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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 3 days

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Keep Moving Forwards, Part 14

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 1.7k

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

It felt like it didn’t take more than a few hours for you to make it deep into the woods surrounding the city, remembering the paths your mother used to take you on up into the mountains. You let your hands pass over the bark of trees that had grown so much taller since you last had seen them, the canopy above casting green shadows down onto the forest floor as the entirety of the world seemed to wash over you. You walked with a new clarity, a new sense of purpose, thanking the Mother silently that you hadn’t had to explain more to the Night Court about your own affairs. You were free. You were far from the cabin in the woods, healed, refueled and ready to move on.

You continued walking, until you came upon a clearing through the trees, looking down onto the quiet city that was slowly rising to life. You felt a slight pang of guilt as you looked across, the House of Wind stuck into the side of the mountain, glimmering in the morning light. You hadn’t said goodbye to Elain, Nesta, or Feyre. And while you knew they wouldn’t be upset at your lack of manners, you still felt a sense of responsibility.

You wondered what would become of that great family, who had taken you in without question, allowing you to eat their food, sleep in their beds and care for you when you were wounded. They were rulers, diplomats, fae in positions of power, and yet for that week they had been your nurses. You wished them the best and turned back to the deep green wood.

There was no set path to follow, no destination in sight. You allowed yourself to wander freely, allowing your feet to guide you. Birds, singing out their early morning songs chattered in the treetops, a counterpoint to the crunch of your footsteps. You felt the weight of the world lift from your shoulders, each step deeper was a step farther from the worry and constraint of the world. The dense foliage seemed to absorb your anxiety, replacing them with a profound sense of serenity as you imagined running through the bushes with your mother in hot pursuit, a smile on both your faces with sweat pouring from your brow but without care, giggles echoing through the trees. Your fingers brushed over the rough bark of the ancient oaks and wondered if your mother had touched the same.

The woods grew more alive with subtle sounds of the world waking up - the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush and the murmur of a hidden stream.

You came upon a large meadow, the spring flowers a riot of colors as you perched upon a large boulder, the moss soft under your boots and fingers as you breathed in the air around you. Your mind was quiet and content, and the world was yours.

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It felt like it didn’t take more than a few hours for you to make it deep into the woods surrounding the city, retracing the paths your mother used to take you on up into the mountains. Your hands brushed over the bark of trees that had grown so much taller since you last saw them. The canopy above cast green shadows onto the forest floor, and the entirety of the world seemed to wash over you. You walked with a new clarity, a new sense of purpose, silently thanking the Mother that you hadn’t had to explain more to the Night Court about your affairs. You were free. You were far from the cabin in the woods, healed, refueled, and ready to move on.

You continued walking until you came upon a clearing through the trees, looking down onto the quiet city that was slowly rising to life. You felt a slight pang of guilt as you gazed across at the House of Wind, stuck into the side of the mountain, glimmering in the morning light. You hadn’t said goodbye to Elain, Nesta, or Feyre. And while you knew they wouldn’t be upset at your lack of manners, you still felt a sense of guilt. You wondered what would become of that great family, who had taken you in without question, allowing you to eat their food, sleep in their beds, and care for you when you were wounded. They were rulers, diplomats, fae in positions of power, and yet for that week, they had been your nurses. You wished them the best and turned back to the deep green wood.

There was no set path to follow, no destination in sight. You allowed yourself to wander freely, letting your feet guide you. Birds sang their early morning songs, chattering in the treetops, a counterpoint to the crunch of your footsteps. The weight of the world lifted from your shoulders with each step deeper into the forest, the dense foliage absorbing your anxiety and replacing it with a profound sense of serenity. You imagined running through the bushes with your mother in hot pursuit, both of you smiling, sweat pouring from your brow but without care, giggles echoing through the trees. Your fingers brushed over the rough bark of the ancient oaks, wondering if your mother had touched the same.

The woods grew more alive with subtle sounds of the world waking up—the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush and the murmur of a hidden stream. You came upon a large meadow, the spring flowers a riot of colors. Perching upon a large boulder, you let your fingers run over the soft moss and breathed in the crisp, fresh air around you. Your mind was quiet and content, and the world felt like it was yours.

A few days and nights of wandering passed without meeting anyone on the way. You sustained yourself on the meals packed for you, sheltered in the tent lovingly provided in the rucksack. You had no issue making your way over the mountain, down the other side, and deeper into the wilderness of the Night Court. On the third day, you found what looked like a path through the woods, long untended but remembered by the underbrush. You followed it and, among the pines and oaks, discovered what looked to be an abandoned cabin. Its windows were missing glass, the door was off its hinges, and the roof had missing slats, covered in moss as the forest reclaimed its property. You made your way around the perimeter, checking for signs of life, and seeing nothing but long-abandoned pots, pans, and furniture.

Attached to the side of the cabin was a small greenhouse with many panes of windows shattered, the tin roof rusted, but small plants still thriving within. You made your way inside, the light of the afternoon shining through cobwebs. The floor was torn apart, with boards arching under the dampness of the forest. It was one room, with a ladder leading to a lofted bed. The curtains, frayed and tattered, fluttered in the breeze as you took a few creaking steps in. The wood stove, perched in the back corner, was rusted over but still looked usable. On the wall, a single desk or kitchen table held various cups and plates left out, and a single candle sat in the center as though someone might be coming back for dinner. But from the layer of dirt lain on the table, you doubted anyone had dined here in many years. The back wall was lined with shelves, crusted over with dust and dirt. You ran your hand over the pans left behind, books heavy and rippling from rain, pages stuck together. Oil lamps lined the walls and seemed to still hold fluid. You dropped your rucksack and clambered up the rickety ladder to see the old, dirty mattress lying on the upper loft with a lamp next to it, the blanket old and rotten.

When you dropped back down to the floor, you gazed around the room. It was broken, worn down, neglected, and yet it seemed to yearn to be lived in. Perhaps it could be home.

You left your pack in the cabin, wandering outside to take in the surroundings. Planting beds needed tending, but the soil was rich. About fifty paces into the woods was a babbling creek with clean water. You decided that for the time being, this would be as good a home as any other.

You spent the next few days cleaning out the cabin. You formed a makeshift broom by collecting old, dried weeds from the creek and securing them to a broken branch, tying them together with a braided cord you found on the shelves. You swept out the dirt and grime, taking care to clear the cobwebs from the rafters and windows. You ripped the rotten boards from the floor, replacing them with bundles of sticks for the time being. You pulled out the old mattress, cutting pieces of it for tinder. You scaled the rooftop, surveying the rotten pieces and laid down brush and moss to patch the holes. It leaked less but still allowed a steady drip when it rained. You cleared the chimney of the stove, finding a rather unhappy squirrel family living within but managed to get it working after an afternoon of sweating and swearing. You tended to the garden and greenhouse, pulling out weeds and turning over the dirt. You saved the seeds of the fruits and vegetables packed for you, pressing them in a piece of wet cloth and planting those that would survive the heat of summer.

Sleep still came in bouts. If you slept with any sort of awareness, your mate still wormed his way in, so you often spent nights tinkering with the oil lamps, working into the early mornings as you tried to mend the curtains with old fabric scraps from around the cabin. Only when you reached exhaustion and seemed to fall asleep from mere necessity, when you slept with a depth of death, did you sleep without his interference. Even then, when it seemed you regained a sense of consciousness, you awakened yourself.

You had found father down the creek a large lake in a clearing and you felt comfortable enough to strip down and bathe in the water, allowing it’s cold temperature to soothe you as you cleansed yourself of the grime of the days.

Within the garden, you collected various stones and etched into one of them, “Anthea. Your escape was worth it.” You laid it among blooming purple flowers that you couldn’t identify.

As you settled into this new routine, you found a sense of peace and purpose. The world around you was wild and untamed, yet it felt like home.

My lovely tagged readers: @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28 @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @405rry @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006

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tealvenetianmask · 1 day

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We need to talk about how Stolas's body language in the scene resonates so hard with what anxiety and depression look and feel like.

He physically embodies what it feels like to have to reach out of yourself and do something emotionally difficult while in a depressive rut. Almost every frame of him in this part of the episode does this so well, but I've picked out a few to talk about here.

When we first see Stolas before Blitz arrives, he's sitting on his bed. His back is bent, his shoulders forward, and his arms protectively in front of him (more of that to come throughout the whole scene). It's as if he's creating a bubble around his core.

He's fidgeting with his hands, and his talons are curved, grasping.

Anxiety and depression feel different to each person, but his body language tells a story that I relate to, where anxiety lives in the whole body (limbs, digits), but depression hurts in the middle (stomach, chest, back) and right behind the eyes.

About eyes.

Most of the time his eyes are partway open, a bit downturned, with eyebrows arched and his second set of eyes echoing that downward pull.

Stolas is looking at Blitz here, asking for his grimoire. His eyes look a bit sunken back here- partway inside of himself, even though he's trying to reach out. He's attempting openness, but he's doing so from the inside of a tunnel.

When Stolas is confessing his true feelings to Blitz, he takes his hat off. A lot of people have talked about how this is part of equalizing the power balance between himself and Blitz, along with sitting so that he's at Blitz's eye level. I think this is true. But also, he keeps the hat in front of his body like a shield. When Blitz starts (mockingly?) turning the confession into a sex thing, Stolas lifts the hat up to cover himself more. It continues that protective bubble motif. It shows us that while he's trying to be open, he's still protecting his core.

When Stolas flees down the hall (I already have my answer), his arms are fully crossed in front of his body again, with his shoulders down and forward, protecting his aching core.

I also noticed that there seems to be an old portrait of Stolas right behind him in this frame, standing up straight, seemingly with one hand on his hip and the other in a fist- a pose that gives off an air of confidence, though maybe that was a facade? Maybe what we're seeing in front here is what he felt like for many of those years.

#stolitz #stolas #stolas goetia #helluva boss stolas #helluva stolas #helluva boss spoilers #helluva boss full moon #I didn't put any tws here for depression #but please let me know if I should #and i can add them #I'm learning #my helluva meta

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kandyzee · 1 day

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I think one of the main parts of why I don't like season 11 is cause of the way Ian acts after Terry died (honestly how they handled it as a whole). Why did they give us ZERO sweet scenes with them ??

I defend Ian a lot about how he acts after 3s ep6 and I feel like this is kinda a similar situation? Not completely the same. Mickey is clearly upset and vulnerable and Ian laughs. Ian goes through so much emotional growth in between s3 and 11 and they still make him act like that?? His husband is literally crying and he just looks at him like a fucking freak. mickey even being able to cry is already such a big thing but infront of Ian is a whole different step forward. The writers love taking serious situations with gallavich and turning them into bad attempts at humour. LET THEM LOVE EACHOTHER

And ur telling me we don't see mickey interact with any of his siblings about Terry dying. I wanted a Monica type celebration. I want to see them playing drinking games about all the bad shit Terry's done to them. Give me an old welcome banner where the word home has been crossed out and replaced with hell. The fact they don't even mention mandy is a FUCKING CRIME.

#rant over #im rewatching s11 #shameless us #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #shameless #gallavich #fuck terry milkovich

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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 1 day

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5 Times You Stole Eijiro Kirishima’s Hoodie | Part 1: The Convenience Store

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Eijiro Kirishima x Femme Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Tension, Hero Situations, Eijiro Kirishima is a Pro Hero

Link to My Master List 😬

5 Times You Stole Eijiro Kirishima’s Hoodie

Part 1: The Convenience Store

It is a rainy Tuesday night and you are absolutely exhausted from work. On your way home to your apartment, you decide to stop by a local bodega for some junk food. You have been looking forward to binge watching a trashy reality TV show all day long, and some potato chips would be the perfect snack to munch on as you enjoy the juicy TV drama.

The bodega’s glass sliding door opens with a squeak as you hastily fold up your dripping umbrella. You shiver as the cool store AC hits your wet skin, and goose bumps flare across your bare arms. The day had started out deceptively warm, and you hadn’t dressed for the weather. You are deeply regretting the choice to wear the navy sleeveless dress that is now clinging to your body and dripping a puddle onto the dull bodega carpet. Oh well – you will be home in just a few minutes and will be able to step into a hot shower soon enough.

You grab a shopping basket and wander the aisles, eager to satiate your cravings for salty crisps. The store is unusually empty for the hour – the sudden rain must have kept most people inside. The only other people present are the elderly cashier, and a man pursuing the energy drinks in one of the freezers. The other patron is keenly focused on a bottle of purple Gatorade - intently reading the ingredient list on the drink’s packaging. You pay no attention to this other customer as you locate the snack aisle and load up your basket with chip bags boasting a variety of fun flavors (BBQ chips?? Yes please!). The aisles are tall – stacked ceiling high with boxes and bags containing every flavor of chip one could imagine.

SMASH! A loud crash reverberates throughout the tiny store, followed by the sound of small objects scattering across the vinyl floor. A deep voice booms out: “This is a hold up. Give me all the money in that register. And make it quick – I don’t think either of us wants any trouble.” You freeze; blood running cold in your veins as you quickly put the pieces of the situation together.

“I swear old man – I’ve got a special quirk that will make your life all kinds of painful unless you Hand. Over. The. Cash.”

You move slowly along the aisle, looking for a gap in the snack shelves so you can better assess the situation. Through a small space between cereal boxes, the situation comes into view – the man that you had seen shopping for sports drinks is now standing menacingly over the check out counter. He is around six feet tall with sharp features; a simple black domino mask obscured his eyes. Clad entirely in black, he stands with his right arm gripping the linoleum countertop, the other poised grotesquely above the cashier’s balding head. It takes you a moment to put together exactly what you were seeing – the villain’s right arm was a gigantic crab claw! If the situation weren’t so tense, you would have died from laughter. The scene is ridiculous – the man’s arm (claw) is twice the length of a typical human arm and had a bright, shiny red hue. This kind of mutation quirk always gives you a start – the unnatural way the man’s body blends seamlessly with the extra large claw is uncanny.

The shop cashier looks up at the villain with terror in his eyes. He seems absolutely frozen on the spot as the masked robber clicks his claw menacingly. With a start, you notice that the inside of the claw is wickedly sharp. The villain flashes it dangerously towards the cashier’s neck to drive a sense of urgency.

You assess your options. Your quirk isn’t particularly powerful, but it definitely has some use here. If you could just get a little bit closer to the situation, you could probably use it to distract the villain long enough to get the cashier out of harm’s way. You stretch out your hand to activate your quirk, but stopped dead when you feel a warm, rough hand clamp around your mouth from behind.

You try to scream, but the sound comes out muffled. Adrenaline floods your veins as you prepared to fight for your life. You hadn’t heard someone sneak up behind you, and you squirm in an effort to get away. An arm reaches out to steady you, and it’s owner whispers: “Sorry to startle you – I’m here to help.” The soft, gravely voice sends a fresh wave of goose bumps down your chilled skin. You turn to see one of the year’s top heroes - the Red Riot - crouched over you in the snack aisle. You’d recognize that trademark red spiky hair anywhere. Your body starts to relax a bit – things are under control and a hero is here!

Over the past few years, Red Riot has been making quite a name for himself in the media as a dependable, chivalrous hero. You’ve often watched his battles and rescues play out on the television – not only was he a skilled hero, but also he was kind and genuine. His interviews were your favorite – he always found such nice things to say about his teammates and the people he rescued. And he wasn’t bad to look at either.

He’s clearly not on duty – his usual simple costume has been traded in for a black t-shirt, jeans and a soft red hoodie. Your heart skips a beat. He’s so totally hot. When he realizes you’re not going to scream and give away his position to the villain, he releases you from his embrace. He smiles reassuringly, and the warmth of his grins reaches his eyes.

“I’m going to get you out of this.” He promises.

For a second there, you completely forgot about the convenience store hold up occurring feet away from where the two of you were crouched. Your senses are clouded by the closeness of Red Riot, who is still holding you steady with his muscular arms. When he realizes his touch is lingering a bit longer than necessary, he quickly pulls away. He shifts to peer over your shoulder through the small cereal box window. The movement brings him ever so slightly closer to you, and you find yourself inhaling the sweet scent of clean laundry. You lean the tiniest bit closer to him.

But back to the situation at hand – you can hear the crab clawed villain barking commands at the cashier. He wants all the money from the register as well as a roll of lotto tickets. He must be either extremely overconfident or incredibly good at crime – because this man is taking his time! Red Riot scowls as he watches the scene unfold. You can see his body tensing as he prepares for a confrontation. With a look of determination, he turns to you and whispers “stay quiet and out of sight. I’m going to go distract the villain and try to de-escalate the situation. If things get physical – run. There’s a dumpling shop across the street – get someone there to call the police.”

His red eyes bore into your own. There’s something so intense and hot about him. You feel a strange connection pulling you closer to this man, closer to the heat of his body.

“W-wait.” You whisper. “I can help!”

You point to the man with the crab claw – he still has the Gatorade bottle in the pocket of his pants. To his left you see a palette of energy drinks waiting to be restocked. “With my quirk I can control small amounts of liquid. I can distract him by levitating all those energy drinks at once. I’ll suspend them in the air and bring them all crashing down on top of him, giving you time to get the cashier out of harm’s way.”

Red Riot smiles appreciatively. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I can’t ask you to put yourself in danger like that. I’ll handle this on my own. Just keep quiet and get across the street, okay?”

You make a face. You don’t understand why he won’t let you help. After all, the villain seems untrained and unfocused. His claw hand can’t do much damage to a bunch of small, moving targets.

“Trust me.” Red Riot reaches for your hand. He places the pads of your fingers on his palm. You can feel him activating his hardening quirk beneath your fingers as his skin slowly becomes rougher. “I was built for this.”

You nod, unable to argue. His quirk makes his skin feel smooth and strong like the bark of an oak tree. You press your fingers lightly into the center of his hand, but there’s no give. Reflexively, he closes his fingers around your own, causing electricity to shoot through your hand at the intimate touch. Red Riot’s eyes widen, an apology already at his lips. You quickly slip your hand out from his grasp.

“Good luck, Red Riot.” You tap the hardened skin on his forearm. “You’re right – definitely built for this.”

He grins, seemingly basking in the compliment.

“That’s right – just leave this to me!” He whispers back. “Stay safe, okay?”

Red Riot army crawls down the aisle. You watch as he slowly steps out from behind the shelves and approaches the counter confidently, grabbing a bag of BBQ chips on the way. The poor cashier is now filling a grocery bag with money from the register as the crab armed villain hulks over him, sneering and clicking his claw. The villain doesn’t even seem to hear Red Riot approaching him from behind.

In two strides, Red Riot closes the distance and reaches out to tap the villain on his crabby shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir. I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the counter. Other people want to check out.” As he says this, he pointedly tosses his bag of chips onto the shiny linoleum counter.

The crab villain whirls around, face full of fury. His eyes widen and his face contorts in fury when he realizes whom he’s talking to. The villain wastes no time – he propels himself away from the counter, whirling his deadly sharp arm towards Red Riot.

Crack!

The arm makes contact with Red Riot’s rock hard skin. The hero smiles smugly, his right arm taking the brunt of the blow.

“Why don’t we take this down a notch, sir? I’m clearly a match for your quirk, and the police are already on their way. There’s no need to fight, we can just talk - ”

The villain moves surprisingly swiftly, shifting around Red Riot’s outstretched arm and reaching to position his claw around Red Riot’s neck. The hero’s facial expression shifts to surprise – he wasn’t expecting a villain with such a cumbersome quirk to be able to move so languidly. The crab villain slowly starts to press down his claw around the hero’s neck. Red Riot is making a face that clearly says “Oh, shit.”

You turn and desperately reach your hand through the gap in the cereal box display, pointing your fingertips at the villain and willing your Quirk to activate. Almost instantly, the Gatorade bottle resting half full in the villain’s back pocket lifts into the air as all of the liquid rushes towards the top of the container. You focus all of your concentration on the bottle.

Unfortunately, you never had a lot of opportunity to train and refine your quirk as you had pursued an educational track that prioritized tech and computer skills over quirk competence. However, you had a grasp on the fundamentals of how your quirk worked – and you figured if you could just distract the crab villain for a moment, you could give Red Riot a chance to regroup.

The villain pressed his sharp claw further around Red Riot’s neck. You could hear an ominous cracking notice – and you hoped desperately that the sound wasn’t the hero’s thick skin crumbling beneath his assailant’s grasp. You began to feel a sickening mix of adrenaline and fear coursing through your veins and you try to renew your concentration. The liquid inside the bottle begins to boil – the water fizzing and popping in the small confined space. You shakily will the bottle to float up and behind the villain’s head.

Red Riot uses his hardened hands to try to break the villain’s grasp, but the crabby grip holds fast. The villain is intensely focused on trying to crush Red Riot’s windpipe, and so he is completely taken by surprise when the bottle of Gatorade explodes and hits the back of his head with a splash of scalding purple liquid. The villain howls in pain – both hands reflexively flying to cradle the back of his burned head. In his pain and fury, he unwittingly releases Red Riot from his grasp. The red headed hero is quick to take advantage of the situation – dropping to the ground and sweeping a strong leg beneath the villain’s own. The crab-clawed villain comes crashing to the ground with a large “thud.”

Red Riot wastes no time, dropping on top of the villain to pin disproportionate arms to the ground.

“Sir, you’re under arrest for armed robbery and for engaging in combat with a licensed hero. The police will be here shortly to take your statement - but in the meantime please stop resisting.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as Red Riot continues to hold the villain tightly to the ground. Behind the counter’s register, the convenience store clerk still stands frozen, holding a wad of bills in bills in a vice-like grip.

You hear the metallic slide of the store’s automatic doors followed by several pairs of heavy boots off to your right. Within a few seconds, a team of police officers comes into view, their starched blue shirts bright in the florescent lighting.

At the sight of the police, the crab villain finally seems to give up fighting – his body sagging to the ground beneath Red Riot. The hero holds his position, eyeing the villain’s mutant arm warily. Even from a distance, you can tell his hardening quirk is still activated – he isn’t taking any chances.

“Great job, Red Riot! We’ll take it from here.” A tall officer with a glinting badge steps forward and uses a length of metal cord to bind the villain’s large clawed arm. “We’ve been after this guy for weeks!”

Red Riot smiles as he steps back and lets the police team capture his assailant. He turns and meets your eyes through the space in the cereal box wall. He grins at you, his dark eyes wink a quick “thanks” in your direction as he detectives whisk him away for questioning.

“Miss – are you alright?” You let out a small squeak of surprise, turning to find a short female officer with a tight bun of dark hair coming around the corner of the aisle. You look down at yourself – crouching like a wild animal in a soggy, rain-drenched dress.

“I’ve definitely had better days.” You laugh, allowing the policewoman to help you to your feet. You feel the adrenaline slowly start to melt away, leaving you feeling shaky and a bit lightheaded. You can’t think of the last time you used your quirk, so you’re sure the little stunt you pulled to save Red Riot has impacted your stamina.

“Mind if we ask you a few questions about what happened here?” The officer asks, motioning for you to follow her to the front of the store where the crab villain is being checked for weapons.

“No, not at all!” You wrap your arms around yourself and attempt to bring some warmth back into your body.

The police had a lot of questions. Apparently this villain had been evading them for quite sometime. He had been robbing convenience stores across several cities. He was quick, efficient, and sometimes even deadly – having injured half a dozen clerks and store patrons in his mad pursuit of cash.

“We heard that you used your quirk to get Red Riot out of a spot of trouble.” The policewoman with the bun taps a pen to a pad of paper thoughtfully. Her tone isn’t accusatory; she’s just stating facts. “The unsanctioned use of a quirk in combat is illegal, but since you were put in a potentially life threatening situation and you were in under the supervision of a pro hero, the Good Samaritan law should cover your actions today.”

You feel the last bit of energy absolutely drain out of you and you reach out to grab a nearby store shelf for support. Illegal? The thought of breaking the law hadn’t even crossed your mind. You had just acted on pure instinct when you saw Red Riot in trouble. You start to shiver more violently as the weight of what you’ve done fully sinks in. The policewoman quickly waves to another officer and you find yourself being guided to a chair.

“Miss - it seems like you’re in shock. Please take some deep breaths and we’ll get you to a hospital shortly to get checked out, alright?” The officer pats your hand kindly and pockets her notepad. She walks out of view to call a medical team with her colleagues and you are momentarily left alone in the corner of the store. You stare at the ground, your head feeling fuzzy and cold. It was so stupid to use your quirk so recklessly like that! You admonish yourself silently. You’re sure that Red Riot could have gotten himself out of that bad situation given time – he was a top hero after all! You were just so worried and eager to help…

A soft material engulfs your shoulders. “You’re freezing! Here – take my sweatshirt.” You turn and see Red Riot standing behind you, his strong hands pressing his large red hoodie around your shoulders. He smooths the plush material around you, and you shiver at the contact.

“I couldn’t possibly take this!” You said weakly despite your body hungrily leaning into the warmth of his touch and the offered piece of clothing.

“It’s too late – it’s already yours. Consider it a thank you for saving me back there.” Red Riot grins, showing off a row of pointed teeth. You gratefully accept the gift – tucking your arms into the floppy sleeves. You’re practically swimming in sweatshirt.

“I really shouldn’t have done that.” You look down, ashamed. “You had the situation under control, and it was irresponsible to use my quirk like that. You even told me not to help earlier.” You shake your head, and then blush when you realize you’re probably showering the chivalrous hero in raindrops.

“Don’t beat yourself up about that at all! While it’s true that a Pro can always break out of a tough spot, someone once told me that ‘meddling where you don’t need to is the essence of a hero.’ You moved without thinking to help me when I needed it. That took guts.” His grin widens. “I’m so lucky that such a strong person was looking out for me from the cereal section.”

You laugh, cheeks blushing at the compliment. He’s just so…handsome, grinning roguishly at you with his deep, dark eyes.

“Your quirk is really strong, too. What was that – liquid manipulation? Have you ever trained your quirk?” You’re taken aback by the sincerity of his interest in your small little quirk.

“Not really – I had the standard quirk class in elementary school where we are evaluated and learn how to control the basics of each of our quirks. Beyond that, I never had much interest in it. I can make small amounts of liquid float, boil and freeze. It’s not particularly powerful, but I can make a mean pot of soup with it.” You smile, appreciating the attention you’re receiving from the hero. “I went to a specialty high school focused on business and marketing, so I pretty much avoided any quirk training or hero-focused track. Exploding that little Gatorade bottle was probably the crux of my power.”

“Well it was incredible! I feel like you’re really underselling yourself – I see so much potential in you and your quirk. With just a little training, I think you could really do some damage.” Red Riot says excitedly, talking animatedly with his hands. You laugh, picturing yourself in some ridiculous hero suit parading around the city splashing boiling water on legions of seafood-themed villains.

“Surprisingly, the hero life is just not for me!” You grin before a wave of shivers wracks through your body. Is this from shock? Or is it the damp cold of your rain soaked dress finally catching your attention.

Red Riot instantly notices your discomfort and shakes his head thoughtfully before saying: “Stay here a minute, I have an idea.” He scampers away and you’re left alone again. You focus on taking a few deep, calming breaths as you zip the hoodie up to your chin. You inhale deeply and realize that the red fabric smells comforting and sweet – a combination of mint and cedar wood. You deeply breathe in the scent of Red Riot, and you feel your panic ebb away. You’re steeped in exhaustion as you slouch against the hard plastic chair.

A moment later, Red Riot re-appears, holding a steaming Styrofoam cup. “I made you some peppermint tea.” He says shyly, holding out the hot cup. “It always makes me feel better after a fight – I thought it might do the same for you.”

You take the cup gratefully and tip it back for a sip. He holds out a hand to stop you. “Careful, it’s hot. Give it a second to cool so you don’t burn your mouth.”

“Thank you so much, Red Riot. I really appreciate all you’ve done today.” You’re too tired to care that you sound like a fan girl.

“Hey, call me Eijiro. After what we’ve been through together, we should be on a first name basis.” To your surprise, his cheeks tint pink as he shares his first name. You smile softly and share your own nickname. He repeats it back to you, seeming to like the way your name rolls on his tongue.

“It’s nice to meet you Eijiro.” You feel the warmth of the tea sinking into your icy hands.

“So what were you buying here at the store anyway? Let me go get you a cart and – oh, hold on!” He absentmindedly leans in close to you, reaching out to pull a stray wet strand of hair away from your face. He tucks it gently behind your ear. “We should really get you a hair dryer or something!” He laughs, “You’re still soaking wet!” Despite just having met, the touch is so intimate and familiar. You lean towards him, wanting him to touch you again with his strong, capable hero fingertips.

“Red Riot – the press is outside waiting to interview you.” A police officer calls over, snapping you both back to reality. “They’re eager to hear about how you apprehended the villain. For the sake of her privacy, let’s leave this young lady’s roll in the capture out of it.”

Eijiro snaps to attention, his hand still hovering close to your face. He turns to give the officer a thumbs up. “Sounds good to me! I’ll be right there.”

He moves to look at you again. His eyes are wide and his expression intrigued. “They’re going to take you to the hospital to make sure everything looks okay. They’ll probably keep you overnight for observation until you’re out of shock. I’m sure they’ll take good care of you, cutie.” He stands to walk out of the store. “Thanks for saving my life – I hope to hear from you soon!”

And with a wave, he strides away towards the press team waiting outside. You look down into your tea, confused and quietly delighted at his hope to hear from you. You have absolutely no idea how you would ever contact him again, but the sentiment and the term of endearment he had used is sweet. Ever the chivalrous hero.

The next few hours are a whirlwind of tests and scans and interviews with police officers and doctors alike. Despite your protests, an ambulance whisks you away to the closest hospital and you are kept under observation just as Red Riot - Eijiro - had predicted. The staff is courteous and sweet, praising you for your roll in the incident when the police officers tip them off. You’re given comfortable clothes to borrow and access to a hot shower adjacent to your hospital room.

When you finally sink into the hospital bed, it’s pitch black outside. You flick on the grainy old TV that’s mounted above your bed and flick through the channels until you stop to see a familiar face on the local news.

Red Riot is smiling down at you from the TV set, his eyes warm as he answers the questions of various reporters.

“I was just shopping for some ramen when I noticed the villain. Weird coincidence that I just happened to be at the same store as him!” The hero laughs, rubbing his hand behind his head. “I’m thankful to the store patrons and the clerk who stayed calm as I handled the situation.”

“Red Riot – did you have any difficulty subduing the victim?”

Eijiro pauses to think for a moment before carefully saying “There was a moment that he had the drop on me, but a really cute shopper distracted him for me and allowed me to get the upper hand.”

“You’re so humble, Red Riot. I’m sure you had everything under control.”

Eijiro shakes his head. “I don’t want to encourage recklessness, but I do want to make it clear that you don’t need to be a Pro to be someone’s hero. The woman who helped me today – her bravery and willingness to act even when things were scary is what true heroism looks like. I’m grateful to her, and I hope that I’ll be able to see her again soon.”

The reporters continue to fawn over Red Riot for a few more minutes – peppering him with more questions that he cheekily answers. He avoids revealing any additional details about you despite the reporter’s needling and prodding. Soon the news broadcast ends, and the anchor appears on screen and starts discussing upcoming movie releases.

You sit with your mouth gaping open. Had you really made such a lasting impression on the sturdy hero? You feel your heartbeat increase at the thought, causing the heart monitors strapped to your chest to peep and whir. A nurse appears at your side in an instant, and you bashfully explain to her that you are fine – just a bit overexcited from the day’s events. Once she is assuaged, you return to flipping through channels before settling on reruns of The Bachelor. This wasn’t the soapy TV series you had been looking forward to all day, but it was as close as you are going to get at this point. You let the show run and before long you are dozing in the propped up hospital bed, dreaming of seafood villains and heroes with bright hair and dark, endless eyes.

When you’re finally ready to check out from the hospital the next day, the nurse at the front desk presents you with your belongings. Your wallet, your high heeled work shoes, and an extra large bright red hoodie. “Oh – I forgot about this.” You gratefully accept the sweatshirt and shrug it on. It swings around you like a trench coat, fluffy and warm. You can still smell traces of cedar wood on the collar.

You walk out of the hospital and into a surprisingly sunny day, metallic sliding doors parting for you as you exit. You sink your hands into the hoodie’s overlarge pockets and are surprised to feel a rectangular square object tucked into the deep right pocket. Had Eijiro left a piece of gum in his hoodie? You fish it out with your index and pointer fingers – it’s a small folded up piece of paper ripped from a notepad. Upon closer inspection, you notice that it’s branded with the convenience store’s faded logo. You guess it was ripped from the clerk’s register notepad.

Curious, you unfold the small wad of paper. Written hastily across the note is a messy scrawl of digits and the words: Would love to take you to dinner some time, cutie. Thanks for rescuing me. – Eijiro.

Oh my God. He gave you his number. A warm blush creeps up your face as your eyes run across the note over and over again. What a crazy 24 hours it has been! You reach into your purse to grab your phone. With shaky hands you add “Eijiro Kirishima” as a contact in your phone, adding a few rock emojis and a bright red crab emoji beside his name. He’d probably find that hilarious.

You draft up a fresh text to the red headed hero and type: “In need of rescuing tonight – the villain: hunger and boredom. In need of a hero who knows the perfect ramen spot.” You hit send and hold your breath. What if he’s on patrol tonight? You worry. What if he was just being nice and doesn’t actually see you again?

Your worries are totally baseless, because within seconds you have a reply: “I’m more than up for this mission – meet me in front of the convenience store at 8. Wear the sweatshirt so I’ll recognize you in the crowd?” He ends it with a winking emoji and your heartbeat quickens. You officially have a date set with Eijiro Kirishima – the Red Riot.

Your hero.

Thanks so much for reading!!!

---------------------------

Other Kirishima Stories:

Headcannon: Kirishima LOVES wearing Bakugo's clothes.

🦈❤️Boyfriend!Kirishima ❤️🦈

A Long, *Hard* Night with Eijiro Kirishima (A18+ - MDNI!!!) 💋

Link to My Master List 😬

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chronically-ghosted · 3 days

Text

i breathe you in (and it changes me)

rating: teen pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader word count: 2K summary: you've been here with him before - rock bottom. But this time, he gives you reason to hope for something new. warnings: alcohol use, mentions of drug use, physical fighting, blood, wounds, bruises, mentions of past toxic behavior a/n: your original ask @bitchwitch1981 got swallowed up by tumblr, so i had to create a new post :( but I wanted to say thank you so much for requesting this - it was more therapeutic to write than i initially thought!

1K ask:

Sweet Taylor, Congratulations on the amazing milestone! 💜 I have decided to go for astrology for The Midnight Seance. I have chosen the prompt “Hold my hand please?” “When you ask so nicely.” and my own darling Dieter Bravo.

🤍Masterlist 🤍 Dieter Bravo Masterlist

The damp heat of the night is made worse by the thick knot of chittering spectators by the back alley of the club. You can hear the fleshy blows, hear the flesh rip and tear the veins, the delighted groan of the crowd after a particularly sickening crunch. White lights of camera flashes flicker, the smell of blood acidic on your tongue, the metallic taste getting stronger the closer you get to the front of the crowd. You see the blur of an arm just as you shove aside a man recording the whole scene with his phone; how much will TMZ pay for even seven seconds of that video?

Across from you, a thick shadow with bloody knuckles paces like a caged tiger, snorting with rage, the spectators jeering and howling their approval. The man, twice as thick as you are, waits at the edge of the fight, his vision locked forward, massive hands itching to rip apart something alive.

Whatever is left alive of the heap of clothes in front of you.

It shudders, arms and legs curling beneath it, and rolls backwards. The crowd lets out a disgusted groan at the sight of the bloody face. Your heart sinks to the sticky concrete.

Oh, Dieter.

Asphalt digs into your knees as you kneel down next to him, the sounds of the crowd fading as panic swells within you. He doesn’t even register that you’re there until you touch his cheek. One eye completely swollen shut, blood running down from his nose over his upper lip, he meets your gaze and flinches.

“Sorry,” he slurs – either from his split lip or being drunk out of his mind, you can’t tell, “you look like my ex.”

“Dieter, it’s me.”

His collar is torn, blood speckles cover the front of his shirt, and his jeans are filthy. Judging by his own shredded knuckles, he might have actually gotten a few good hits in. Gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning. You put a hand on his shoulder, looking for any other open wounds, for more blood – and he shoves you off.

“Go away. I’m kicking this guy’s ass.”

Groaning, Dieter staggers to his feet, the blood freely flowing from his nose now. He gets upright and immediately stumbles, hands going to his knees, much to the deformed glee of the crowd. They whoop and laugh and hold their phones higher.

Even in heels, you’re several inches shorter than him and you intentionally didn’t wear that much clothing – you were going to club with your friends to forget – but you try to shield him from the camera lenses anyway.

From the back of his throat, Dieter spits out a wad of blood. “Fuck, my head hurts.” The drool that slips from his mouth is pink and frothy.

“Dieter, c’mon, we’re going.”

You drag his arm over your shoulder, shifting as much of his weight onto you as you can. His entire back and underneath his arm is drenched in what you pray is sweat. Behind you, you know the other man is yelling, shouting, something about teaching that fat mouth a lesson, but you do what you’ve alway done when it comes to Dieter: you put yourself between him and an oncoming car crash.

Hoping a grown man won’t take a full swing with a woman in kitten heels and a slinky dress nearby, you half-push, half-carry Dieter back towards the way you came in, but you make it two more steps before he pushes you away again, his fingertips drifting down your shoulder. His face is twisted up in agony.

“Fuckin’ stop. I don’t need your help.”

You grab him by the bicep, twisting him to you again, and he stumbles, muttering a gruff sorry. Blood from his nose drips down onto your bare chest. He watches it, transfixed, his emotions crackling from one high to the next low.

You cup his bruised, swollen jaw and his wet eyes meet yours and for an instant, no one else exists. His bottom lip trembles.

“Dieter” you murmur, low enough for just him to hear, just enough for him to lean forward, to let himself be captured by you – briefly – just as he always had been. “We’re going home, okay?”

He nods, eyes shut, swaying, and lets himself be dragged away.

Beyond the black partition, you hear music. Too soft to be distinct, too faint. Yet it sits between your teeth all the same, hums in the back of your jaw. Static noise.

In your lap, lays Dieter’s head. Your skirt feels damp from where the blood from his nose gathers. It stopped dripping minutes ago but the spot still feels cold, still thick with it. Your hand curls in his hair, loose but weighted. Grounding. He always said this was his favorite spot in the entire world.

You didn’t tell the driver to go east, towards Sherman Oaks, but the opposite direction, towards the rental property you kept by the beach. Before that, home had always been Sherman Oaks, but . . . in the after, you couldn’t even bear to see the name on the sign.

Partially it’s practical. Given the swarmed mob, there most likely was another one waiting for him at the gates to his mansion. He doesn’t have his phone, you know, which is most likely a curse and a blessing. When it comes to moments like these, you’ve learned to deal with the problem right in front of you, one at a time. Or rather, the one in your lap.

You swore you’d never be here again, you swore that you’d learn to unremember what here even feels like, and yet you ran to him all the same. This is not the first time you wonder if leaving him bleeding and drooling into the concrete would have been the right thing to do.

The car drives you both towards the rental because you want him there. You want him to fill up that empty space in your bed, smear the too messy sink in the bathroom with uncharged electric toothbrushes and toothpaste that tastes like cotton candy, and bring a sense of wonder back into your increasingly dark days. But with all that, comes this. The black partition ahead of you blurs, your eyes grow hot and tight, submissive to the beaks of birds, and the back of your fingers not caught in his hair press harshly to the back of your mouth. You fight a shudder because you know he can’t bear to see you cry.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

His apologies always start like this, a little broken, a little roundabout way of getting to the heart of things. You sniff, your hand slipping to his shoulder and grasping it tight. “We don’t have to talk about it right now, okay, baby?”

“I didn’t want you to see me take pills.”

Your head bumps the back of the seat, as you swallow a sob and a laugh all at once. You squeeze him – no, no, of course not, you never mean it, you never mean any of it —

“My therapist said they would help. And then they did. But I couldn’t get you back.”

He mutters something, rubbing his face slowly in your lap, like a blind kitten, his big hand over your knees, but you’re too stunned to parse out his babbling.

“You went to therapy?”

“Still in it.” He wheezes through a bruised rib. “She’s gonna be so pissed about this.”

“You’re not high?”

He shake-rubs his head again, the curls at his forehead catching against the sequins of your top. “Just drunk. I fucking hate being drunk.”

He babbles some more, the words looped on tangled string, but you sit up, and gently turn his face towards you. The bleeding has stopped, but the swelling has set in. His right eye is black and blue, the skin puffy and tender. There’s a cut across his left cheek and his lip is split down the middle. Fuck, if these don’t heal right, that could be the end of his career.

Goddamn it – and why would you care about that? It’s not your job to care anymore.

You reverently trace a finger over his black eye, his cheek, his lips, to the blood on his temple. Tragedy always looked so good on him.

His hand catches yours. You think his good eye might be filled with tears.

“I tried to get better . . . for you. For us. I took all the right pills, instead of the wrong ones this time, and I thought I was better.” Dieter shifts, so his back is against the seat and he’s looking straight up at you. He holds your hand to his chest, his other rising up to cup your cheek. That single touch cracks your resolve, your rule against letting him affect you, and you cry. He watches the silent tears roll down your cheeks, over his thumb. You think he looks remorseful. “I tried to get better and you moved on without me.”

It only just now occurs to you that he had most likely been inside the club when you had, had probably seen you and never said anything. He watched you dance and drink and try to forget him with other sweaty bodies and he never said a thing.

Bruised anger, the kind that melts off your ribs, flares bright within you and you jerk your face away from his touch.

“You don’t get to blame me for your shit anymore, Dieter.”

His fingers curl and he swallows, the dried blood around his mouth cracking. “No, baby, I’m not. I’m not. I’m sorry I ever did. I didn’t mean it, I never mean it – never meant to hurt you. But I do, don’t I? I hurt you all the time.”

Your anger throbs. “Then why? Why, Dieter, would you wait to get help until after I was gone? Didn’t you want to try . . . to salvage something, anything between us?”

His hand drops to his chest.

“I didn’t want you to see me take pills.”

You suddenly recognize the weight of his head on your lap, the density of his shoulders against your lap, and you, in a cycle of regret and love, want to scream at him. Want to shake him. Instead you brush his sticky curls off his forehead and a single tear escapes the corner of his eye, down his temple.

“You silly, silly boy.” You sniff, tears freely flowing, and curl a strand of his beautiful hair in your fingers. “I would have been there for you. I’m glad you got help, and I hate that this was a relapse, but I would never have judged you for trying to get better, even if you failed. You were the one who didn't want me to see that side of you, Dieter. I never stopped loving you.”

For a moment, he goes still, the darkness of the night street obscuring his face, blurring him into one dark shadow that wheezed and sighed. You’re about to seek out his hand in the dark, if not his face, not his wounds, when he lets out the most broken noise you’d ever heard come from anyone.

It’s a noise that will haunt you in nightmares for years to come.

“Oh,” he says.

The car rolls to a stop, the faint music barely heard over the rush and crash of the waves on the other side of your rental. The radio goes silent and the partition rolls down.

“We’re here, miss.”

You wipe your eyes, mascara streaks turning your finger tips black, and cough to clear the knot in your throat that beats in time with your heart. Hands curling under his shoulders, you move to lift him up off your lap.

“C’mon, Dieter, we’ve gotta get you cleaned up–,”

“Wait.” He visibly swallows, nothing else on his face so clear in the dark. You feel a faint drop on your skirt. “I mean, I’ll go but . . . hold my hand – please?”

Despite yourself, despite him, despite your tear-drenched lips, you lean down and kiss his forehead. Your shared shaky breaths are trapped between your chest and his. “Only when you ask so nicely.”

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fic #the bubble fanfiction #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal fandom

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takes1 · 2 days

Note

Hi!!! I saw the Osamu x Reader post and as a Suna girlie it breaks my heart just a lil for Suna (very good stuff for Osamu and Reader tho, that was divine) but I was wondering maybe a slight part 2 for this where Suna gets his own happy ending? I say slight part 2 cuz Suna still has his heartbreak from the Osamu story but ends up with a different reader, perhaps? In my head it was Reader's relative who's much more of his type (relative part for slight drama, iykyk) but I'll leave that up to you!! For NSFW I'll also leave that up to you!! If that's not your cup of tea, you can ignore this ask, thanks a lot!!

hi!! thank you!! i def tried to take this in a slightly diff direction, just bc i was a little confused, but i kept the themes the same and the general prompt true to form! i hope this is alright! thanks for the request!!

warnings. sfw, alcohol consumption

info. angsty / hurt/comfort / timeskip!suna / very sad!suna / heartbreak!suna / previous relationship / suna not getting over breakup / misunderstandings / miscommunication / suna checking you out / happy ending / implied needy!suna / __ words

haikyuu collection. more here.

more links. my ao3. masterlist. requests open!

"Old-fashioned. Please," The man beside you was quiet. Raspy, in a young way, but carried an age's worth of reservation in what were so few words.

He was wearing a nice, linen shirt. Orange and yellow danced off of his Harry Winston watch, but it didn't compare to the glint in his eye as he turned to look at your equally classy style.

The name that breezed off of your lips a little too easy.

"Rintarou?"

Other voices from around the rest of the bar fell away. White noise to you- a loud, gray static to him.

His fingers felt ice cold despite not nursing a drink, a decision he regretted not partaking in sooner with the rest of his team, now.

The knot in his throat kept him from responding.

"Wanna start a tap?" The bartender slid his drink towards him. He eyed you when Suna didn't take it right away.

A brief glance between this tense scene was all it took to understand.

He offered his card between two fingers and took the seat next to you without a word.

"This isn't going to work out."

Three years. So many victories, so many trials-- gone. You swore up and down you never felt anything, even after you watched him break down into tears for an hour.

Your passive stare, completely impartial to whether he lived or died, was all the solace he got.

He must've cried for days. He almost didn't show up for graduation.

The twins thought he died.

Suna held an empty stare forward at the glossy counter- fingers circling the mouth of his glass, sometimes twirling it.

Drowning in vat of ice-cold water would be a warmer feeling than this eternal torture.

The memory of you walking out of the gym, holding yourself because you knew what you were doing, and now you had nobody to comfort you for your cruelty.

A shaky sigh fogged the cool glass on his bottom lip before he took a necessary sip.

Something kind, finally.

The heat that crawled down his throat eased your next words enough for him to bare through it.

"What are you doing here?"

Your sad attempt at trying to make conversation set him off.

His nose scrunched with the effort it took to try to pull himself together. Just your voice dragged him so far back into that deep, never ending spiral of insecurity and uncertainty.

His similarly-dressed team taking up space and sound on the other side of the bar was the first thing anyone was bound to notice. After winning a game, they usually went out for drinks- but just like every other time he was dragged along, he found himself not having as much fun as he ought to.

He grew weary of their energy and insistence that he get a girlfriend to cheer him up.

This quiet separation from the pack, his sulky demeanor, and the pain he wore on his brow was evident to even the bartender. He knew you could see it and hated himself for it.

"Celebrating," His voice was so quiet it took you seconds after to completely register it.

Watchful eyes waited for your expression to shift. It made you as uncomfortable as he wanted, but he couldn't keep the fortitude to enjoy it. He opted for his glass in time to watch his ice cube drop, shift in his drink. It looked fuller, now.

He brought the bitter thing up to his lips and handled it astoundingly well.

Your pretty eyelashes looked prettier when you looked away from him. Longer and fuller when you weren't facing him. That flawless makeup, caressed by the soft, warm light of the bar must've taken you hours.

You were different. He tried not to notice.

"How have you been?"

It wasn't an apology. His fingers slipped on the gathered condensation and he hesitated to take another sip so soon.

"Busy," He looked at your glittery shoulder when you faced him again, "You?"

There were a few moments of silence that he didn't notice. His low-lidded study of your little dress was soothing the burn in the back of his throat, a painful mix from needing to cry and the strength of his drink.

Part of him was relieved you hadn't let yourself go. You were a divine gift that any man would be glad to have, and his opinion, should be willing to break himself over.

The dress honored his useless devotion well.

Part of him would never forgive you for not throwing yourself into a pit of despair for your heartless words. His eyes hardened at once, now at the curve of your thighs that stayed crossed under the bar.

"Can you look at me?"

When his eyes shot up to meet yours, it felt like you were staring down a wounded animal.

The full weight of your decision dawned on you and you realized, all at once, that you had been wrong for years.

You hadn't spared him the way you convinced yourself that you had.

Something reminiscent of fear flashed across your face. He left you to think and chugged the rest of his whiskey. His ice clinked in the glass when he set it down and flagged the bartender.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Slipped out, a little too early, as you both watched the glass refill with golden-brown color.

He squinted down and you were grateful it wasn't a look directed straight at you.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," He snapped as soon as your company left.

With more time spent sitting next you, basking in your presence for the first time in so long, and his inhibition slowly fading, he felt himself start to get belligerent.

"I was-," You sighed, trying to control the frustration in your voice because you knew it wouldn't help, "I was trying to give you more options."

It was quiet for a long minute.

The hateful stare he kept on his own hand told you he was not convinced.

"I knew it would be tough on us, with you travelling for the team."

A tough brow softened, just a little. His thumb slid against the rim of the glass, thoughtful, about a better time. When he had something else to look forward to other than practice, or games.

"I didn't wanna put you through that. I didn't want- to make you choose."

His life was empty beyond the court. He couldn't imagine any scenario that would've played out to be worse than this. His face stung when he spared a sideways glance at your pretty face.

"So you chose for me," He rolled his cloudy eyes.

His words were like acid.

You couldn't swallow the lump in your throat. You turned from him, angry that he wasn't doing well, guilty that it had to do with something you thought was a good decision.

A big breath through your nose.

"And I'm sorry," You bit the inside of your cheek when he froze, "I really can't express how sorry I am."

The apology wasn't something he could rationalize as anything other than genuine, and heartfelt.

Confusion ran through him, made much worse by his buzz-- his eyes burned and he furiously wiped one eye. He had convinced himself you were secretly an emotionless, terrible person for doing that to him. The fact that you could possibly atone for it made him wildly uncomfortable.

His chair scraped when he pushed himself up to stand and face you. He kept one arm on the bar.

"I wanted to make it work!"

His version of loud was by no means actually loud, but it still startled you.

"And- you didn't," He was already back to a soft mutter, but it was wobbly when he kept talking, "I don't know what else I could've done, to be enough for you."

"You were enough," You instantly argued, "I just-,"

Another frustrated, teary sigh, "I didn't think I was."

It must've been muscle memory. Suna didn't realize he was wiping a tear from your face until his hand was already back down by his side.

He hated seeing you cry so much that it trumped his own lingering, maladaptive thoughts. Especially when you looked so good.

Your small, sad smile at his chivalry eased the weight in his chest.

He felt like he could breathe for the first time in years.

"You were everything to me," You admitted.

He had to take his seat at that. Closer, this time.

masterlist.

requests open.

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undercoverpena · 3 hours

Text

I’m about to get mushy and sweet and grateful so if you’d prefer to skip that, meet my new plant.

june isn’t usually a good mental health month for me.

which sucks cause it’s pride and the sun comes out, but somehow there’s always more grey clouds for me even if the sky is blue.

one year ago, to try and combat it, I began a series that was the most “me” thing I’d shared since coming back to tumblr. a thing which both terrified me—in some ways, helped me find myself again after a slew of bad june’s and bad brain times.

making javi peña fall in love with a girl through texts was like rekindling a relationship with an old version of me from before and allowed me to take that version (and all I’d learnt) forward.

this year, I’ve just wrapped up the final scene of my current series where frankie works in a hardware store. now, it’s not edited, but it’s all written, all of the scenes so I have less pressure each week and all the little moments I’ve envisioned since february are down.

and, understandably, I was sad, but also like really fucking proud? like look at me go. in one year look at how far I’ve come? the stories I’ve managed to tell, the writing I’ve been able to do that not only helps me but has brought smiles to all of you, the lovely people who continue to show up even if I shy, quiet and very anxious.

my usual routine when I finish the draft of a series is to go get cake. a thing I do on the final posting day too.

and while that had been my mission, then I saw this plant.

I kill plants. it isn’t a thing I intend to do, but I do. but this one caught my eye. in a plant plot in a shade that friends often call jo-pink. and I knew that had to be my gift to myself for finishing.

not cake (like usual), not a big iced drink that I’ll love until half way down and then feel sick from, but a plant.

I wanted to call it rainy, but the name didn’t fit. anyone who names plants will know there’s a vibe.

so meet gilbert, or gilly/bertie (we’re still workshopping), and while I water them, and post this and run, thank you, for showing up even though you don’t need to. thank you for bringing a smile to my face on the days it feels really hard.

and thank you for allowing me to have a place that I feel safe to share, because while my brain will create stories, it’s you all showing up that makes it feel safer to get my finger to press the post button each week.

i’m so happy one year ago I shared late night texts, and I’m really happy that today I finished the first draft of do me yourself.

I love you all.

#jo’s thoughts #I’m so thankful I get to call so many of you friends 🩷#and I’m so grateful you like the things my brain creates

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thick-woollen-socks · 2 days

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Albus’ depression and the anti-Gellert sentiments of 1899

alternative title why Albus’ depression stemmed from the loss of his mother not his sister and how Gellert’s presence aided him and why this level of aid pissed Aberforth off.

while this is mostly an analysis of some of my favourite SOD scenes it’s also a theory of the events that took place in 1899 and i would love it so much if people added their own thoughts <3

the cafe scene ⬇️⬇️⬇️

• the cafe scene is rather integral to my point, we know that is was wrote as the pair’s first meeting in 30 years and yet Gellert doesn’t seem concerned by the change in Albus’ personality, i would go as far to say that he was expecting it. while Newt and Minerva struggled to comfort Albus often being kept at an arms length, Gellert was able to not only comfort him but also to encourage Albus to open up and to share his thoughts. husband of the year if it wasn’t for the facism 🥹

the cafe scene made Albus’ feelings of discomfort and anxiety clear, he couldn’t look Gellert in the eye and struggled to complete his sentences often seeking reassurance. we can see Gellert take control over the situation from his arrival, he’s the first and last to speak and the one who drives the conversation forward.

we also see Gellert regulate his emotions through numerous techniques throughout this scene : he takes deep breaths, he distracted himself by looking out the room and he tried his hardest to change the subject, which is rather interesting when throughout the franchise he has been found quick to anger.

Grindelwald settles back, eyes narrow. INHALES.

Grindelwald ignores this, glancing about the room.

“ Love to chatter, don't they, our Muggle friends. Though one must admit: They make a good cup of tea. “

my question is how did Gellert know how to act, how did he know who Albus needed him to be if this nervous, depressive behaviour stemmed from the dual and his sisters death ? surely by the time that manifested Gellert was out of the country…

dinner with Aberforth ⬇️⬇️⬇️

• the dinner scene with Aberforth is also of interest, i perceive it as what life looked like before Gellert’s arrival that summer but i’ll get to that in a minute.

without the word being perceived as sexual i would like to point out that Albus was acting in a very submissive manner. he was nervous, he avoided any form of conflict and spent time complimenting Aberforth while putting himself down. we saw him shut up the second Aberforth snapped at him and we also saw him slowly make his way to the door when it was knocked, almost as if he didn’t want Aberforth to be annoyed. he lacks the confidence to tell his younger brother that he was going to see who was there. we can also see that once again Albus spends his time staring at the floor, only looking up when his brother was staring at him.

Dumbledore stops, seeing his brother looking him in the eye.

As he looks away, he sees Aberforth staring at him

The brothers stand like this, eyes locked on each other, then Dumbledore exits.

it seems like while Gellert sought to encourage confidence within his old friend, Aberforth contently kept the status quo. this seems like Abe hate, i don’t hate him i promise he’s my grumpy goat farmer 🥺

the summer of 1899 and my theory ⬇️⬇️⬇️

• my theory is what if this self-deprecating, anxious and depressive behaviour followed Kendra’s death not Ariana’s.

Elphias was the only one to assign the change in his behaviour to Ariana, but he wasn’t there until the funeral… Albus rarely wrote to him and when he did it was to talk about his monotonous life doing housework.

Bathilda noted that Albus was incredibly lonely and that she believed that he needed friends his own age, his behaviour had evidently altered by the time of Gellert’s arrival.

Aberforth was set to benefit from this depressive behaviour on Albus’ part, he could spend time out with his girlfriend and when he got back the chores would be done and he could spend time with Ari and the goats. Albus never scolded him for throwing goat shit at the neighbours windows so it appeared that Albus was exhibiting this people pleasing submissive behaviour throughout the summer. Albus resented his siblings for locking him away in the house but he had no energy or enthusiasm to seek an escape.

enter Gellert Grindelwald, seeing the behaviour we saw in the cafe scene, Gellert was able to encourage Albus to be himself. so he returned to his true self, his arrogant, joyful, mischievous and highly curious self. he had something to believe in, the cause and he had a future to look forward to with Gellert. he had his escape.

with Gellert, Albus spent more time away from the house which in turn angered Aberforth who couldn’t go and visit his girlfriend. the final straw came when he found out that Albus wanted to take Ariana with him.

the dual makes more sense under this premise too :

1) Aberforth told Albus that he wasn’t leaving with Ariana

2) Albus wanted to avoid conflict and so didn’t challenge his brother

3) Gellert decided to take control of the situation since Albus seemed unable, he called Aberforth a stupid little boy

4) Aberforth raised his wand

5) Gellert used crucio on him

6) Albus feeling panicked involved himself in the dual in an attempt to end the conflict

Gellert would have felt betrayed if by the end of the dual Albus had reverted into his depressive state and decided to stay with his brother. hence his repetitive ‘ you left me ‘ narrative.

it would also explain why Albus declared himself Ariana’s killer so quickly, he was broken already and was in a position to take the fall for whatever his brother blamed on him, we see him be overly apologetic in SOD too when he apologises to Jacob over Gellert’s actions. it doesn’t seem like a new behaviour.

hoping this makes sense 😭🙏

* edit to say that i hope i didn’t butcher my baby boy’s personality, i think FB Albus is on a journey and he’s not quite there yet, he’s not the mischievous and curious headmaster that we love who openly stands against the ministry and blood supremacist ideas, but he’ll get there 😭 Gellert would be so happy

* edit two because I DONT HATE ABERFORTH I PINKY PROMISE OMG I LOVE HIM SO MUCH, HE WAS JUST KIND OF AN ASS TO ALBUS

#praying that this makes sense #put that man in therapy !#aberforth too !#and probably gellert #albus dumbledore #gellert grindelwald #aberforth dumbledore #grindeldore #fantastic beasts and where to find them #the summer of 1899

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featheredenby · 15 hours

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Cuteguy

“Right where are my manners, the name’s Cuteguy! Now do you want help or not?”

Written by: FeatheredEnby

Part Two of: Show Your Fangs

A superhero AU is Hermitcraft/Empires SMP/The Life Series

Scar had always, for the short time that he had it, enjoyed working as a superhero and protecting the citizens of Hermitopia, Empires City, and Lifetropolis from harm but recently things had gotten strange. He wouldn't necessarily say that it was in a bad way but The GFHA had only been started to combat regular crimes and take a toll off of the police. However soon after it had formed more and more antiheroes, vigilanties, and supervillains started to emerge. Just a month ago the first villain duo emerged calling themselves “The Dogwarts Duo” and the chaos continued as another villain emerged and declared that she was “The Faker”.

That is what had brought him, as Hotguy of course, to his current situation, with him staring down the dog hybrid known as “The Red King”, while bleeding from his leg and help being nowhere to be found. It would have been quite an interesting scene if he wasn’t the one in it, but of course he was. He was standing off with The Red King, a dog hybrid with brown hair wearing a golden crown and a red cape with white mountains maybe, and The Red Hand, he couldn’t quite place what he was as his entire appearance was quite confusing as he had large bat wings but ice crystals growing all over his body and he was wearing a blindfold over his eyes with the same pattern as The Red King’s cape. There are quite a lot of confusing things about the duo but one thing was certain trapped in The Hand’s grasp is a young llama hybrid (who can’t be any more than ten) with the edge of an axe ever so gently pressed against their throat and in Hotguy’s hands there is a high tech bow nocked with an arrow with which he could easily shoot down The Hand and King in quick succession. There was just one thing if Scar shot The Hand in the head he would likely fall backwards killing the llama hybrid but if he shot him in the hand he would likely jolt forward and drop the axe at the same time, depending on the timing however the kid’s neck could get hit with the blade of the axe. There is really no solution, in his ear he hears a voice, “Hotguy, come in Hotguy.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“Hurry up and shoot him. Cut your losses. One random kid’s death won’t end the world.”

“But I-”

“Hurry up an-”

The stern voice of the GFHA’s director is cut off as he hears a new one; it's familiar but he can’t quite place it.

“Thanks for breaking into the comms for me buttercup! Oh wait he can hear me already- hey there pretty boy. You seem to be in quite the pickle down there, need some help?”

“What the- who are you!?!” Hotguy replies.

“Right where are my manners, the name’s Cuteguy! Now do you want help or not?”

On the roof of an apartment building stands an avian with dirty blond hair and a pair of black and yellow wings on both his back and where his ears would be, ink is dripping down his face. He wears a black tank top with a red and pink heart in the middle over it there’s a bright pink jacket with the same symbol and yellow tie dye patches, there is red ribbon functioning as a belt around his light pink shorts and later being used again to decorate his boots darker boots along with mini black wings on the ankles. Next to him is a red headed zombie in a simple pink crop top and shorts with a fluffy white headband, wristbands, and belt equipped with a pink leather pouch and a golden clock, on her head is a large white witch hat with a pink underside. She lifts up her head from viewing the scene below them and looks at him with a puzzled look on her face.

“Okay so as we just saw The Dogwarts Duo is here today, but how did you know that they would be?” She inquires.

“Oh, you know Cleo, I have good ways to get information.” He answers, it’s not like she’ll ever learn that they’re just chickens.

“Okay then, don’t tell me,” Cleo responds as she turns to face a pale man in a suit,”Are we almost into the system Mumbo?”

“Just about,” Mumbo claims,”so I would suggest that you two stop using our real names now as what we are doing is very illegal.”

“Aw you’re such a buzzkill,” he teases,”Anyways thanks for breaking into comms for me buttercup! Oh wait he can hear me already- hey there pretty boy. You seem to be in quite the pickle down there, need some help?”

“What the- who are you!?!” Hotguy asks.

“Right where are my manners, the name’s Cuteguy! Now do you want help or not?”

“Uhm… sure I guess but I don’t even know where you are.”

“I can see you from where I am so there’s n-” Cuteguy starts to inform him before being cut off by The Red King.

“Oi! You have exactly ten seconds to drop the bow or the kid gets it.” He yells.

The Red Hand starts to count down, “Ten.”

“Well my undead friend.” Cuteguy says to Cleo.

“Nine.”

“Care to work some of that time magic for us?”

“Eight.”

“Uhm… Guys! What should I do?” Hotguy Panics.

“Seven.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Cleo responds.

“Six.”

“Should I just put the bow down?”

“Cast it on go.”

“Five.”

“Three, Two.”

“I’m just gonna drop the bow.”

“Four.”

“I’m about to drop it.”

“One.”

“Three.”

“Go!”

“||𝙹⚍ ᓭ⍑𝙹⚍ꖎ↸ ᔑꖎꖎ ⎓⚍ᓵꖌ╎リ⊣ ᓭℸ ̣ 𝙹!¡”

As she speaks her eyes blaze bright and time slows down, for everyone except the people she didn’t freeze, that is, those people being Hotguy, Cuteguy, Mumbo, the little kid, and her of course.

“Hotguy,” Cuteguy yells while flying down from the roof,”you get the kid. I’ll take care of these two.” He says while gesturing at The Dogwarts Duo.

“On it!”

“Hurry up you two I can’t hold this time freeze forever,” Cleo yells,”!¡ꖎᒷᔑᓭᒷ ᓭℸ ̣ ᔑ|| ⎓∷𝙹⨅ᒷリ”

Hotguy runs over to The, now frozen, Dogwarts Duo and carefully moves away The Red Hand’s arms and Axe, after doing this he picks up the crying llama hybrid in his arms. Meanwhile Cuteguy lands on The Red King and tries to figure out what to do with the two of them, he could always just turn them in but where’s the fun in that. Maybe he should just tie them up and toss them in a dumpster in some random alley way. He’s about to ask Cleo for her opinion when he sees Hotguy comforting the kid that they saved.

“Shh. It’s okay, I’m here for you,” he says,”Now can you tell me your name?”

“I- I’m P-P- Pizza.” sniffles the kid.

It’s pretty sweet to see such a touching scene but as he looks back over at Cleo he can tell that she is struggling. He’s about to call out to her when the light in her eyes starts to flicker and fade. Normally this would be fine but he still hasn’t done anything with The Dogwarts Duo and Cleo looks like she’s gonna burst a blood vessel if she doesn't stop soon.

“!¡ꖎᒷᔑᓭᒷ ⎓ᔑℸ ̣ ᒷᓭ, ╎'ᒲ ʖᒷ⊣⊣╎リ⊣ ⋮⚍ᓭℸ ̣ ꖎᒷℸ ̣ ᒲᒷ ꖌᒷᒷ!¡ ⊣𝙹╎リ⊣ ᔑ ꖎ╎ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ꖎᒷ ꖎ𝙹リ⊣ᒷ∷,” Cleo casts desperately,”Guys I can’t hold it any longer!”

“Please try, I still have to do something with these two.” he replies.

“I can’t, the fates won’t allow it, in fact they’re not too fond of time magic in the first place. 𝙹リᒷ ᒲ𝙹∷ᒷ ᒲ╎リ⚍ℸ ̣ ᒷ, !¡ꖎᒷᔑᓭᒷ. I can only hold it for another minute, knock those two out and put them in an alleyway or something.”

“Okay!” he yells back.

Cuteguy goes over to the side of the street and grabs two sizable pieces of debris, he then flies back over and drops one on each of the duo’s heads. He then picks them both up and flies them over to a dumpster just as he had originally planned. He then flies back up to the roof, “well team ready to bounce?”

“╎ℸ ̣ 'ᓭ 𝙹⍊ᒷ∷.” Cleo says ending the spell, “Yep, let’s go.”

“I’m ready, this has all been quite an awful ordinal.” Mumbo adds.

“Okay then, bye Hotguy! See you soon.” Cuteguy calls in a singsong voice, and with that the three of them headout to get some rest as Hotguy returns Pizza to his family and goes to fill out a report.

As just as Grian got home his phone started chiming, he takes it out of his bag and sees that the person calling him is his roommate, Scar. Knowing Scar he probably needs a ride back from whatever client he was meeting with for a landscaping job, so Grian answers in a singsong voice,“Hello, Scar!”

“Hey, G. I was just wondering if you saw the news today?” Scar inquires.

“Nope, I haven’t seen it yet,” he replies but he does know what happened, as he lived it,”Did something interesting happen?”

“Yeah, so you know who Hotguy is right? Well he was fighting the Dogwarts Duo and they kinda ended up in a stalemate when they threatened a kid.” Scar explains.

“Oh… that’s awful.” Grian replies trying to sound surprised.

“I know,” Scar says,”but then some new vigilante hacked into the GFHA’s comm system and said that his name was Cuteguy. Then some random timewitch froze time for everyone except him, Hotguy, and the kid.”

“Wait what?”

“Yeah it shocked me to hear that too, according to Hotguy, the spell wore down really quick so Cuteguy just knocked the duo out and threw them in some dumpster.”

“So they’re still a threat?” Grian questions Scar.

“I mean I guess but they were both knocked out so it’s likely that they’ll turn up again any time soon.”

“I guess so.” He replies.

“Anyways,” says Scar,”I was wondering your opinion on the vigilantes that have been popping up.”

Oh no, Grian was not expecting Scar to ask that. How was he supposed to sound convincing when he is one of them, along with the fact that he has no idea what Scar’s perspective on it is. What was he supposed to say, “Oh yeah, I think it’s awesome, in fact you should know that I am Cuteguy!” that is not happening. Maybe he should just ask a question back to deflect having to answer. “I don’t really have one,” he lies,”what about you?”

“Oh,” says Scar as if not expecting Grian to want his opinion,”I don’t really mind it if they’re helping but it is illegal.”

“Yep, that’s kind of the definition of vigilante.” Grian responds.

“Maybe it would just be better for them to join The GFHA.” Scar continues.

“Well they might not agree with its ideals,” Grian argues,”and in any case they aren’t causing any harm.”

“True. True. Anywho I just wanted to call and get your opinion, by the way can you feed Jellie for me tonight?”

“Sure,” Grian agrees,”but why exactly?”

“Oh, you know… I’m just helping Joel with something.” Scar answers in a voice that tells Grian that he’s lying through his teeth, but Grian doesn’t question it.

“Okay then,” Says Grian,”see you later Scar.”

“Later G.” With that Scar hangs up.

Grian is fine with Scar being out in fact he doesn’t even mind that Scars obviously lying, this just gives him an opportunity. Tonight Cuteguy would go out again to protect Hermitopia and get on the government’s nerves. Tonight he would make a name for himself as Cuteguy the infamous vigilante.

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 23 hours

Text

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 16

Azriel x Reader Fic

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Word Count: 2.2k

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

The world felt soft around you. You took a deep breath in through your nose as you curled deeper into the softness of the blanket. You gripped it and felt a hard frame dig under your fingers, and a soft rise and fall. You curled your head in and felt a heavy hand resting on your hip, a welcome pressure and warmth as you yawned slightly, wiping your face onto the blanket. You opened your eyes and became aware of where you were, and when you looked up, you saw Kai, his mouth slightly open, breathing slowly in and out. You shot up, awaking Kai as you did, accidentally pushing into his stomach and he let out a grunt as the air left his lungs.

“Well good morning to you too.” He wheezed out, rubbing the back of his head.

“I’m so sorry.” You said, rising up, brushing the front of your dress down. “I shouldn’t have stayed. I’m sorry.”

Kai only looked at you, his brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have stayed, I’m sorry.” You repeated, trying to gather your shoes you’d taken off.

“You don’t need to rush off.” Kai said, and then added, “And you don’t need to apologize either.”

“I just-” you started, “I shouldn’t have done all of this.”

“Y/N, it’s okay,” Kai repeated.

You tried to calm your racing thoughts as you dug in the blankets for your other shoe.

“Y/N, just stop.” Kai ordered, “Just calm down.”

You stopped, your chest heaving.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“I just-” you started, “I shouldn’t have told you all of that last night, and I shouldn’t have stayed.”

“You would have left in the middle of the night? And then what?”

You stammered out, “I’m sorry Kai, this was a mistake.”

Kai gestured around, “Where is the mistake? We had dinner, we drank, we talked, we fell asleep.”

You tried to reason through your feelings. Why did you feel so dirty, so foul. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” You said.

“What idea should I not be getting?” Kai asked.

You stammered again, “That I’m like, leading you on.”

Kai chuckled. “Ah, I see.”

You looked at him, slightly confused by his response.

“We had dinner,” Kai repeated, “And then you fell asleep. I don’t see where me offering you dinner and then us spending time together is you leading me on.” You looked at him, unsure of what to say, “And even if I felt those feelings towards you, I’m a grown male. I can handle rejection.”

You tried to speak but couldn’t get anything out other than, “I’m sorry,” you dropped your face to your hands, “I’m being stupid.”

Kai chuckled, “Yes, but that’s nothing new.”

You shook your head. “I shouldn’t have told you all of that.”

Kai rose to his feet, slightly taller than you and approached you, pulling your hands down, “I asked.” He said, “You told me.”

You shook your head, “It’s not your concern.”

“You’re right,” Kai responded. “It’s not, unless I want to think about it. Which I may. And I may feel sad you have to deal with all of it, but it’s not life changing for me. And I don’t regret you telling me.”

You shook your head again, Kai pushed your chin up to look at him, “I don’t think less of you. I’m not upset and I don’t feel burdened with this information about your life.” He joked, “And I’m also not falling in love with you, since apparently you think so highly of yourself.”

You smiled and chuckled slightly.

Kai stepped back, “So let’s move on. Let’s call it what it was, a fun night between friends.” You nodded slightly. Swallowing back your fear. “Nothing more.”

“Nothing more.” You repeated.

________________________________________________________

You helped Kai clean the cottage up, folding the blanket back, and rinsing plates in the well behind it. The whole time Kai made idle chitchat seemingly normal in comparison to your own mind which continued to race with regret. This male, so kind and pure, so unburdened and the second you felt a moment of comfort you may as well have slit your stomach open and let the contents fall out in front of him. You cursed the ease at which you allowed yourself to share all of that. You tried to justify it being the wine, but you had feared for a while getting too close to anyone again. You couldn’t fully figure out why you felt so against letting people in, but you felt an inherent need to distrust whoever you could, as if in any moment they might turn on you.

Kai helped you load the rest of your things onto Clover, who seemed annoyed that you were intending to still make the journey home. He seemed content to live the rest of his days on Kai’s lawn.

When you tried to say a speedy goodbye Kai turned you to look at him. “Hey,” he started, “I’ll see you later?” He asked.

You nodded slightly, and wished him well, turning to walk back into the woods. As you retraced your steps, you replayed the scene in your mind—the happiness and peace you felt wrapped in Kai’s arms, how quiet the world had seemed to be. Your mate was absent last night and eerily silent today, leaving an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Days turned into nights and back into days again, a routine of solitude and fleeting shadows that seemed to drift behind trees and under bushes, always keeping you on edge.

When you returned home, you released Clover into his pen and unloaded your bags onto the table in your cabin. Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady yourself. The world wouldn’t end just because you’d opened the door to someone. You kept repeating this to yourself, knowing Kai held no ill will and had no ulterior motive. He had laughed but had sworn to keep your secrets.

You tried to busy yourself, but your mind kept flitting back to the conversation, distracting you to the point where you accidentally sliced your finger while cutting vegetables. You watched the blood seep from the wound, dripping onto the dirt below as you tried to focus on the searing pain.

You wouldn't ruin this for yourself. You wouldn’t run from this.

---

A few weeks later, as summer faded into autumn, you found yourself running low on sugar and flour. You were also growing stir-crazy from being alone, so you decided to take a trip into the village, opting to leave Clover behind. The entire journey, you rehearsed what you would say to Kai, trying to sound normal, which just made you feel more strange. You did the entire journey in a day, propelled by your own anxiety.

When you crested the hill, peering down into the village, you gulped down your fear. You ran your usual errands, not sure if you were hoping to see Kai or not. After getting what you needed and exchanging pleasantries, you found yourself standing in front of his cottage door. Your hand hovered above the door for a good minute as you raised and lowered it, debating whether to knock. Finally, you built up the confidence and knocked, your heart in your throat.

From behind you, you heard, “Thank gods you finally did it.”

You whipped around to see Kai, his linen shirt slightly unbuttoned, casually leaning against the banister of the stairs. “I thought we’d be here for another hour before you finally got around to it.”

“You ass!” you yelled. “How long have you been standing here?”

“As long as you’ve been considering knocking,” Kai chuckled, shaking the loose hair out of his face.

“You really are an ass, you know that?” you threw at him.

Kai stood from the banister, walking up the stairs to you, opening the door. “Only when you remind me,” he said, flashing you a cheeky grin.

You stood in the doorway as Kai entered, throwing down his satchel full of tools and kicking off his boots. He turned over his shoulder, “You coming?”

You stepped through the door, standing awkwardly near the entrance as you pulled it shut behind you.

Kai busied himself unpacking his bag before he looked up at you from where he squatted on the floor. “You gonna say something or did you just come here to stare at my glorious physique?” he asked, gesturing to himself.

You stammered out, “I- I don’t know why I’m feeling so nervous.”

Kai furrowed his brow, standing up, rubbing his hands on his pants. “Why are you nervous?” he asked.

“I-I just have been feeling really off these last few weeks,” you said.

Kai rubbed his hands over his face. “Gods, Y/N, are you still thinking about what happened? Or what didn’t happen?” he asked.

“No!” you said back, slightly too loudly.

Kai chuckled, “So then what’s got you so jumpy?”

You swallowed, and Kai looked slightly concerned. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” he asked, taking a few steps towards you.

Your eyes widened as he closed the gap between you. “I-” you started until he was in front of you, peering down at you with concern in those green eyes. Those beautifully green eyes.

“I-” you stammered again, and then you were up on your toes, your hands wrapping around the back of his neck, fingers curling into that stupidly unkempt hair, your lips pressing into his with a desperation you didn’t know you had in you. Kai seemed taken aback slightly, his arms wide before he melted into your kiss. He leaned forward, bringing you back down onto your feet, his arms wrapping around your back and waist as you tasted each other. He tasted of sun and sweat, and you pressed yourself deeper into him, your hand clenched in his hair, eliciting a groan from him. Kai pressed you against the door, his body curling against yours, one hand firmly against the wood. Your tongues danced, the sound of your breathing echoing between you as you explored each other’s lips. You gripped his shirt as though you were dying of thirst, and Kai lifted you slightly, his hand pressing into you.

When you finally pulled back, you kept your eyes closed, your lips slightly parted as you breathed heavily. You opened your eyes to see Kai smiling slightly down at you.

“That’s what you were nervous about?” he joked.

You scowled at him. “No.”

Kai laughed, “Then can you tell me, or can we kiss some more?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“A handsome, irresistible idiot that you couldn’t wait to kiss?” he asked.

You pushed your hands into his chest, giggling slightly. “I can most certainly resist you.”

“Mm, doesn’t seem like you can, given you debated for about an hour about knocking on my door,” Kai said as you pushed past him into the main room. He turned to look at you, leaning casually against the door, eyes glazed and his hair tousled where you had run your hands through it.

“You certainly think highly of yourself,” you mocked him, crossing your arms.

Kai smirked, “I have to admit, I do feel like a winner.” You rolled your eyes as Kai looked at you. “Let it be told that you kissed me. You started that.”

You looked to the floor, rubbing your forehead slightly. “I know,” you laughed out. “I-I don’t know why I did that.”

Kai gestured to himself, “Irresistible charm and charisma.”

“Sure,” you responded. “I’m sorry.”

“You love that phrase,” he said. You glared at him. “I’m just saying, you say that every other sentence.”

“I do not!” you scowled at him.

“You do too,” he said back. “You look at me when I’m talking to you and apologize for it.”

“Well I’m-” you caught yourself.

“See! You were about to do it again,” Kai said, pointing at you.

“I was not!”

“You absolutely were,” Kai immediately said back.

“You’re so annoying,” you groaned at him.

“Annoyingly handsome?” he smirked back.

“You know I had plans to come here to tell you I needed some distance and time,” you said, leaning against the table.

“And then you attacked me and kissed me.”

“I did not!” you shouted.

“Mm, kind of did,” he said, shrugging. “Seems a little counterintuitive.”

“Look,” you started. Kai looked at you, but you ran out of words to say.

“I’m going to be honest,” Kai said, “I’m not sure I can so easily just pretend that it didn't mean anything. But if you need that to just have been an overcome moment of emotional vulnerability, and you don’t want it to mean anything, I can try to act like that,” he offered.

You shook your head, unsure what to say.

“Or we can move on like that didn’t happen.”

You considered the options, but with Kai standing across from you, so casual, so easy to be with and talk to, so close—you didn’t want to just act like it didn’t mean anything.

You crossed closer to him. “I think it doesn’t not mean anything.”

Kai furrowed his brow, looking up slightly. “So that means...?” he said.

“Shut up and kiss me again,” you growled at him. And he did.

Everything inside of you felt as though it were on fire. Every sensation became heightened as you were enveloped in the kiss, from your fingertips down to your toes. You took him in, tasted him, and devoured him. For the first time in a long time, your mind went completely silent. Kai gripped your hip, hoisting you onto the table. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he ran his hands down the small of your back, while your hands explored his shoulders and neck, firm from years of hauling downed trees. The only sounds in the cottage were those of kissing and heavy breathing. Kai’s touch was tentative, his hands gently grazing your skin, as if he were fighting himself from gripping you entirely. You brought your hands to his cheeks, pressing firmly into them as your tongue danced with his.

You hadn’t felt this much uncontrolled passion in years, and your body seemed desperate for more. Anything more that could be offered, you would take. You yearned for someone to touch you, to run their hands over your sacred skin without it burning in pain. You wished night after night for someone to savor your kiss, for you to want to give it without fighting. And here was Kai, hands searching for comfort, moving with your own as if in a dance where you led. His rhythm matched yours as you enveloped yourself in him, your chest pressing into his as you urged him closer, deeper into yourself.

This male, this glorious male who had listened to you, watched you bumble through the history of your life with nothing but a smile on his face, was now fully yours in this moment. Between your legs, you felt the heat of your own anticipation, a longing you hadn’t felt in a very long time. In pressing your hips into Kai’s, it became clear that he too wanted more than what lips could provide. You reached your hand down between the two of you, running your hand up and down the length of him, eliciting a moan from his open mouth.

“Y/N-” he started, the sound of it like ecstasy leaving his lips.

You gripped the back of his head, pulling him closer as you moaned in response.

Kai shifted a bit, pulling back, and you groaned in protest. Your body suddenly lacked the warmth of his, and you felt an immediate emptiness where he had been. You opened your eyes to meet his, slightly downturned, not nearly as glazed over as you were sure your own were.

“Y/N,” he said again.

You sought answers within his eyes, wondering if he was not enjoying this despite what his body had told you.

“What?” you asked, breath barely leaving you.

Kai shook his head, throwing the hair from his eyes. “We need to slow down.”

You shot him a quizzical look, feeling the weight of the world collapse onto your shoulders. “What?” you repeated, pulling the hem of your skirt back down your thighs.

“I just-” Kai started, refusing to meet your gaze. “You’ve been through a lot, and I just want to make sure that you want this.”

You tilted your head slightly, the blood rising in your cheeks. “What do you mean? Of course I want this. I kissed you.”

Kai shook his head lightly, finally meeting you with his green eyes. “I’m just worried that you’re moving quickly, given you haven’t been with anyone since...” He paused, stammering a bit.

You felt a flicker of flame in your stomach as you furrowed your brow, your voice slightly laced with confusion and anger. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“Nothing!” Kai responded. “I don’t know.” He paused, looking towards the floor as he wrapped his hands around the back of his head. “I just don’t want you to rush into this because you think it will make everything better.”

You shook your head in confusion, as though trying to shake those words from existence. “No,” you whispered. “No, that’s not at all what I’m doing.”

Kai looked at you, his eyes focused and hardened. “Am I the first male you’ve been with since him?”

Your eyes frantically searched his face as you paused, considering what answer he might be looking for. “Yes,” you finally answered.

Kai swallowed, and you watched his throat bob as he lingered on your answer. “Am I the first male you’ve told about... everything?”

You took a deep breath in, the flame in your stomach rising higher. “Yes,” you firmly answered.

Kai softened slightly, taking another step towards you, taking your hand in both of his, pressing softly into it. “I just don’t want you to throw yourself into this because I’m the only one you’ve shared this with.”

You pushed back slightly. “Kai, I’m not just throwing myself at you because you did that.”

“I wasn’t saying you were,” he started, but you continued.

“No, no. You’re saying that you think all anyone had to do was listen to my sob story, and I would just fall into their arms?”

Kai’s mouth parted slightly as his eyebrows fell, hardening in defense. “That’s not at all what I’m saying.”

“What? Do you think that I can’t control myself? Or that I haven’t considered all of this?”

“No! I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

You almost yelled out, “Then don’t hurt me!”

Kai stopped, his face softening again as you bore deeply into those green pools. Your own head shook slightly as you sucked your lips between your teeth.

Kai stepped closer, wrapping his hand around your cheek, weaving his fingers into your hair. “I wouldn’t hurt you,” he promised as you slightly turned your head away. He pulled his other hand up to meet the other side of your face, turning you back to him. “Hey, I would never, ever, ever want to hurt you. I don’t even think I could.”

You scanned his face, so innocent, so willing to make promises with so little understanding of their gravity. Kai’s eyes closed as he leaned into you, his lips grazing yours as you let your own eyes close, leaning back into him. His lips softened as you did, as though he pulled the tension from your body through the connection of the two of you and disposed of it. Your body melted back in slightly, but you intended to still hold on to some of the rising displeasure in your stomach.

When he pulled back, you gave him a feigned scowl. “I don’t like that you have that as an option now,” you declared.

Kai only smiled and gave you another soft peck. “I just want to enjoy this with you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure.”

“I’m serious,” Kai gripped your face. “I just want to make sure that this is good for you.”

You shook from his grip. “I’ll be sure to give you a performance update,” you smirked.

Kai’s eyes rolled as he let out a soft huff of exasperation, then smiled genuinely at you. “Just don’t shut me out,” he pleaded slightly.

Your face fell slightly flatter as you just responded, “Don’t give me a reason to.”

To my readers, I'm sorry for what you are about to witness:

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