he smiles with glee when he thinks about how tomura will react when he knows you are still alive

He recognizes his dear little sibling immediately

No birthmark or signature sound required

He’s already imagined and even generated what you would’ve looked like had you survived

If you revealed yourself during their siege on the united liberation front

You might have saved a few lives or made the death toll a beat higher

Gigantomachia recognizes you and immediately prepares to catch you if you appear in front of him

Showing up in front of the unfinished Shigaraki he barely computes that it’s you

He instructs the nomus to capture you safely while he focuses on Deku

With his newly awakened body he gains AFO’s relaxed visage

Which causes even more of a divide when in their little mind meld Tomura realizes he knew

“All these years…and you never thought to tell me!?”

Capturing you may not be an immediate priority because they both know the heroes wouldn’t do that

….but after what happened to Twice who can be sure

It’s only an issue if you’re providing substantial support to the heroes with your own quirk

Then that is a rebellion neither of them are happy about

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere shigaraki tomura #yandere shigaraki #yandere all for one #yandere AFO #platonic yanderes #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #platonic yandere shigaraki #yandere bnha #yandere mha x reader #yandere mha #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere my hero academia

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janovavalen · 10 months ago

Note

hi, can i request percy x fem!reader or just reader if you don’t write fem.

Basically percy is dating someone from the mortal world and she asks percy to attend these important dates for her because idk she’s in ballet or something and he misses it because he’s always doing quest with annabeth and the reader feels like he’s going to leave her. happy ending pls.

a/n: awhh omg yes ofc 😭!!

✧MISUNDERSTANDING || percy jackson x fem!reader

summary: up above!

word count: 3393 (bruh i was aiming for like 1k not MF 3K WHAT IS THISSS MY THUMB HURTS…and im tired ☹️)

warnings: a bit of hurt reader and percy, miss communication, fluff and comfort in the end

y/n breathed heavily and steadily she made sure her feet were pointed and flexed to perfection. her arms being outstretched perfectly and her fingers pointed towards the walls of the studio her teacher, miss.yana, instructed her to finally move.

‘now! close your feet!—‘y/n did just so. as she held them together, unmoving she breathed steadily through her nose, making sure not to flex her face that would cause the whole class to restart.

she didn’t particularly hate ballet, she loved it beyond measure. she loved it so much—it was her mother’s favorite thing to do when she was young and when she had a small incident that stopped her from doing ballet all together, y/n promised her at the age of nine that she would continue her love for ballet.

and now here she was, four years later still doing ballet with a small collection of good metals at home to make her mother proud.

‘open feet! close, open feet! close!’ the teacher shouted to the class. they all did just as she told with no hesitance and no mistake.

if there were any—from anyone. that person would be the punching bag until next week. luckily y/n has never had to experience that, she made sure she was always perfect for the class, teacher, herself and her mother.

‘rest…good job today class, you are now dismissed. julia! make sure you keep stretching i saw slight hesitation in your leg stretches, if you need it checked out please get that down before next month.’

next month just so happened to be one of their important plays that would be watched by one of the most popular and well paid ballet teachers of all time in new york. she would be watching the class y/n so happens to be in to see who is most fitted for her privet class, and y/n had to make sure she was picked, she had to.

as y/n rested and walked over to her duffle bag that held all of her supplies, her friend maxine walked up to her. she always wore pink leg warmers and her hair in one of the tighter buns y/n had ever seen before.

‘hey y/n! were you able to hang out tonight? me and rebecca were thinking we would do a small movie night at hers? we all get these cute little themed colored snacks and watch like, horror movies or something?’ maxine smiled down at y/n who gave a tight lip apologetic smile.

‘awh i’m sorry…maybe we can reschedule on it? i’m supposed to be meeting percy today’ y/n threw on her sweats and sweatshirt to match. her new shoes being simple brown boots and her hat on to cover her head from the windy weather outside.

maxine smile and awed—‘oh! you guys are so cute together in so jealous, i though you’d said he was studying abroad?’

yeah and by that she means some place far far away were humans can’t even enter.

‘yeah…but he’s visiting today and we were going to see that new movie in theaters’ y/n smiled at maxine who nodded her head with a warm smile.

‘awh! you two have fun okay? text me the details later!’ as she walked away y/n waved her goodbye and made her way to the opposite door. leading her way out of the studio and right into to the sidewalk of new york city.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

when y/n got home she made herself known by yelling out to her parents—‘mom, dad! i’m home!’ she yelled. just then she quickly heard footsteps coming from the both of them as they smiled and hugged their daughter.

‘my sweet! how was practice? i’m so happy you got back safe i keep telling you dad here to get you a bike or a car! ah! was that nasty teacher mean to you today? huh?’ her mom rushed to her side as her dad gave her a shocked look at what she said about the car and bike.

‘you didn’t tell me—‘

‘shut up i did!’

‘nuh-uh!’

‘yes! yes (f/n) i told you a hundred times you were just always half asleep when i told you—‘

‘wh! well maybe if i weren’t half asleep i would have know—‘

‘okay guys! it’s okay i’m back! i don’t need a car but i will like a bike? and no she wasn’t mean today, i did pretty good’ y/n praised herself as she set down her bag which was quickly picked up by her dad who went to put it in her room.

‘awh that’s good to here, oh! and what about you and percy? huh? you told me you two were going out tonight is that still on?’

‘yes mom. i’m going to be leaving around five or six and back at nine like always, maybe he’ll stay, maybe he won’t.’ y/n shrugged as she was walked by her mom arm in arm.

‘well, i’ll cut fresh fruit just in case, now i know your tired so go take a nice bath! get ready for your date’ she sang while y/n felt her face warm.

‘mom! don’t say it like that’

‘well! i mean you’ve been together for how long now?’

‘two years—‘

‘two years! and you still get nervous! i still think it’s adorable don’t worry, im sure he does too’ she teased while y/n groaned and made her way to her room.

when she got there she immediately went to rush for her phone and unlocked it. her homescreen being her pet and lock being her and percy at the beach. she loved that picture so much, she’s probably posted it about a hundred times over and over on her photo dumps.

going into her contacts she was quick to text her boyfriend, percy. hoping she wasn’t interrupting him or anything.

‘hey percy! i just got back from practice. everything going well at camp?’ she texted. and almost immediately he responded.

‘hey! yeah, everything is good, i’m getting my things packed for movie night, i should be getting to you pretty soon. miss me?’ he teasingly sent making y/n turn off her phone for a second to smile with her hand over her mouth.

breathing out and unlocking it once more she texted him—‘of course i did, how could i not?’ he hearted her message and replied quickly.

‘well don’t worry i miss you just as much. i’ll see you soon okay?’ she heated his message as well and sent back a meme that he would always send her and closed off her phone.

deciding it was time to get ready she went to collect her bathroom things and started to get ready for her night.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

after about two hours of getting ready, listening to music and texting percy non stop, she finally saw it was time to leave the house. rushing to grab her purse and shoes she used down to the front door and made her goodbyes that consisted of hugs and kisses to and from her parents.

rushing out the front door, she signaled for a taxi which likely saw her and picked her up.

‘were to?’ he asked

‘the movie theater please’

as y/n said that and the taxi driver started to move, she texted percy that she was on his way which she was left with a ‘seen’.

strange…frowning her eyes bowed she kept the message open and waited for his response. he was usually really quick with this, never leaving her on seen nor delivered without a small warning beforehand of course.

‘hm…’ she mumbled.

‘we’re here!’ he told y/n who looked up from her phone in a hurry and looked to the side to see the movie theater.

‘oh, thank you’ paying him plus tip he smiled at her and said his bye which she did the same.

making her way out of the car and into the movies, she paid for the two tickets with the money percy sent her a few days prior, getting popcorn with her own money and some other snacks which was expensive as always.

looking down to see she was left on seen almost ten minutes ago, y/n double texted which she hated.

sending a small pic of the things she bought and the tickets that were next to the popcorn she held them all and walked to the movie room.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

sitting down into her seat she kept her focus on her phone, the big screen and the entrance of the movie room. hoping that one of the blondes that would walk in was her boyfriend who hopefully had a small explanation to leaving her hanging with the texts…twice!

sitting back as the room became dark she decided it was time to call him. he said he was on his way? and she didn’t mean to be obnoxious but she needed to know he was at least okay.

walking out of the room she called him…it rang. and rang…and rang.

then she heard his voice—‘hey!’

‘percy where are you—‘

‘this is percy and you’ve reached my voicemail box. if i didn’t pick up i’m either with my amazing girlfriend, slaying monsters or just sleeping, leave a message.’ scoffing a bit at his voicemail she spoke.

‘percy im at the movies and i just wanted to know if you were okay? or if you're on your way? the movie started and i'm going to be watching this amazing movie without you…call me back, please?’

hanging up and looking down at her phone and time she sighed and closed her eyes, ignoring the slight plained pit in her stomachs and heart she pushed it aside and walked back into the movie room.

sitting down and watching some of the movie she would occasionally look at her phone, the entrance. the screen. her phone, the entrance, the screen.

over, and over. until soon, without realizing it had been the end of the movie.

she still felt herself trapped in the endless loop she created for herself. her phone, the entrance and the screen.

soon enough she realized what she didn’t want to think was true, he wasn’t coming. he wasn’t showing up once again.

this happened five times in the last five months on each date that was planned every five months.

pressing her body against the seat, she sighed and placed her hands on her face. letting out a shaky breath, y/n picked up her things and made her way out of the theater.

walking until the sidewalk of new york, she felt her phone vibrate.

picking it up in a hurry she saw percy’s name flash across the screen—she answered.

‘percy—‘

‘n/n! listen im so so sorry! i—i lost track of time, i was set on a quest the second i was going to leave and i—‘

‘so what? the quests mean more than me? hanging with annabeth—‘

‘y/n please…don’t say that it’s not like that and you know it.’

‘well i sure feels like that percy! you stood me up! you left me alone again just like the picnic, the dinner, the fourth of july, my birthday!? percy…are your trying to tell me something—‘

‘no! y/n! no, it—no! stop what your thinking because it isn’t true okay? please—it isn't like that at all okay? i just….its—‘

‘explain to me percy…i’m listening.’ as y/n stood on the side of the building she felt her eyes well up with a bit of tears as her grip on her phone tightened. her purse being clutched by her side.

‘it’s….’

‘explain to me percy…please.’ she helplessly begged while holding the phone. on the other end, all she heard was a bit of noise and his breathing.

‘i—i can’t.’ he mumbled. scoffing y/n threw her head back slowly while rolling her shoulders. trying not to embarrass herself by crying in the middle of the sidewalk.

‘of course. bye percy.’

‘wait—‘ just as he said this she hung up and placed her phone in her purse. it vibrated, indicating someone was calling, seeing it might be her mom she looked and it was percy.

she didn’t pick up.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

when she got home, y/n was met with a silent house. her parents were sleep and she was kind of happy with this. she could walk to her room with no trouble.

once she got their, she immediately broke down, her hands finding ways to her mouth to silence her cries, y/n shook her head a bit and bit her lip.

the pain in her chest grew and grew to which it felt like she couldn’t breath.

was this his way of breaking up with her? was this is plan all along since she and him had to split? this whole time he was in camp…he could’ve been talking to someone else. this whole time.

sighing and crying a bit more she wiped her tears and breathed heavily, a shaky breath as she made her way to her closet and picked her pajamas.

after taking off some of her makeup, and putting her hair in a more comfortable up-do. she placed her phone on the bedside table and turned to the wall, her widow being slightly open to show the moons shine from space.

feeling her body shake a bit from her cries she suddenly heard—tik.

quieting down, y/n stopped and waiting just to hear another—tik, tik—one became two and two became four.

sighing she sat up and looked at her slightly ajar window to see there were small rocks being down at her window.

what kind of drunk is doing this so late at night? and why her window? and why on this day as of right now.

groaning she sat up and grabbed her bat to make sure bod is was handing from her window. stepping slow and close to her window she saw curls then a face—with a black hoodie on. screaming she went to swing her bat but was stopped with—‘oh my god! stop! stop! it’s me!’

stopping her movements…she knew that voice. placing the bat down and aggressively taking off his hoddie she saw it was percy.

‘what—‘

‘i know i know, what are you doing here? why are you here? what do you want you pertinacious douchebag—i know but please? let me explain…please.’ he silently begged her as y/n firmly looked down at him. giving up as she saw his blue eyes, she placed down the bag completely and stepped beside it let him in.

once he was in he turned to her. y/n had her arms crossed and her face flat, filled and prominent with upset, hurt, anger and confusion. the slight previous look of tears in her puffy eyes made his heart sink.

‘oh y/n…i—‘

‘why did you ditch me all those months? huh? i asked you and i will keep asking…if you can’t give a reason at all and it’s related to your demigod duties i will respect that and leave it alone but please just tell me something? anything.’ y/n hopelessly looked up into percy eyes who looked down at eyes and sighed.

placing his hand on her arms that were folded she let then loosen as he pressed his body against her own, embracing her with the warmth of her preciously covered body and his naturally warm one. she melting into his hind immediately and tested up again.

‘is this you breaking up with me? i don’t get it i—‘

‘i was trying to clear up my schedule to make it to your play next month.’ he answered, finally.

pulling away immediately she looked into his sad eyes that watched her own as a small tear dropped.

‘what?’

‘you were telling me for six months now about how important and exited you were for this big play so i worked and worked on many of my quiets that were already ahead of me to make sure none of them interfere with your play. i want to make there so i can see you dance, i know i’ve been really…horrible with being a boyfriend and making it to our dates and im so so sorry, half of it was planned and half of it was pure coincidence on being caught in a quest…’

‘planned?’ she asked, eyes eyebrows turning up and he nodded.

‘yeah planned…i know how serious you and ballet are and i know your always stressed at being this perfect image for the world when in fact your always perfect and there isn’t anything that can’t make you ten times better than you already are. some of the dates i missed were meant to be missed like the picnic, and the ice skating rink and your birthday…i was there, you just couldn’t see me. and now that i think about it sounds creepy and weird—‘

‘yeah it dose’ she laughed as he smiled.

‘but i didn’t show up because i knew you needed the time to freely open up and relax. your picnic was what i made you, the food and stuff i made myself that’s why—‘

‘that’s why some of the things were blue…’ she recalled.

‘mhm…and your birthday?’

‘a ocean view with blue ribbons around the napkins and flowers…but why didn’t you tell me?’ she looked up in wonder.

‘it would ruin your surprise’ she shrugged while she tilted her head in a bit of confusion.

‘my surprise?’

picking up the bag that was set next to him that she failed to notice he handed it to her and she grinned up at him, a bit nervous he watched her open the blue bag. seeing another box, she opened it.

inside were his and her favorite blue colored ballet shoes. y/n smiled and picked them up immediately, placing the box and bag on her table, she looked at them and saw a small note inside.

in it was what said—

from here on out from all of my accomplished quested i have even granted a two year stay in new york with you, and for these two years i will stay by your side non stop to make up for my missed dates, and missed hugs and talks. your favorite — percy jackson.

looking up at him with teary eyes, she launched herself at him with her arms around his neck, y/n felt percy rub her back soothingly and she immediately spoke.

‘oh my god i’m so sorry! i was so mean to you over the phone and i almost hit you with a bat! and i wa thinking of doing it anyway seeing who you were oh my—im so sorry percy oh my gosh’ she squeezed him even tighter as percy laughed a bit and held her closer.

‘it’s okay! it’s okay! i would to the same, i hoped you did so you would forgive me then baby me back to health’ he revealed making y/n pull away and push him with a scoff.

he smiled at her and pulled her in by her hand, one of his other hands making their way to hold her face soothingly and pulling her in for a sweet kiss. he was always one for words and actions. smiling and melting into it y/n kissed back all until—

‘who’s in here! my baby—what!’ the two of them turned to see y/n’s mother and father holding bats only to immediately relax.

‘percy!’

‘hi mrs.l/n…hi mr.l/n’ he shamefully waved at the two who rolled their eyes and let out a relieved sigh.

‘my god—percy please. next time use the front door’ he dad groaned as he went to walk away and back to bed only to feel his wife want aorund. turning to see her staring at the two with an adored face painted on her she awed.

‘my babies! look at you—‘ just then she was picked up and taken out of the room by y/n’s dad—her husband—‘wait! i was just checking on them!’

‘they’re fine’ he replied.

y/n smiled and covered her face with embarrassment as percy looked down at her and smiled as well, grabbing her hands and pulling them away from her face he kissed her once more.

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #percy pjo #percy series

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daydreaming-nerd · 6 months ago

Text

The Prophecy (Lucien Vanserra x Rhys! Sister)/(Azriel x Rhys! Sister) Part 3 (Azriel's Version)

Part One , Part 2

AN: "Majesty, Palo is exhausted. Because Majesty only Palo can take this (angst) and this (groveling) and give you...a masterpiece."

No fr guys I put my whole puss into this plz tell me if you liked it

check out my masterlist

Summary: The only thing worse than having Azriel not know about the bond is watching him and Elain carry on like she doesn’t have a mate as well. Lucien and you have been long time friends but things change after one fateful starfall celebration. It’s not wrong if both of your mates don’t want you right?

Warnings: angst, fluff like so much fluff, no editing (I'm so tired omg)

Word count: 9,370

We arrived in the house in silence, the only thing to fill the void was the crackling of the enchanted fire that always sprang to life whenever I walked through the door. My eyes were fixed on the floorboards, studying every grain of wood as I put together what had just happened.

I had told Azriel about the bond, and I did it in anger. I had imagined telling him a million different ways over the past 400 years but never did imagine doing it out of spite. I was just so angry with Elain and her insufferable entitlement that had me seeing red. If anyone should act in such a manner, it should be me, I was a princess after all.

I was furious with Elain there was no doubt about that, but the voice that kept echoing in my mind was Azriel’s. How he yelled at me. I had known him my whole life and I had never once been afraid of him, until today.

As if he was tired of the silence, Lucien brushed his hand under my chin bringing my gaze to his, it wasn’t until then that I realized I was crying.

“Are you okay?” he asked, brows furrowing at my tear stained cheeks.

“Yeah,” I laughed him off, wiping the water from my face.

“I’m sorry I interfered like that, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to speak to him or if you wanted me to kick his ass. But he seemed mad and I wouldn’t stand for him yelling at you.” Lucien apologized leaning against the back of the couch a good three feet away sensing I needed some space.

“I suppose that I wasn’t sure what I wanted either,” I sigh leaning against the doorframe. “Thank you for stepping in. I think it was for the best.”

“Of course, I’ll always be there for you,” Lucien nods before resuming his staredown with the floor, probably trying to make sense of everything just like I was. “Az seemed…concerned for you. I think the bond snapped for him.”

“It did,” I say, running my hand over my chest, as if I could touch the faint glow of the bond that now sat in my chest. “It clicked the moment he saw us in the kitchen.”

“Are you happy it clicked?” he asked, once again asking all the questions I truly didn’t have an answer for, at least not yet.

“I-I’m not sure.” I say honestly, knowing I didn’t need to hide my true feelings from Lu. “I’ve pictured him finding out a million ways, but over the last couple years I’ve kind of given up on the whole endeavor. I felt like I made it clear that I liked him, and he only met me with complaints about other women. First Mor and then Elain.”

“Maybe he’s changed,” Lucien pointed out.

“Even if he had it’s not because he loves me.” I murmured sadly. “You heard him in there. He only wants me because he feels entitled to me. He never once acted like he cared about me beyond being his best friend's little sister.”

“I suppose you’re right, it’s hard to forgive 400 years of cruel behavior,” Lucien muttered, still staring at that little spot on the floor.

I strode across the room and leaned against the couch with him. I wanted to say something, anything to break the silence. But it was as if all the air had been sucked from the room in one foul swoop. I had just let out a 400 year old secret and for the first time ever, our mates seemed to give a damn about us. I look to Lucien who is still processing everything and I recall how Elain was so upset to see her mate with another female.

“Elain…” I started, wanting to tread carefully. “She seemed pretty upset,” I said, only stating the obvious.

Lucien chuckled, “Yeah, I think that’s the first time she’s ever called me her mate.”

“And how do you feel about that?” I ask wanting to give him the same room to speak that he gave me. I knew if he didn’t feel like sharing he wouldn’t, Lucien was no pushover.

“I feel strangely happy,” he says and for the first time since we got back his lip curls into a half smile. “I think that she might be willing to give me a chance.”

My heart warms at the idea of Lucien finally getting to have a chance with his true mate, “I’m really happy for you Lu,” I smile, patting his hand that sat on the back of the couch.

He snaps out of his trance, “that’s not to say that you’re not- you’re a wonderful woman y/n-” he rambles.

“Hey, HEY!” I shout getting his attention. “I’m happy for you Lucien. You deserve this,” I laugh at his attempt to not hurt my feelings.

“Thank you y/n,” he smiles, grabbing my hands and squeezing them.

“What do we do now though,” I sigh looking at his family ring on my finger.

His eyes flit to the ring as well as his thumb brushes over it, “We continue on as normal, we can push back the wedding. I’m not confident in what Elain wants from me at this point and you clearly are at odds with Azriel. If things don’t work out…” he trails off thinking about hsi next words. “If things don’t work out I would still be honored to have you as my wife. I still feel like we could make eachother happy.” he says earnestly.

I look into his eyes of russet and gold and see that he truly means every word, “Okay,” I nod my voice barely above a whisper.

“Okay,” he agrees, keeping his voice down as well. “Shall we head to bed?” he asks.

“We shall,” I laugh, following him up the stairs.

That night we didn’t make love, we cuddled as normal though, but somehow even that felt wrong, now that the bond I prayed over for so long hummed within my chest.

While the little High Lord in training was typically quite docile, he had just learned to crawl and had begun flapping his little wings, which meant trouble was becoming the new normal. Which is exactly what had happened today…

“Nyx no!” I shouted as he reached for a heavy book on one of the bookshelves, his tiny wings helping him to gain the extra inch or two of ground he needed.

I grabbed him from underneath his shoulders and brought him into my arms, bouncing him on my hip as his eyes caught the shiny necklace I was wearing. His little hands grabbed at it and I figured it was better than a vase or another heavy book.

“Just wait till he can actually fly,” Lucien chuckled, coming up behind me.

“That won’t be for quite a while thankfully,” I laugh, bouncing the babe up and down.

“Are you so sure about that? Cassian seems to already be giving him lessons.” he points out.

“I don’t even want to think about a flying toddler,” I scoff and Lucien chuckles behind me.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head and I could feel his lips curling into a smile.“You’re going to be a great mother one day” he admitted.

“I’ve always wanted children,” I said and a beat of silence passed until I decided to be bold. “Lu, do you think we could ever have children?” I ask, afraid to turn around and possibly see a wary look on his face.

I felt Lucien’s chuckle reverberate behind me, “Of course, I’ve always been fond of children myself,” he laughed.

I whipped around with Nyx to search his eyes for a hint of uncertainty, but he seemed happy about the idea, “Really?” I asked in disbelief.

“Of course,” he assured me.

“I want a million just like little Nyx here,” I smile looking at the babe in my arms.

“Minus the wings of course,” Lucien laughs behind me and I pause.

My entire life I had always pictured my children with wings. Small, delicate little things that I would ‘ooo’ and ‘ahhh’ over. I remembered seeing the Illyrian children in Windhaven growing up, I was always so happy when mothers would let me hold their babies, their wings so adorably small. I looked forward to having winged children of my own, I always pictured them scaling Azriel when they were little like Nyx, and as they got older I would watch as Az taught them to fly.

“What is it my dear?” Lucien asked, breaking me out of my trance.

“Oh it’s nothing, it’s just that when I pictured my children I always figured they would have wings,” I say, pressing a kiss to Nyx’s temple.

As if summoned, Azriel walked in, Rhys and Feyre in tow, signaling that their meeting was over. His eyes flitted to me, no doubt having heard what I had said. Lucien’s hand tightened on my hip.

Feyre’s eyes sparkled at the sight of her son and Rhys eyes sparkled at the sight of Feyre taking their babe from my arms. I reluctantly gave Nyx back, already missing being able to pretend he was my own.

“He was a little angel,” I report to Feyre.

“If by angel you mean hellion,” Lucien chuckles behind me.

“I would expect nothing less from a child raised by this family,” Rhys laughed, wrapping one arm around Feyre and brushing a hand against his son’s cherub cheeks.

A silence rolled over the room as we all watched the little family reunite. I couldn’t help but flit my eyes to Azriel, who looked at them with a grin and a longing in his eyes. His eyes find me and I don’t dare look away.

“Can we talk?” Azriel asked timidly, taking a step away from the doorway he leaned against. Feyre and Rhys take out of the room, no doubt feeling the change in the atmosphere.

I searched his eyes for a hint of aggression but all I found was remorse, “Yes we may,” I say quietly.

Lucien releases his grip on my hip as I follow Azriel into Rhysand’s study and close the door behind me with a resolute click signaling that I was locked in here with him. Az takes up residence by Rhys’ desk, leaning against it like some sort of tortured man. I couldn’t help but notice he was still in his fighting leathers, his wings tucked in tight and his knuckles perched over his lips, like he was contemplating what to say. Even now, when he was at his most vulnerable, he was so beautiful.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted last night. I yelled at you and I shouldn’t have,” he says fidgeting a bit. “Its just… it’s just that I was so pissed when I found him with his hands all over you and you just seemed so happy.”

He sighs running a hand through his hair staring at the ground, still unable to meet my eyes.

“I think that’s what bothered me the most,” he continues. “You seemed…happy.”

“You were upset because I was happy?” I scoff furrowing my brows at him, the fucking gall of this male.

“No, no! Gods y/n,” he corrects me, running his hands down his face clearly upset with himself. “I think I was upset because I wasn’t the one making you happy.” he finally says and I can hear the vulnerability in his voice.

I’m completely taken back by his words, at the fact that he admitted that he wanted to be the one to make me happy like that. The way Lucien did. It didn’t make any sense, given the fact that he never showed me in the last 400 years.

“That’s funny coming from a male who’s been complaining to me about the females he’s been in love with for the past 400 years.” I deadpan, crossing my arms.

“Is that how long you’ve known? 400 years?” he asked me, voice rising a bit.

I nod, “I knew the night you danced with me on solistance in the Hewn City all those years ago,” I confess.

“Fuck y/n,” he groans running his hands down his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you started panting after Mor and the second you gave up on her in walked Elain!” I shouted, it was the most obvious thing ever as to why I didn’t tell him.

“You had to know that you were first,” he says, snapping his head up to meet mine, pleading in those hazel eyes.

I gave him a blank stare not knowing what he was talking about.

“Please tell me you know you were the first, before Mor, before Elain, I was practically on my knees for you,” he confessed.

Once again I’m left speechless. Could it be true? That he had wanted me before I even knew about the bond?

I shook my head, even if it was true he was speaking in past tense. I didn’t want him to be my mate because he felt like he had to be, I wanted him to love me, truly love me. I wanted him to choose me.

“I had no idea,” I admit feeling a bit of shame. “But that doesn’t matter anymore, it’s all in the past. I’m not mad at you Azriel.”

“Thank the cauldron,” he breathes, crossing the room to cup my face.

I place my hands on his wrists and pull them away from me, “Az I think that you should be with Elain,” I say, stepping back from him.

“What? No.” he shakes his head and I take another step back.

“You clearly love her and she loves you, the cauldron made a mistake by making us mates, it's as simple as that,” I say trying to hide my tears.

I loved Az, a part of me always would, but I wouldn’t be his consolation prize just because the cauldron fucked up and made me his mate instead of Elain. I couldn’t live with that.

“No don’t say that, please don’t say that,” Az pleads, his voice softening.

“I’m sorry Azriel but I won’t be your consolation prize,” I say before grabbing the door handle and walking out into the living room where Lucien was.

Azriel goes to say more until he hears the hitch in my breath. There, before me, Lucien is tucking a stray hair out of Elain’s face and placing a kiss on her knuckles. A sweet gesture, one I’ve probably read about a thousand times in my romance novels. Lucien’s eyes flit to mine, and I can honestly say I’ve never seen him so happy.

“We’re going to give it a shot,” he smiles happily, putting an arm around Elain.

“Really?” I ask looking to Elain who smiles brightly.

“Yeah we are,” she says smiling up at Lucien.

“Oh I’m so happy for you two,” I cheer before engulfing them both in a hug.

“Congrats you guys,” Azriel mutters from behind me, seemingly abandoning whatever he was going to say to me in favor of praising his friends.

Lucien chuckles at my excitement, “Don’t get too excited, we’re going to have to move my stuff out of your place today, I think it’s time I move back into the townhouse,” he smiled.

“Well what are we waiting for? Let’s get started!” I cheer, grabbing his hands to winnow us away.

In reality I wasn’t excited about the idea of moving, and much less excited about the idea of my little townhouse being empty again. But I needed to get away from Azriel.

One week later:

After the all day affair of moving Lucien’s accumulated stuff out of my house and in the townhouse I was back to loving alone. Which at first wasn’t terrible. I was content to read my book and cook for myself when necessary. But after about a week I began to miss the food Lucien would make, or having someone to lie next to. It was a strange feeling, it felt like a breakup, but I wasn’t sad. I missed having another heartbeat in the house, not Lucien himself.

After a week of getting my affairs in order my brother finally asked me for some help and I was thankful for the distraction. All week I had been in my own head about all that had happened, with Lu and Elain, with me and Az. I needed a break to think of something else.

That’s how I found myself slipping on an old day court dress and getting ready to winnow to see Helion, an old friend of mine. I was leaving the house and locking the door when I ran smack into a large chest I screamed being taken off guard.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you,” a familiar voice apologized, I turn to find Azriel standing before me.

“It’s okay, I should’ve been paying more attention,” I chuckle awkwardly. I hadn’t heard from the spymaster in a week, why would he come to talk to me now?

Azriel’s eyes furrow from where they tower over me, “Why are you dressed for the Day Court?” he inquires.

“Oh well,” I look down at the swaths of white fabric that cascaded down my body, suddenly feeling a bit exposed from off the shoulder dress. “Rhys wants me to go and schmooze Helion a little bit. Something about wanting to get him to agree to better trade deals.” I laugh remembering how my brother agonized over it the other day.

“So he wants you to go and flirt with Helion?” Az cocks an eyebrow at me.

“Well Helion and I go way back, and he’s always been…well keen on me.” I say honestly and I watch as Az bristles just a bit. I can’t even count the number of times the High Lord as tired to get Cassian and I in his bed

“I’ll give Rhys one thing he sure is ruthless,” Azriel chuckles trying to play off his nerves.

“Is there something I can do for you?” I ask, still wondering why he’s here, at my doorstep.

“Oh uh, no,” Azriel stutters. “Well actually I was walking by and I saw this and I thought of you.” he says pulling out a white rose. It looked like he had plucked it right off the bush down the street. “I thought you should have it.” he finished.

I take the rose from his hand and notice that the thorns have all been cut off. I eye Truth Teller strapped at his side and the lingering thorn that was still stuck on its sharp blade.

“That was very thoughtful of you Az thank you,” I tell him sweetly, taken back by his gesture.

“You’re welcome,” he says, seemingly relaxing at my acceptance of his gift.

I check my watch, “Well I really do have to go, Helion is waiting for me,” I wince moving past him on the stairs so I can get past the words my brother has on my place.

“Yes of course,” Az says following me down the steps and out the wrought iron fence. “Do you need a ride?”

“I’m okay, I can winnow,” I chuckle, closing the gate behind me.

“Well I guess I’ll see you later then,” Azriel voices with a hint of a sigh.

“Yeah I’m sure you will,” I reply before winnowing into Helion’s mansion.

How could Az be so calm about all this? It was like he was trying to force himself to have feelings for me, figuring he better learn to love me now that he’s shackled to me for eternity. Part of me wondered if Rhys had given him a firm talking to and convinced him to attempt to like me.

“There she is,” Helion mused from the top of the stairs coming down the stairs dressed in his usual attire. Part of me hated that I found him attractive, in another life, if he wasn’t so promiscuous, I might’ve seen myself standing by his side.

“Helion,” I smile, pulling him in for a hug.

When we pull away his hands linger at my waist and his eyes look at the rose in my hand. “What’s this?” he asks plucking the rose from my hand.

I think about the encounter with Azriel, how forced it all felt.

“It’s nothing,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders.

Helion tosses the flower aside before throwing his arm over my shoulder and leading me inside, “So, your brother has sent you to convince me to agree to his new trade agreements.” he smirks.

“He’s done nothing of the sort, I came to visit an old friend of my own accord,” I tease, knowing Helion isn’t as daft as Rhys makes him out to be.

“We’ll see about that new treaty after some wine, and tell your brother that next time he wants to use you against me as leverage he should just send you naked,” Helion chuckles.

I erupt in laughter, slapping his arm as he leads us to a white couch with a bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table.

Three days later after successfully getting Helion to agree to a new trade treaty I found myself sitting in my living room with a glass of wine enjoying the fruits of my labors. As soon as I told Rhys about the High Lord of Day’s cooperation he sent me one of his finest bottles of wine as a thank you. Not that I required any thanks, I enjoyed spending time with Helion.

My silence was interrupted by my door opening and closing. I just about jumped out of my skin, the only one who had the key to the place was Lucien and he had given it back a long time ago. My heart pounded as I stood from the couch in my nightgown and robe. I had turned in for the night and certainly wasn’t expecting visitors. I lift my romance novel over my head and step around he couch ready to swing when I see Azriel locking the door behind him quietly.

“Azriel you scared the hell out of me,” I sigh, lowering the book.

He turns from the door looking me up and down taking in my casual attire hungrily. “I’m sorry I guess I’m just used to walking right in, I wanted to give you these,” he says holding out a large bouquet of white roses, exactly like the kind he gave me the other day.”

“Thank you Az, they’re beautiful,” I say wearily, taking them from his scarred hands. “I’ll uh- I’ll just put them in water,” I tell him, padding into the kitchen to grab a vase and fill it.

“I thought since you liked the other one I gave you that you might like those ones too,” he says walking into the kitchen and leaning in my doorway.

I place the two dozen roses in a vase,“Well I appreciate them, it’s been a while since I’ve had fresh flowers in the house,” I divulge to him, remembering how Lucien used to bring them home all the time. He would always ask for Elain to make him a bouquet, his little way of speaking to her in a way that didn’t make her uncomfortable. The thought had me thinking of how Lucien and Elain were probably sitting at a nice dinner right now, had me questioning why the fuck Azriel was here.

A silence fills the room as Azriel sits admiring either me or the flowers, from where I’m standing it could be either or. I walk around the kitchen island to test the theory and sure enough his eyes follow me as I lean my back against the side closer to him. A wave of embarrassment slips over me. Did Rhys ask him to bring more flowers again? Was I really that pathetic?

“Az why are you doing this?” I ask, gesturing to the flowers behind me.

Azriel straightens taking a tentative step towards me, “Because I want what Elain and Lucien have. I want you to give me a chance to be a good mate,” he says softly.

I look to the wooden floors below me, my bare feet messing with a loose floorboard, “You don’t have to do this Azriel. If Rhys sent you I’ll just cover for you and say you came.” I say not daring to look at him.

“I’m not here because of Rhys, I’m here because I want to see you,” he implored and I heard his feet shuffle closer.

“I’m still not your consolation prize just because Lucien and Elain are doing well. I won’t do that to myself,” I say, continuing to mess with the loose floorboard.

“You’re not my consolation prize y/n, you’re my mate.” Azriel states, his voice becoming more urgent causing me to tighten my arms around myself ever so slightly.

His boots come into my line of sight and suddenly he’s titling my chin up to meet his pleading gaze. I’m suddenly all too aware of how underdressed I was. There was a time when I would’ve killed for this. But now? I won’t let myself be hurt again.

“Y/n please-”

“Azriel I’m at peace,” I snap, cutting him off and looking down at our feet once again even though his hand still rested under my chin. “For the first time in 400 years I’m at peace. I have loved, and pined, and thrown myself at your feet for 400 years, and I am finally happy in my exile. So forgive me if I’m hesitant to give that up so quickly because you all of the sudden want a mate.” I bit out.

His shadows dance around my hands and I move my fingers out of their grasp, like their cold kiss was burning me.I wait for him to say something back, for him to breathe wrong, yell at me or leave but he doesn’t move. I let my eyes flit up to his, and I find him staring down at me, like he’s been waiting for me to look at him this whole time.

“I’m not going to give up,” he states, if he was sad or upset by my previous words he doesn’t show it.

I sigh, tossing my head back, “Az please,” I beg.

“No I’m serious, I’m not giving up on you, on us,” he maintained steadfastly, his hands not leaving my cheek as he steps even closer to me and my back hits the cool granite behind me.

“Azriel I think you should go,” I grit out, the second my body stiffens under his he steps back giving me my space.

“Alright I’ll go,” he says, taking a step back.

I follow him to the door and hold it open as he steps out into the cool night air that has me wrapping my silk robe around me tighter, as if it was helping anything anyways.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he assures me before shooting off into the sky.

“I really wish you wouldn’t!” I shout into the air after him before slamming the door and locking it.

I take a deep breath once I’m seated on my couch again, trying to salvage any sort of peace I might still have. But that tranquility was disappearing in my hands the more I chased it.

The following day I head to Rhys’ house to talk over the new adjustments in the Day Court trade agreements. It was supposed to be easy enough, but as things got more and more complex it ended up being an all day thing. By the time I walked up the steps to my own townhouse I was exhausted and starving. I wasn’t looking forward to bread for dinner as I had no time to go to the market today.

I kicked open the door and locked it behind me, the smell of fresh tomatoes and basil wafted through the air causing me to pause in my tracks. Was Lucien here? Had him and Elain gotten in a fight or something?

“Ah shit!” I heard a male cuss followed by the searing of liquid on a burner.

I curiously walk around the corner of the kitchen where I’m greeted with the sight of Azriel, standing in my apron, reading my cookbook and stirring some sort of sauce. His shadows were helping him turn the pages of the book. I see the spilled sauce on the burner that was the cause of his profanity just moments ago.

“There you are,” he smirked, his eyes flitting up to mine before reading the book again.

“Az what are you doing here?” I ask, setting my bag down on the table.

“Making you dinner,” he said, gesturing to the numerous used pans and utensils lying around my once clean kitchen.

I walk over to inspect what he’s cooking. Fresh herb crusted chicken cooks in the pan next to him while he stirs a red sauce. In the sink is cooked pasta sitting next to freshly sauteed green beans. I inhale the smell of the food deeply and I can’t help but feel myself salivate a little, it smells delicious.

“You always dog ear the recipes you want to try but you never make them for fear of not liking them,” he says nonchalantly as he prods at the chicken.

I look down at the cookbook he’s reading, sure enough the recipe he’s making has a bent corner. I had been itching to try it but had never found the time.

“If you end up not liking it there’s take out from Rita’s in the ice box,” he said using the spoon to point to the ice box in the corner of the room.

I look up to fully inspect him. This all feels like a ridiculous practical joke. If someone had told me that my spymaster would be cooking me dinner I would’ve laughed in their face. Upon further inspection I realize he’s shirtless, save for my apron he’s wearing.

“Was the half nudity necessary?” I cock an eyebrow leaning against the counter.

Azriel barked out a laugh, “It took me a while to find the apron, I had gotten tomato juice on my shirt when I started chopping them up for the sauce so I took it off and washed it,” he explained the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk. “Plus I figured the whole shirtless bit might win me more brownie points with you.”

I rolled my eyes at his cockiness, I didn’t dare let him know how right he was.

He laughed at my reaction, “Why don’t you go sit down, dinner’s almost ready.” he said gesturing to the couch.

I shrugged my shoulders and padded my way over to my favorite reading spot. The one he found me in yesterday. I plop down on the velvet sofa and there in front of me on the coffee table, my book has been left open to the place I bookmarked and a glass of wine sits for me. I raise an eyebrow but decide to just roll with it, I pick up the book and sip on the wine, becoming engrossed with the story.

A few minutes later I feel the cold begin to bite at my toes. I look around for a blanket and see that the nearest one is across the room. I curse at the idea of having to move, but before I can even set my book down one of Azriel’s shadows is scurrying across the room to retrieve the knitted blanket for me. The wisp of darkness arranges the blanket neatly over my legs, tucking me in like a mother would her child. I can’t help but laugh at the care the little thing is putting into the job.

Azriel’s shadows looking out for me was nothing new, the second the bond clicked for me they tended to stay near me. Picking up pens and silverware I dropped on the floor and always twirling around my hair and wrists. There were even times they would try to drag Az near me, like on starfall and solstice, nights I looked especially beautiful. But he would always curse and wave them off until they left him alone.

The little shadow perched itself on my shoulder as if it too wanted to read my book. I could sense it was trying to anticipate any other small need I might have.

“You know he might be insufferable but you guys are pretty great,” I laugh looking at the curious being.

In response the shadow boops itself on my nose as if it was giving me a kiss.

“Don’t tell them that or they’ll get a big head,” Azriel murmurs behind me where he’s leaning against the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, still shirtless and wearing that damned apron.

“In that case I’ll be sure to praise them more often, they’re little angels,” I smile as the tendril of darkness dances around my collar.

Azriel lets out a small chuckle behind me, “Dinner is ready,” he tells me before disappearing into the kitchen once more.

I follow him as the small shadow frantically pulls at my wrist towards the table, as if it’s eager for me to see what it helped its master cook. When I walk into the darkened kitchen and find that Az has set the table not only with our dinner but with candles and another bouquet. This time it’s an arrangement of jasmine, no doubt from the florist down the street.

I sit down and inhale the heavenly scent of the white flowers and hum in delight. Azriel comes in with a bottle of wine and two glasses, pouring us each a bit. He sees me admiring the flowers and smiles.

“Jasmine, like your perfume,” he says, putting down the bottle and taking his seat next to me.

I smile and look down at the plate before me. It looks delicious, the pasta is fragrant with basil, the chicken is cooked to perfection and the green beans are vibrant and green. I lift my fork and dig into the past first. The moment it hits my tongue the flavor melts in my mouth, rich, bold and oh so savory. I let out a moan as my eyes flit to Azriel who is watching me expectantly wondering if I’m going to like it or not.

“This is incredible,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand so he doesn’t see me chewing.

“Thank the cauldron I thought I put too much red pepper in,” he breathes out, seemingly relaxing before digging into his own plate.

“No it’s perfect, thank you really,” I say earnestly.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, taking a bite of chicken.

We sit and eat our meals in silence simply enjoying the good food. A little shadow flitted up in front of my face to gauge my reaction to the bite of chicken I was chewing. I couldn’t help but laugh as it shifted like it was cocking its head at me.

“Yes it’s very good, you did a wonderful job,” I laugh at the little fella.

My giggle brings Azriel’s attention to me once again and before I know it he’s waving his hand at the little tendril like he’s swatting a fly.

“Hey go away let her eat for the love of god,” he chastises as the shadow slinks back behind him.

“Don’t worry it wasn’t bothering me,” I laugh taking another bite of green beans.

“Yeah well they haven’t been listening lately,” he says looking back at the little shadow that had slinked behind his shoulder like a reprimanded child.

I shake my head at the two of them interacting and take another sip of wine. To be honest I wasn;t really sure what to say to Azriel. Despite his valiant efforts to win me I still wasn’t ready to abandon the peace I had grown so fond of.

“You know it’s funny,” he tells me, playing with the food on his plate. “I feel like my shadows have always liked you. It was like they knew before I did,” he laughed nervously at his confession.

“Maybe so,” I shrug, not wanting to broach the subject, the friendlier we could make this the better.

“I can remember times when they would drag me into any room that had you in it. Most of the time I control them, but when it comes to you? They control me.” he laughs while taking a sip of his wine.

“Thank you again for dinner,” I say, forcibly changing the topic of conversation. “It’s been a while since I had a home cooked meal. I think the local restaurants have my to-go orders memorized now.” I laugh.

“Lucein used to cook for you didn’t he?” Azriel asks, and I can feel his eyes burning into the side of my head as I play with the pasta on my plate.

“Yeah he did, he was a surprisingly good cook too,” I say, recalling the traditional Autumn Court meals he would cook all the time. They were mostly for him, for when he was feeling nostalgic, but he always left some for me as well.

Azriel sits for a moment as if debating whether or not to say something for a moment. “Did you love him?” he asks.

My fork clatters to the plate at the abrupt question and I’ve never felt so put on the spot. It was never something I had thought about in regards to the autumn court male. Love seemed like an emotion that would be reserved for Azriel and Azriel alone, until one day it wasn’t. I didn’t love Lucien, but I certainly stopped loving Az in that way, or at least I think I did.

“No I didn’t” I say honestly turning to meet the shadowsingers gaze. “Lucien and I… it was never like that. We both knew what we needed for each other, it started as just sex. But then he would stay the night, and then we started going to breakfast. His shirts started showing up in the laundry hamper, his books on the coffee table. Eventually I just gave him a key, it seemed like the logical thing to do. We didn’t even label our relationship until he asked me to marry him.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Azriel said, going back to shyly staring down at the table. “I overheard your conversation that one day. When you asked him about the possibility of having children. You said that you always pictured your children having wings, was that true?” he inquired.

I nod shallowly, unable to trust my own words in such a raw moment.

If Az had any other questions he didn’t ask them or press me to talk about the two of us, it was as if he was happy with the answers I did give him. He was perfectly content to let me finish eating my meal in comfortable silence. When I was finished he cleared the table and didn’t let me lift a finger to help clean. Instead those pesky shadows cornered me into reading my book once more.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that he came in, dressed in his shirt once more to bid me goodnight. He insisted that I stay in my comfortable spot by the couch as he walked himself out locking the door behind him. As the comfortable silence, which I had grown so used to, ensued, I found myself silently wishing he had stayed just a little longer.

The following weeks were spent with little visits from shadows and shadowsingers. Sometimes it would be Azriel showing up at my door with coffee or gifts. Other times, when Rhys had Azriel on missions he would find ways to leave things at my doorstep. The first time it was another bouquet of flowers and then chocolates.

My favorite gift from Azriel had been the books. The first set he got me was the second and third book in my series. They appeared at my door the morning after he made me dinner with a note that read…

I noticed that you were almost done with your book last night so I went out to get you the second book. I noticed it was a short book so I got you the third in case you finished it in one day like you no doubt will.

-Azriel

Of course he was right and I finished the second book by the end of the day. When I opened the third, and much longer book, to begin reading it a bookmark fell out and another note.

I figured you might need a bookmark for this one.

-Azriel

He was right about that as well.

The next book to be delivered was a classic romance with certain pages, and quotes underlined. His notes scribbled in the margins. Clearly he had taken the time to read the novel himself. When I saw the first annotation I expected his further notes to be corny or cheesy, but each one was well thought out.

The most recent literally delivery was a small and short book about different types of flowers. Between each of the pages sat a live flower that corresponded with the page. It was possibly the most vibrant and beautiful bouquet I had ever seen and by far my favorite floral gift I had received.

This week though things had been different. As the colder months were drifting in I started spending more time inside, reading by the fire. But not once had Azriel stopped by. Not a present, not a note to be found. When I subtly asked Rhys were the shadowsinger was he told me he was in the isle of Hybern.

A week had come and gone without so much as a tendril of a shadow to be seen. I sat infront of my roaring fire with a book in hand trying to escape the bitter cold. Outside the first snowfall of the year had taken the form of a blizzard. I pitied the shopkeepers that would have to walk home in it.

Around midnight I heard the scraping of metal against stone from outside my house. I jumped out of my skin and quickly looked at the clock noting the late hour. I set down my novel to wrap myself in a blanket and pad over to the front door. I could already hear the winds outside and feel the cold air seeping in through the cracks in the door.

I open the door to investigate the strange sound and I nearly gasp when I find Azriel outside my house shoveling my walkway with a small shovel from my garden. One meant for digging out plants and trees, not snow.

“Az what are you doing?” I ask, making the spymaster jump a bit.

“I’m shoveling your walkway. I didn’t want you to slip tomorrow morning or hurt your back trying to shovel it yourself,” he said, digging into the snow again with the little metal shovel.

“Oh Az you don’t have to do that,” I coo walking out into the cold pulling my blanket tighter.

“I don’t have to but I want to,” he said shoveling more snow. “It wouldn’t take so long if I had a bigger shovel.” he grunts, frustrated.

“Well why didn’t you take Rhys’ shovel?” I laughed watching as the overgrown Illyrain tried to mangle the tiny thing.

“Well I just got back from Hybern, I saw it had snowed and I came here first.” he explained and my heart swelled. He had come to my place first before he even went home. “I figured if I didn’t do it you would fall and break your head open.”

“Azriel, really you don’t have to do this, I can handle it,” I plead with him feeling bad that he’s subjected himself to the weather.

He stops his shoveling and turns to look at me, “y/n I want to do this. Don’t worry about it.” he says before looking me up in down seeing that I’m in nothing but a short nightgown and a blanket. “Now go inside before you catch a cold.”

“Me? What about you?” I laugh looking around at the snow falling around us.

“I’m Illyrian the snow doesn’t bother me,” he retorts and I can tell that he’s lying by the pink in his cheeks from the cold.

“Well I’m half Illyrian,” I counter, swinging back and forth on my heels.

“Then I’m sure half of you is really cold,” he rebuttals. “Now go back inside and get warm before I carry you inside myself.” he smirks before shoveling up another heap of snow.

I just shake my head and retreat to the warm fireplace awaiting me.

I waltz into the House of Wind where the Solstice party is in full swing. Lords from neighboring courts are chatting and drinking all around and from the corner of the room I can hear Cassian’s booming laugher as he doubles over at something Helion has said.

Like almost every solstice party I arrive fashionably late. I truly never mean to be the last to arrive, but it feels like the whole guest list decides to arrive early just to spite me. I make my way around the area where couples and children are dancing to a small quartet and head toward the bar. My dress billows behind me like liquid starlight. Just like every solstice party before this one, I will get by with copious amounts of wine.

I lean against the bar and watch as Elain and Lucien laugh and giggle across the room. I smile as Elain pops a pastry into Lu’s mouth and I can’t help but feel a warmness in my chest at the two of them. Lucien was finally happy with his mate, and if there was ever someone who deserved such happiness it was him.

My thoughts are interrupted by a shadowy friend making its presence known. Flying up by my face to say hello and then rushing behind me as if it was called. I turn to see Azriel dressed immaculately staring at me. His eyes flit up and down my body taking in every detail of me.

“You look…” He trails off, shaking his head, as if the words he was going to say wouldn’t be the right ones. “There are no words. Even the poets would get it wrong.”

I can’t help but blush at his choice of words, taking a step toward him as the shadows behind me are pushing me to do so.

“You clean up pretty good yourself, spymaster,” I chuckle giving him a once over.

He blushes and then speaks again, “I mean it, you look beautiful tonight y/n.”

I blush again and turn my head to avoid his gaze, like that shade of hazel might burn me from the inside out if I look too long.

“You must allow me to dance with you,” he says, taking both our drinks and placing them on the bar. “Not having you out on that dance floor would be a disservice to everyone here.”

I laugh taking his outstretched hand and allowing him to lead me to the dancefloor, “Alright Az you’ve convinced me, but only because I know you won’t step on my feet,”

We fall into a comfortable motion, swaying back and forth to the slow tempoed song the quartet is playing. The couples around us filter around us, some lost in deep conversation, some embraced closely swaying to the song. I keep my eyes on them, knowing that Azriel’s gaze is on me.

Memories of a solstice much like this one float through my mind. The way my feet ached before Azriel saved me, sweeping me up into a dance. The way the bond felt when it snapped into place for me. I had pulled on it so desperately hoping he might feel it too. I thought of all the years of agony that followed that night. Watching Az fall for Mor and later on Elain. Hearing my brother and Cassian talking about Azriel’s exploits in bedding local women. All of it tore me apart and it took over 200 years to rebuild the part of me that I had lost. I wondered if I would ever be whole like that again.

I hear Elain and Lucien’s laughter once more, the sound breaking me from my thoughts as Azriel and I continue to sway to the music.

“They make a great couple,” Azriel’s deep voice rumbles through me.

I smile watching Lucine place a kiss to his mates lips, “They really do,” I say with a lightness to my voice.

“Do you think we’ll ever be like that?” He asks tentatively and my world comes crashing down.

“Az,” I say and his face falls at the dismissal in my tone.

“Why not y/n? Why can’t we have a shot like they can?” Azriel says starting to get upset.

As if on queue the song that the quartet is playing ends and I hear the musicians flipping through their sheet music to find the next song. I pull my hands out of Azriel’s and take a few steps back.

“I think it’s time for me to go,” I say calmly, trying not to let the damn of tears break. I swiftly move past him towards the door.

“Y/n wait!” I hear him call out behind me but I’m already out the door, my tears falling down my face as I make my way back to that empty townhouse in the middle of the city.

The rain outside my house slams into the window violently. Spring has come early in Velaris and I wasn’t exactly upset about it. At least I wasn’t until this torrential downpour blew into town. I hadn’t seen rain like this in the Night Court for at least a hundred years now.

It’s been weeks since solstice and it seems that Azriel has finally taken the hint and left me alone. I hadn’t heard a peep from him since that dance. Not a flower, chocolate or shadow to be seen and while I should be happy about it I had never been sadder. After all the walls I put up trying to keep my peace it seemed that he had succeeded in breaking them down again.

I sat by the fire staring down at the dancing flames, no book, not even a glass of wine or tea. Just me and my all consuming thoughts. Each one of them led back to hazel eyes and blue siphons.

I jump at the sound of a fist pounding on my door. Pulling my sweater tighter to cover up my nightgown I walk over to investigate who would have the guts to stand out in this monsoon at this hour. When I open the door I find Azriel bracing his arms against the doorframe, out of breath like he ran here. His hair soaking wet and sticking to his brow as the rain pelted him.

“Az?” I shout over the sound of rain.

“I can’t go on like this any longer y/n, I won’t do it!” he shouts over the storm.

“Az it’s pouring what are you-”

“I love you y/n!” he shouts stopping me mid sentence. “From the moment I met you I knew. I wanted so badly to put my hands around your waist and kiss you. And if you’re wondering why that seems like such an adolescent dream it’s because that’s what we both were. I was 117 years old and you were 115 and that’s all I wanted. I knew little of love, even less of lust. All I knew was that I wanted to kiss you,” he hollers over the sound of rain wiping the water from his eyes.

“I’ve made mistakes, and I’ve hurt you, but I swear to you I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, because I love you. And I don’t care that you don’t love me too, because I love you y/n. I choose to love you!” he finishes and I can’t tell if it's rain falling from his eyes or tears that match my own.

I choose to love you.

I take a shaky breath and take in the sheer desperation on his face, “I love you too Azriel,” I laugh feeling another tear slip down my cheek.

He doesn’t waste a moment, stepping through my threshold and cupping my cheek to place a searing kiss on my lips. I melt into him, feeling his clothes soaking my own as my nightgown clings to my skin. His hands are on my waist, scarred and cold from the elements but still so intoxicating. My arms wrap around him pulling him further into the entryway. I hear him slam the door shut with his boot drowning out the sound of rain leaving only the music of our ragged breaths as he kisses me deeper.

He pulls away to press his forehead to mine, his wet hair and skin causing drops of water to cascade down my own face.

“I love you so much,” he breathes cupping my cheek to press a chaste kiss to my lips. “My mate.”

I pull him in deeper at the utterance of those two little words. I had waited 400 years for this male to kiss me, and this kiss right here? Well it made everything all the more worth it.

Epilogue: 5 years later

I stand outside on the lawn of the townhouse. My arms clutching around the sweater I’m wearing as the fresh spring air blows over my skin. My hands drift lower to the small bump of my stomach.

I was only a few months pregnant and barely starting to show. Elain had told me that it would be a girl claiming she had seen it in a vision. I couldn’t have been more excited for Azriel to be a girl dad.

“You’re doing it son!” I hear my mate call from the sky where he teaches our son to fly.

“Dad, I'm flying!” the onyx haired child shouted as he flapped his wings to pick up some speed.

At first I was apprehensive of him learning to fly so early, even though it had always been a dream of mine to watch my children learn to fly. But Azriel had assured me that the youngster was more than ready, and after a few weeks of lessons here he was taking to the air like a natural.

I look around at the townhouse behind me. It had seen some significant changes since the night Azriel stood in the rain and told me he loved me. The front yard was littered with toy swords and shields, and the outside had a fresh coat of paint. The inside had a room addition, a room for our son, Kai, and now we're adding another room for our daughter. All paid for by Rhys of course who was more than happy to give his nephew and niece everything under the sun.

My thoughts are interrupted by Azriel slamming into the ground before me. I turn to see him walking over to me with a smile on his face.

“Az shouldn’t you be up there with him?!” I fuss looking to where our son swoops and dives through the air.

Azriel laughs and picks me up bridal style, pressing a kiss to my lips.

“It didn’t feel right being up there without my girls,” he smiled nodding to my bump.

Without warning he took off into the sky meeting Kai up there. We must’ve spent hours flying around the city, stopping by every uncle and aunt's house to show them Kai’s new skill. Everything was perfect, and for the first time in my whole life, I finally knew peace.

(Do you guys want a smutty bonus chapter of what they did after he confessed his love???)

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