#but with the gift of flight instead of fire | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

florencemtrash · 1 year ago

Text

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Five

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: Gore, violence, some angst

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Meryl struggled forward, trying to keep from tripping on his floor-length robes. A head of ivory hair trailed out after him at a leisurely pace. A blood red hand at her side gripped a slick shortsword. The blade mimicked the cruel curve of her horns.

You remembered her from the party.

Teal silk and blood and the lake.

Koschei.

His hand dove into the folds of his robe, withdrawing a dull knife. You caught her smile before she dodged Meryl’s swift kick, sword arching down in a swing that cut cleanly through his back leg.

You didn’t stay to watch the second swing that nearly separated Meryl’s head from his shoulders. The street was still eerily silent.

Meryl hadn’t gotten the chance to raise the alarms.

You ran to the other side of your apartment, knocking one of the windows open. The smell of smoke, acrid and bitter, flooded your nose. Your stomach turned, nearly emptying itself of your dinner.

A blanket of haze covered the bottom floor, the flickering of flames beginning to lick up the outer edges of the massive room.

The Alcove - your home - was on fire.

Your apartment was built separately from The Alcove with no direct path linking the two together. Normally you would simply walk down the stairs and enter through one of The Alcove’s main entrances with its hand-carved archways and stone pegasuses. But with the murderous female lurking outside, that was simply not an option.

You pulled the neck of your sweater up and over the lower half of your face, ignoring the stinging of your eyes. You steeled your nerves and slid your foot out, finding purchase on the decorative molding that lined the walls. Many times you’d thought about scaling the walls instead of trekking down dozens of flights of stairs. You’d never actually done it.

The soft skin of your palms protested as you shimmied your way down and then jumped the last ten feet onto the walkway. There was no grace in your movements, and no time to dwell on the rough landing before you began flying down the stairs, begging the Mother and Meryl to give you time to cross the expanse of the library.

Meryl’s apartment lay on the opposite side of The Alcove on the first floor, and unlike your apartment, had a door leading directly to the stacks. The white rune, carved into Meryl’s door, stared at you like the eye of a god.

Some vague myths about ancient giants crossed your mind. They’d been worshiped in these lands before the rise of the High Lords with brains so vast you could climb in through their ears and walk amongst the grooves like a child in a corn maze. You felt like that child now, the familiar turns and patterns of the atheneum slipping away into mist.

You had no patience to walk the last flights of stairs. You threw yourself off the lower walkway, ankle twisted painfully beneath you as you crumpled onto the floor.

Just make it to the door. Just make it to the door.

The first duty of a Librarian was to save the atheneum. Always.

Again that white rune stared at you from across the floor, winking with the flashes of firelight as the flames gorged themselves on book pages.

Save the Alcove.

You ignored the pain in your leg, running towards the door with gritted teeth. Three bodies littered the floor, blood blossoming around colorful robes like roses in springtime.

Save the Alcove.

You wrenched the knife from the sliver in the wall, slicing your palm open with a sharp intake of breath. Warm blood spilled out, dripping onto the floor and then down the wall as you pressed your palm against the rune, muttering the words all Librarians knew by heart - words that would seal The Alcove from the outside world and draw all oxygen from within.

“Beali tchnemonon aschzernai belar-” The rune began to glow, rivers of white light tracing the carving on the door. The doors began to groan as threads of magic shot outward, weaving through the stone and preparing to seal it shut.

“Stop. Say nothing.” A voice said, soft as velvet and hard as scales.

Your tongue froze up, the rune dimming as teeth sank into the soft flesh of your mind and began to tear through your mental shields.

___________

Azriel chewed carefully, washing down the meat with a swig of sweet wine. All throughout dinner Helion had been glowering at him, one hand gripping the golden hilt of his steak knife like he was prepared to aim it between Azriel’s eyes.

“Did you spend the whole day with her?” Feyre had asked him when he’d finally arrived for dinner twenty minutes late.

Everyone else was dressed in their court attire. Even Cassian had changed out of his leathers and was currently pulling at the high collar of his shirt. But not Azriel. He’d arrived late in plain clothes, hair disheveled and face impassive. He gave a nod in response to Feyre’s silent question before settling down beside Cassian. His brother threw him a knowing wink.

Rhysand looked pleased with himself. Feyre looked pleased. Everyone was pleased… everyone but Helion.

“Finally! The Shadowsinger arrives!” The comment rolled off his tongue and fell flat, “Now we can eat.”

“I apologize, Helion. I lost track of time.” Azriel said truthfully. He had lost track of time. He wished he’d lost track of it for longer. Then he might still be in your living room, dreaming about kissing you.

Dinner was a business affair. Theories about Koschei’s next plans punctuated by the appearance of roasted chestnuts, soft-boiled quail eggs, honey rolls, and stuffed duck on the table.

“He can’t escape the lake.” Rhysand said, “Though the gods know he’s trying.”

“He can’t escape yet.” Helion countered, brows furrowed in concern, “There’s a piece we’re missing to this.”

“The Cauldron.” Feyre ran a lazy finger over the lip of her wineglass to disguise the unease settling in her stomach, “He’s searching for it.” She tilted her head towards Azriel, “Az found evidence that some of Koschei’s followers have been breaking into the temples further up north.”

Helion shook his head, “It wouldn’t do them any good to search an old hiding place. And it’s not like the legs of the Cauldron are with the priestesses anymore. They must be looking for something else.”

“What else is in the temples except old books and ceremonial artifacts?” Cassian asked.

“Old books can sometimes be the most powerful objects in the world.” Helion said with a small smirk, “I wouldn’t look down on them so much.”

“Tell that to a sword.”

“Tell that to a two-thousand page text thrown at your head.”

Cassian grinned, “I would dodge it. Easy.”

“With that inflated head of yours, I’d hardly be able to miss.”

Azriel smiled inwardly. That sounded like something you might say. Not even four hours since he’d last seen you and he was missing your gentle smile, the crease in your brows when you read, the occasional jangle of your bracelets when you shook out the cramps in your wrist.

Feyre thought long and hard, staring at the surface of her wine like the answers might materialize there. She couldn’t get her mind off the Cauldron. The most important events that had taken place in the last fifty years could be tied back to its magic. The magic that currently flooded through Nesta and Elain’s veins.

With its power anything seemed possible - even separating a deity like Koschei from the lake where he’d been confined for centuries.

“What if they’re not looking for the Cauldron itself?” Everyone looked at her, waiting to hear the High Lady’s next words. “What if they’re just looking for something tied to it?”

Cassian dropped his knife to the table with a clang.

“Nesta.” He breathed. He immediately reached out across the bond, feeling Nesta stir on the other side. She was still safe in Velaris, although he pitied any poor soul that tried to go after her.

“Or Elain.” Feyre continued.

It’s no secret they were Made. They wouldn’t need to break into a temple to figure that out or to find out where they’re staying. Rhysand sent his bonds down the bond, one hand reaching out to rub her thigh.

Nesta and Elain could handle themselves, but that didn’t mean Feyre could shed the protective nature she’d developed through her formative human years.

Who else then? Who else has taken power from the Cauldron?

Jurian.

He’s human. He has no magic that Koschei could want. And the human queen has been long dead too.

Helion glanced at Cassian who only waved him off. Rhys and Feyre did this often - getting lost in their private conversations and only sharing their thoughts at the very end.

Meanwhile, Azriel was having his own private thoughts.

Immunity, the innate biological process of recognizing and protecting against foreign entities, is a phenomenon that can be extended and applied to magic.

“How does it apply to mating bonds?” Azriel asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over the room.

The fire crackled steadily, warming your back as you sat hunched over a volume titled “An Exegesis on the Works of Bhenaui The Stone Giant”.

“Hmmm?” You mumbled.

He pointed to the last page of your paper where an introductory sentence on mating bonds had ended abruptly.

“You didn’t finish your thought.”

“Well, that’s because I’m not completely sure what my thoughts are… at least not yet.”

“Would you tell me your thoughts? Even if you’re not sure?”

You motioned for him to hand it over, the papers floating over to you on a phantom hand made of shadows. You flipped through the pages absentmindedly, your previous thoughts coming to mind as you held your work.

“Parents, children, siblings - they all tend to have similar forms of magic. Magic that recognizes family members the same way that blood does.”

Azriel nodded. He’d already read that section of your paper. Although the thought of sharing some magical connection with his half-brothers and father made his stomach turn, he couldn’t deny your logic.

“I always thought that mating bonds must be some special extension of that. Magic that’s not the same, but perfectly complementary.”

“Like the difference between two sets of keys, versus a key and a lock.”

“Maybe? I suppose that’s not a terrible analogy to make, but I’m not sure.” You shot him a smile, “You’re beginning to think like a Librarian, Azriel.”

His heart sang in his chest, shadows flurrying around him. You’d quickly learned that his shadows gave away more than his face ever would.

“What an insult to Librarians.” He quipped.

You snorted and shook your head, tossing a pen at his head. He caught it easily, just as you knew he would.

A faint flutter of panic grew in the background of his mind, unprompted and unexpected. He pushed it to the side, focusing his attention back on what you’d told him back at your apartment.

“Magic that recognizes family members the same way that blood does.”

Koschei had been brother to The Weaver and The Bone Carver - both dead after centuries, if not more, of confinement to The Prison and The Cottage. It didn’t make sense for him to be searching for them. Perhaps he wanted the Cauldron to bring them back from the dead, but even that seemed like the stretch. Koschei didn’t strike Azriel as the kind of being to care for the safety and life of his siblings.

If Azriel were in Koschei’s position, he wouldn’t be after the Cauldron. Not necessarily. The thing he’d really be dying to know was who had separated him from his power, and how.

“Magic that’s not the same, but perfectly complementary.”

Like a lock and a key.

“Uh… Azriel?” Cassian gently grabbed Azriel’s shoulder, shaking him.

Inky shadows climbed up his hand, the light of his red siphons swallowed up by the darkness that had begun to pour off of Azriel.

That panic was steadily growing into something he couldn’t ignore and he couldn’t stop thinking of you. You with your brilliant ideas and a theory that he still couldn’t quite grasp, like he was trying to hold salt water in his hands.

“Something-something feels wrong.” Azriel gasped out, a scarred hand clutching at his chest. “Cass, something’s not right. Something’s not right.” He repeated the words until he finally recognized what was wrong.

It wasn’t his panic that he was feeling. It was yours.

___________

You screamed, thrashing about on the floor as you gripped your head between your hands.

Get out. Get out. Get out.

You pulled at your hair, slapped your skull like that would be what it took for the female to relinquish her hold on your mind.

She was buried inside like a parasite - a virus slowly taking over the cellular machinery, copying it all down as she rifled through your memories as easily as a picture book.

You shrank away from her as she lingered on one memory in particular.

It was your fortieth birthday, although you didn’t look any older than eight. Helion sat on the floor, long legs extending beyond the cramped space between the fireplace and the couch. It was a small apartment you shared with your mother with its pale green walls and yellow daisy curtains.

He filled every inch of it with light. His smile was so dazzling you thought he must have been one of the fairytale knights you’d spent every night obsessing over. He certainly played the part, gifting you a wooden pegasus with wings that hovered a foot above the ground when you asked it to.

“You can’t keep doing this, Helion.” You’d stayed hidden at the top of the stairs, your pegasus nuzzling into your side and then going still.

“She’s my daughter, Leda. What am I meant to do?”

“You’re meant to leave us alone.”

“Leda-”

“She’s growing too slowly. You saw her today, she should be fully grown by now.”

“...I know.”

“If anyone finds out who she is… the power she possesses. Mother help us…”

“I know. I’m-I’m sorry, Leda.”

“You can’t keep doing this.”

That was the last childhood memory you’d had of him, and when the pegasus’s magic had worn off, leaving him stiff and immoble, the novelty of having a knight for a father had worn off too.

You were crying now, tears streaming down your ash-stained cheeks as the female above you clicked her forked tongue. Her eyes were two chips of moonstone split by wide, rectangular pupils.

“A High Lord’s bastard.” She sang with pleasure. “How fun.” She leaned down and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking it up so forcefully you had to bite your tongue to keep from screaming. “No. No.” She clicked her tongue in disappointment, “Don’t stop. I want to hear you scream. Scream.”

With a roar of anger you latched onto her arm, immediately feeling a flood of memories and emotion pour into your mind.

Sick, twisted satisfaction. Pleasure. Meryl’s decapitated body hastily hidden behind a pillar. When she’d gone down into the lower levels of The Alcove, searching for the diary, she hadn’t expected to see him there. Hadn’t expected him to give her a hard time. Hadn’t expected him to fight back.

The three other fae, slaughtered in haste. Koschei would not be pleased. He would not let her join him on the lake. But she had the book. She had the book.

The female hissed, the disorienting motion of being in your mind while you were in hers causing panic. She’d been trained to keep others out of her mind. She’d endured far more training than you had. So why couldn’t she kick you out?

More memories. More emotions. Rising fear. You soothed it using the training she’d received. She wasn’t the virus. You were. You felt all her memories. The terrible aftermath of war on the continent. The feeling of being burned alive.

The female was trying to break away from you now, but you wouldn’t let her, not even as the smoke grew so thick it clogged your lungs. You felt her memories as if they were your own, and so long as she was in your mind, she was forced to experience it all as well.

His power is beneath the lake. Trapped. Buried. He can’t leave his soul behind. Can’t diminish himself any further. He can’t leave the lake.

Koschei.

The lake. What’s buried beneath the lake?

Andrian. ANDRIAN!!!

Get the key. Get the key. Get the key.

The scream of her brother’s voice as Koschei splits his head in two.

When your eyes burst open they’re so bright the female turns her face away, sobbing. Your blood soaked hand searches the floor for the knife you dropped, the knife you can see is less than a foot away. But you’re not looking at it. She is.

She registers what you plan to do. Every thought of hers reflected in your mind like a ghostly afterimage. But it’s too late.

You grip the knife in your hand.

Slam it through her eye and out the back of her skull.

It’s a strange feeling to be in someone’s mind when they die. To feel like it’s your body slowly fading from existence with one final breath.

The female’s body slumps motionless over yours, and her final memories of her brother play out one last time.

…Then it’s just silence and the crackling of the ever approaching flames.

When Azriel reaches The Alcove, the windows have all burst, angry tongues of fire licking the sky and gasping for breath.

“Y/N!” Azriel roars, shooting off towards the door so hard the cobblestones crack beneath his feet. “Y/N!”

White lights begin to splinter up the stone walls, filling invisible cracks that begin to take the shape of ancient runes. Swirls, symbols, repeating lines trace their way over the windows, sealing them shut as the flames start to hiss in protest, eating up the oxygen faster than they can draw breath.

The door has been blown apart, the inside of The Alcove nothing more than a hurricane of ash and smoke. But when Azriel reaches them, he slams into an impenetrable wall of magic.

“NO!” He crashes against the barrier. Light scatters outward, but holds against the shadows that burst forth from Azriel’s body. Power explodes from his siphons, but still the magic holds.

“Y/N! Y/N!” He flies up to the windows and tries again to no avail.

The bond is still there, burning away in his chest with a passion.

He will not lose you. Not like this. Not today.

He touches back down on the ground, legs braced on the street as blue light begins to wrap around his chest and arms. His shadows mix in with them like ink in a tumultuous sea.

He’s about to let his power flood out when he sees it - two dim pinpricks of light that pass through the barrier as easily as sparrows diving through the air.

You’re nothing more than a gray shadow, your knees and hands coated in a mixture of ash and blood, as you emerge from the roaring flames. Your eyes gleam a pale yellow, seeing and unseeing at the same time. You make it to the front steps and when you stumble, Azriel is there to catch you, one arm looping around your waist and you’re immediately thrust into another memory.

It’s dark and cold in the cellar. So dark that even after two days the most Azriel can do to prove he still exists is to slap his legs, then his arms, then his face. Then he knows he’s still alive. It’s the pain that helps him remember.

“Y/n. Y/n. I need you to look at me.” Your eyes are unfocused, still glowing as Azriel helps you walk forward, one hand clasping yours close to his chest. “Y/n. Y/n. Please. Darling, please.”

His mother sings to him, a gentle, sweet melody that’s filled with more sorrow than words. His hands are heavy with gauze and ointment, the lingering pain magnifying and shooting through his small body whenever he moves them to touch his mother’s face or to wrap his arms around her neck.

But this is the only hour he’ll get with her this week. So he ignores the pain. He savors only the feeling of his mother’s arms around his weak back and the song she sings, hanging onto every word and committing them to memory.

You’re vaguely aware of Helion’s deep voice shouting your name. When he touches you, you can feel his relief as acutely as the rumble of thunder before rain. The emotion rolls over you, calming your heart.

For a brief moment you’re still the little girl he placed on top of the pegasus on your fortieth birthday. For a brief moment your mother is still alive, suppressing the smile on her lips as she watches the creature wobble to life, shake its wings, and begin to fly.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

We're getting into the action/plot now folks! Hold on tight because I have IDEAS! It's going to take time for me to explain it all in the story, but I promise you I have a plan

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755 @sidthedollface2 @auggiesolovey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @transparentmoonglitter @ang-taylorsversion @ssmay123 @just-m-2 @sevikas-whore @lalalucha @svtwonwoow @user707sthings @cherryinsalemverse @evylynny @decrepit-bees-knees @eleganttravelercloud @ghostwritermia @smitty-werbenjagermenjenson @fussel9913 @st0rmyt @glitterypirateduck @mischiefmanagers @waytoomanyteenagefeels @acourtofdreamsandshadows @sakurafrost3-blog @utterlyotterlyx @vickykazuya @venussdovess @xxxalicerogersxx @mattiescove @goldenmagnolias @secret-ly-here @kindaslightlyacidic @brujitafantomatico @venussdovess @xxxalicerogersxx @earth-to-lottie @balsalmic-vinegar @darbuckle21 @justagingerliving

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel x mate reader #the inner circle #acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfiction #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #the day court

865 notes · View notes

acesofspadess · 5 days ago

Text

Matching Festivities 🎄

12 days of Mix-Mas // Day 4

Oscar Piastri x reader

summary: You and and Oscar were supposed to be having a cosy night in, Oscar had some different plans in his mind...

warnings: slight dom/sub dynamics, lingerie?, smut-ish, swearing,

The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg filled the living room, mingling with the rich aroma of hot cocoa. Twinkling Christmas lights adorned the walls, casting a soft, festive glow over the cozy space. The crackling fireplace completed the picture-perfect holiday ambiance.

Oscar was meticulously arranging the snack platter on the coffee table, his brows furrowed in concentration. "Do we think gingerbread cookies and popcorn are a weird mix, or are we just leaning into the chaos of Christmas?" he asked, tilting his head as he studied the arrangement.

You laughed from your spot on the couch, where you were nestled under a mound of soft blankets. "We’re absolutely leaning into the chaos. Besides, no one’s going to complain about cookies and popcorn."

Oscar grinned, his dimples making an appearance as he brought the tray over and placed it in front of you. "You’re right. It's festive anarchy or nothing tonight."

The two of you had planned this night for weeks—a Christmas movie marathon, complete with matching pajamas, endless snacks, and mugs of hot cocoa topped with far too much whipped cream. It was Oscar’s idea to make it a "classic Christmas extravaganza," and he’d spent hours curating the perfect lineup of movies.

"Okay, first up, we have the undisputed champion of Christmas movies: Home Alone. Thoughts? Concerns?"

"Zero concerns. It’s a masterpiece," you said, adjusting the blanket so he could slide in beside you. "But if we’re starting with Home Alone, we’re definitely following it with Elf."

Oscar chuckled as he grabbed the remote. "Naturally. Kevin McCallister and Buddy the Elf would want it that way."

As the opening credits of Home Alone played, you settled in against Oscar’s side, his arm draping casually around your shoulders. The warmth of the fire, the soft hum of holiday music in the background, and the sound of Oscar’s occasional commentary made everything feel perfect.

"Okay, but seriously, why didn’t the parents count the kids before getting on the plane? Rookie move," Oscar said, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"Because the plot needed them to mess up, obviously," you replied, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. "Also, let’s not pretend you wouldn’t panic and forget something if we were late for a flight."

He caught the popcorn effortlessly and popped it into his mouth, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I’d forget something, sure. But not you."

The cheesy line earned him a playful nudge, and he laughed, pulling you closer. The movie continued, punctuated by your shared laughter and occasional debates over the logistics of Kevin’s traps.

As the credits rolled and the screen faded to black, Oscar shifted beside you, reaching for the remote to queue up Elf. But instead of starting the next movie, he hesitated, his expression suddenly more thoughtful.

You raised an eyebrow. "What’s that face?"

"What face?"

"The one you’re making right now. You look like you’re either about to confess to a crime or ask me something ridiculous."

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, maybe not a crime. But... I did have a little something extra planned for tonight."

Curiosity piqued, you sat up a bit straighter. "Extra? Like what?"

Oscar stood, his movements slightly awkward as he made his way over to the small pile of wrapped presents under the tree. He picked up a gift bag that you hadn’t noticed before and turned back to you, a sheepish smile on his face.

"So, you know how we said we’d go all out for the holiday spirit?" he began, his tone light but his eyes flickering with something unreadable.

You nodded slowly, intrigued. "Yeah..."

"Well, I might have taken it... a step further," he said, handing you the bag. "Open it."

Your fingers brushed against the festive tissue paper as you pulled it aside, revealing something soft and lacy inside. Your cheeks warmed as you realized what it was—a matching set of Christmas-themed lingerie in a deep red hue, complete with delicate white trim.

You looked up at Oscar, your eyes wide. "You did not."

He grinned, his confidence returning now that the reveal was out in the open. "I absolutely did. And before you say anything, there’s a second set in there. For me."

At that, you couldn’t help but burst into laughter. "You bought matching festive lingerie? For both of us?"

"It’s called commitment to the bit," he said, crossing his arms and trying to look serious. "Also, I think it’s very on-brand for us."

You shook your head, still laughing as you pulled out the second set. Sure enough, it was a more masculine version of the same design, complete with red satin and white trim. The idea of Oscar in something so absurdly festive was both hilarious and unexpectedly... appealing.

"This is possibly the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done," you said, holding up the lingerie.

"Ridiculous, or genius?" he countered, his tone playful as he leaned against the back of the couch. "Come on, it’ll be fun. Think of it as a new holiday tradition."

You bit your lip, torn between teasing him mercilessly and indulging in the spontaneity of it all. "You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?"

"Dead serious," he said, his eyes gleaming with challenge. "But if you’re too chicken to wear yours..."

That did it. You weren’t about to back down from a challenge, especially not one from Oscar. "Oh, I’m wearing mine. But you better put yours on too, or this whole thing is off."

His grin widened. "Deal."

A few minutes later, you were both back in the living room, each dressed in your respective sets. The sight of Oscar in his matching lingerie was enough to send you into another fit of laughter, but he didn’t let you dwell on it for long. His smirk deepened as he stepped closer, his presence commanding in a way that made your breath hitch.

"What’s the verdict?" he asked, his voice dropping into a lower register as his fingers grazed the curve of your waist. "Do I look festive enough for you?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his hands slid up, his touch both gentle and firm. "I—yeah. Definitely festive."

""Good," he murmured, his lips twitching with satisfaction. "Because you’re absolutely stunning." His eyes raked over you, the heat in his gaze making your cheeks flush as you felt his approval wash over you like a warm wave. "Turn around for me."

You hesitated for only a moment, your heart fluttering under his focused attention. The weight of his command wasn’t oppressive; it was magnetic, drawing you to comply. Slowly, you turned, acutely aware of the way his eyes followed every movement. When his hands found the delicate fabric at your hips, they didn’t merely touch—they claimed. The warmth of his palms was grounding, a stark contrast to the fluttering excitement in your chest.

When you finally faced him again, his expression had shifted completely. There was no teasing glint in his eyes, only a raw, unfiltered intensity that made you feel both exposed and cherished.

"I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this beautiful," he said softly, his voice steady but laced with something deeper, almost reverent. He stepped closer, his hands sliding up to cradle your face, his touch firm yet tender, leaving no doubt as to who held the reins in this moment. "And the fact that you let me talk you into this? You’re perfect."

You parted your lips to respond, but he didn’t give you the chance. His mouth claimed yours in a kiss that wasn’t just passionate—it was purposeful. The force of it stole your breath, and when his hands moved to hold you firmly against him, you melted into the connection.

The softness of the lace and satin you wore was a delicate counterpoint to the insistence of his grip. Every movement he made was deliberate, calculated, a reminder that he was utterly in control. You could feel it in the way his hands guided you, in the way his lips moved against yours—there was no hesitation, no doubt. Just him, leading, and you willingly following.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his thumb brushed over your flushed cheek in a gesture that felt both grounding and possessive. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice rough yet tender, each word carrying the weight of his devotion.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, clinging to him as you tried to steady your breathing. "Merry Christmas, Oscar," you managed, your voice soft but steady, carried by the warmth radiating between you.

The movie still played on in the background, a faint reminder of the festive evening you’d planned. But it no longer mattered. The world outside faded as his lips found yours again, this time slower, savoring, as if he had all the time in the world to show you exactly what you meant to him. His hands guided you back onto the couch, his weight pressing you into the cushions with a confidence that made your pulse quicken.

Every kiss, every touch, every deliberate move spoke of his control, his assurance, and his desire to make this moment entirely yours—and his. Tonight, you weren’t just a part of his Christmas celebration. You were the celebration, and he was determined to make you feel it in every breathless second.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his thumb brushing over your flushed cheek. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice rough yet tender.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping him as you caught your breath. "Merry Christmas, Oscar."

The movie played on in the background, forgotten as he kissed you again, this time slower, more deliberate. His hands guided you back onto the couch, his weight pressing you into the cushions as the world outside faded away. Tonight, nothing mattered but him—and the way he made you feel utterly, completely his.

#oscar piastri x black!reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fluff

114 notes · View notes

luvdwkki · 1 month ago

Text

Hyunjin - Through the lens

Hyunjin x Gn!reader

Word count: 11.3k

Synopsis: Hyunjin, a photographer, finds solace and inspiration in a picturesque village that soon becomes the heart of his world. Back in Seoul, unsettling discoveries make him question the reality of what he experienced.

Hyunjin hadn’t touched his camera in weeks. It sat at the edge of his desk, a thin layer of dust settling over its worn leather strap and gleaming glass lens. He used to not be able to go a full day without taking a photo, but now, every attempt felt flat and uninspired. Frustration gnawed at him. He couldn’t understand why this fog of creative emptiness had descended on him, and the lack of answers only deepened his unease.

Determined to break free of it, Hyunjin tore through his room, rummaging through old photo albums and drawers, hunting for a spark or some long lost reminder of the passion he used to feel. Among the clutter, he stumbled upon a small photograph. Its edges had yellowed, and the colours had faded with time, but he recognised it instantly. It had been a gift from an elderly photographer he’d met at a gallery a couple years ago when Hyunjin was still fresh-faced and hungry for experience. Back then, the man had told him, “Whenever you get lost or need to feel free again, go here. This place has a tendency to make people feel found.’

Hyunjin held the photo up to the light, studying it. The picture was of a quaint town nestled away from the world, its cobbled streets winding between colourful houses with flowers spilling from every windowsill. The town looked quiet, untouched by time, like it had secrets only a few had ever learned. Just looking at it stirred something inside him, a faint echo of the thrill he used to feel when he picked up his camera. He knew he couldn't ignore it. If he didn’t act now, he feared he would lose his love for photography forever.

Impulsively, he packed a small bag, tossing in essentials alongside his once beloved camera. Within hours, he was on a plane, his heart pounded with a nervous excitement he hadn’t felt in years. The flight was long, but he didn't mind. He gazed out of the window, watching clouds drift by as he imagined what awaited him in that town. It wasn’t just a place he was flying to; it was a glimmer of hope.

When he landed, he took a winding bus ride through rolling hills and forests, the road twisting and turning until he could finally see the town appearing below in the soft glow of dusk. By the time he reached the tiny motel, the sun had set, and the town was bathed in the warm, golden light of street lamps and shop signs. Exhausted but content, he checked in and fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. The promise of a new beginning easing him into a dream.

The next morning, he woke up with the sun streaming through the thin blinds, filling his room with a gentle warmth. After a quick breakfast at a small cafe nearby, he slung his camera over his shoulder and set off to explore. The town was just as enchanting as the photo had promised. Narrow streets wound through rows of brightly painted houses, flower boxes bursting with colour at every turn. Market stalls lined the main square, selling fresh produce, handmade crafts, and little trinkets that caught the light.

Hyunjin didn’t reach for his camera right away. Instead, he let himself get lost in the rhythm of the town, feeling the cobblestone beneath his feet and inhaling the scents of blooming flowers and fresh bread. He stopped to chat with the locals, even sharing a laugh with an old man who teased him about his tourist’s curiosity. As the day wore on, he took a few photos. Portraits of shopkeepers, a child chasing a cat down an alley, the vibrant colours of the market stalls, but the inspiration he sought still eluded him.

Returning to his motel that evening, Hyunjin felt a strange sense of peace. While he hadn’t yet rekindled his creative fire, he felt lighter and more hopeful than he had in weeks. He fell asleep wondering what tomorrow would bring, feeling closer to rediscovering himself with every step he took in this little town that seemed to wait patiently for him to find his way back to his art.

On his third day in town, Hyunjin decided to explore the outskirts, hoping the untouched landscape might stir the inspiration he’d been searching for. He spent a couple of hours wandering narrow trails that led through groves of trees and open meadows, his camera swinging idly by his side, waiting for the right moment. Still, no shot felt right. Nothing seemed to spark the connection he craved.

Then, as he walked along the shaded path, he came upon a willow tree standing beside a large, serene pond. Its long, wispy branches cascaded towards the water, swaying gently in the breeze. It was peaceful, a place seemingly untouched by time, and Hyunjin decided it would be a perfect spot to take a break. As he approached the tree, he noticed he was not alone.

You were seated beneath the large tree on a neatly laid blanket, your figure partially hidden by the hanging branches. You looked deep in thought, your gaze fixed on the still waters of the pond, your hair flowing in soft waves, being lifted slightly by the breeze. There was a quiet grace about you, an unspoken depth that intrigued him. Hyunjin felt his breath catch. There was something so captivating about your solitude – the way you seemed to blend with the landscape as if you belonged there more than any human ever could.

Without much thought, he lifted his camera, adjusting the focus to capture your presence within the tranquil setting. But just as he pressed the shutter, the sound of the camera echoed louder than expected. Your head turned sharply in his direction, your eyes wide with surprise.

Hyunjin quickly lowered his camera, his face flushing as he stammered, “I'm so sorry… I didn't mean to startle you. I just… couldn't miss the perfect shot.”

A small smile played on your lips, the surprise fading from your expression. “It’s okay,” you replied, glancing back towards the water with a soft chuckle. “I guess I was just lost in thought.”

He couldn't help but notice the way you spoke, your voice gentle but clear, each word carrying a quiet warmth. For a moment, Hyunjin found himself lost again, this time in your calm presence. He felt an urge to know you, to understand the stories behind your serene expression.

“Im Hyunjin,” his voice was hesitant yet hopeful, as if fearing he might break the delicate spell between you.

You turned back to him, your voice widening slightly. “Nice to meet you, Hyunjin.” Your tone was light but kind, and there was a spark in your gaze that made his heart race unexpectedly.

For a moment, silence settled between you, filled only by the whisper of a breeze rustling the willow leaves. Trying to fill the space, he asked, “So, what brings you out here all alone?”

You looked back at the water, a hint of something reflective in your eyes. “I just needed a little air,” you said softly. “It’s peaceful here… gives me room to think.”

You paused, then glanced at the empty spot beside you. “Would you like to sit?” a slight curiosity in your tone.

Hyunjin nodded quickly, perhaps a bit too eagerly, and sat down beside you, careful not to disturb the tranquillity of your small space. He could still feel the lingering embarrassment from earlier but was relieved that you didn’t seem bothered. You turned to him, the warmth of your smile easing his nerves.

“So what brings you to this town?” you asked, your eyes alight with genuine interest.

Hyunjin hesitated for a moment before sharing the story of his recent struggle with his art, the way he’d felt lost and disconnected until he’d found the photograph that had brought him here. You listened intently, nodding at each turn, your expression one of understanding that made him feel oddly comforted.

When he finished, he asked, “And what about you? Do you come here often?”

“I grew up here,” you said with a fondness lacing your words. “This place is part of me. It’s home, even when I need to step away from it. I guess you could say it keeps me floating.”

You both continued to talk as the minutes slipped by, sharing small pieces of your lives. With each word, Hyunjin felt himself becoming more and more captivated by you. It wasn’t just your words but the way you held yourself, the quiet strength and calmness that seemed to radiate from you.

Eventually, you glanced at the sky, a reluctant look crossing your face. “I should probably head off now,” you said, standing up and dusting off your blanket.

Hyunjin felt a strange pang as you packed up your things, an emptiness he hadn’t anticipated. He realised he didn’t even know your name, yet he felt as if he’d known you for far longer than these few minutes. He wanted to ask you to stay, or to at least meet again, but the words caught in his throat.

With one last smile, you looked at him. “It was nice meeting you, Hyunjin,” you said softly before turning to walk away, leaving him under the willow tree with only the photo of you and the quiet ripples of the pond.

As he watched you go, Hyunjin felt something inside him shift. This peaceful place had reignited something he thought he’d lost. For the first time in a long while, he lifted his camera again, capturing the scene as if to hold onto the moment forever.

Hyunjin returned to the town that evening, trying to take more photos of the colourful marketplace and the winding streets. Yet no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on his surroundings, he couldn't get you out of his mind. The memory of your gentle smile or your thoughtful gaze on the pond–you lingered in his thoughts like a haunting melody. As the evening shadows stretched off the cobbled paths, Hyunjin resigned himself to the quiet of his motel room, though sleep came slowly, the image of you at the willow tree etched vividly in his mind.

The next day, he rose early and wandered the town again, hoping to recapture the inspiration he felt slipping through his fingers. As he meandered through the bustling plaza, weaving between vendors setting up their vibrant wares, he saw you. You were strolling near the far edge of the square, a woven basket hanging from your arms. Before he could even think, his legs carried him forward. Your eyes widened with surprise when you saw him, followed by a delighted smile.

“You again,” you teased, your eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Yeah, I… well, I couldn’t leave without another photo,” he replied, his voice uncertain but sincere. You laughed, and he felt the last traces of his nervousness melt away.

“Well then, come on,” you said, gesturing for him to walk with you. You left the bustling plaza and wandered into the countryside beyond the town, a quiet path that opened up to a vast expanse of wildflower fields stretching out in every direction. The flowers were in full bloom, petals painting the landscape in rich hues of lavender, gold, and crimson. Hyunjin could smell their faint, sweet perfume in the air. The trail found its way through the field, and soon you arrived at a gentle stream where wild grasses leaned over the water’s edge.

“Spring is special here,” you murmured, motioning to the lively stream, where tiny fish darted beneath the surface and dragonflies skimmed over the water. “It wakes everything up.”

Hyunjin nodded, taking in every word, though he found himself more captivated by your voice than the scene you were describing. You pointed out small animals hidden among the reeds, such as a small family of ducks waddling near the shore, or the heron standing gracefully on one leg. He just studied you, noticing the way your face lit up with each new sight.

“Do you know much about them?” you asked suddenly, your question breaking him out of his trance.

Hyunjin realised he’d barely listened, too lost in watching you. You tilted your head, giving him a curious look, and he felt his face flush. He quickly nodded, managing a quiet “Mhm…”

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, but you let it slide, continuing your stories of the stream’s wildlife as you walked. You seemed to know every detail of the land, from the tiniest insects to the habits of the foxes that visited at dusk. Hyunjin listened, caught between fascination with your words and the growing warmth he felt in your presence.

After a while, his stomach growled softly, causing him to laugh in embarrassment. “I guess I should've packed a lunch.”

You gave him a playful look before opening your basket and pulling out two neatly wrapped sandwiches, handing one to him with a smile. “Lucky for you, I came prepared.”

You found a low tree with sturdy branches, and quickly climbed onto one with ease, patting the spot beside you. Hyunjin joined you, unwrapping the sandwich as you sat there, legs swinging like carefree children. You ate in a comfortable silence, surrounded by the soft murmur of the stream and the hum of distant wildlife.

Once you had finished eating, you lingered on the branch, talking about the town and sharing stories and memories of your lives. He learnt that you spent most afternoons in the fields, seeking out little pockets of peace away from the noise of the town. You described how the landscape transformed with each season, your eyes lighting up with each memory you shared. As you spoke, he felt himself drawn more and more into your world, sensing the way you saw beauty in the smallest things.

The hours slipped by until, eventually, you both realised you should head back. You hopped off the branch, brushing loose bark from your pants, and he followed you down the winding paths leading towards town. You walked slowly, the conversation more thoughtful now, until you finally reached the familiar streets.

As you parted ways, Hyunjin felt a sense of reluctance, wishing he had a reason to keep walking with you, just a bit longer. But with one last wave and a smile, you disappeared into the busy street, leaving him with a strange ache in his chest and a new kind of inspiration stirring within him.

For the first time in a while, Hyunjin felt the urge to capture more than just a photograph; he wanted to capture a feeling, a memory that would linger long after he’d left this place.

The next morning, Hyunjin was up early, determined to find you again. He wandered through the village’s winding streets, scanning each corner and side street, hoping for a glimpse of your familiar figure. He checked the plaza, the cafe, even the quiet paths by the outskirts, but you were nowhere to be found. The entire day passed in a blur as he thought of little else, his mind replaying every word and expression, every smile and laugh that you had shared. That night he lay awake, formulating a plan — a way to spend more time with you — to capture this rare, exhilarating feeling and keep it alive as long as he could.

That night, sleep was elusive. His mind was a storm of excitement, anticipation, and a nervous energy that kept him awake well into the early hours. By the time he finally drifted off, the sky was already beginning to show its rosy hues.

The next morning, he woke up in a panic, immediately glancing at the clock. He’d overslept, and by the time he left his room, the village was already alive with activity. He strolled through the narrow streets, feeling disappointed and convinced he might have missed his chance. But as he wandered past the plaza, a familiar figure caught his eye. You were sitting by the fountain in the middle of the square, your head bowed slightly as you stared at the water, lost in thought.

A smile broke across his face as he watched you, your figure bathed in the soft glow of midday sun, and he couldn’t resist capturing the moment. Without a second thought, he lifted his camera, capturing your profile as you sat quietly, unaware of his presence. There was something in your stillness, an elegance that he couldn’t quite put into words but felt compelled to preserve in the frame. After a few shots, he put the camera down and made his way over, tapping your shoulder gently.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, feigning a casual air as though he were a stranger passing by.

You looked up, surprised but pleased, your smile warm as you gestured to the spot beside you. “Of course,” you said, shifting slightly to make room for him. You sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, each lost in your own thoughts. The sounds of the town filled the air. Children laughing, merchants calling out their wares, the soft splash of the fountain’s water.

Eventually, you broke the silence, your voice thoughtful. “It’s funny, isn't it? How the town feels so alice in spring, but in winter, it almost seems… frozen in time.”

Hyunjin nodded, sensing there was more you wanted to share. Your eyes lingered on the fountain, and there was a wistfulness to your gaze.

“I love it here,” you continued. “It’s my home, and it always will be. But sometimes… I wonder what else is out there.” Your words hung in the air, and Hyunjin could hear the faintest edge of sadness to your tone. “You're lucky,” you added, glancing at him. “You get to see so much of the world. I’m…well, I'm just here.”

Your honesty surprised him. He had assumed you were content with your quiet life, rooted in this picturesque town. But there you were, longing for places you had never seen, paths you had never walked. He tried to reassure you, saying “It’s not too late. You could leave, too.”

You shook your head slowly, a bittersweet smile spreading across your lips. “No, I couldn’t. This is where I belong. I don't think I know how to leave, even if I wanted to.”

Hearing the resignation in your voice stirred something in Hyunjin. You seemed bound to this place, your roots deep in the soil of your home, yet your heart ached for something more. He sensed a longing to share with you a glimpse of the beauty he had seen in the world. Impulsively, he reached for your hand, his fingers curling gently around yours. Your gaze lifted in surprise, but you didn’t pull away; your eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and trust.

“Come with me,” he said, a newfound confidence lending strength to his words. Without another word, he guided you away from the plaza, through the narrow streets and out towards the edge of town.

You walked in a companionable silence along a hidden trail he’d discovered through a conversation with a local. He led you up a small incline, past dense trees and flowering shrubs, your hand warm in his as you journeyed through the soft underbrush. After a short but winding trek, you emerged into a secluded clearing. Before you laid a waterfall, cascading down smooth rocks into a clear pool below, its waters glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight, a breathless smile spreading across your face. “I’ve lived here my whole life,” you murmured, “But I had no idea this was here.”

Hyunjin watched you, captivated by your awe. You seemed to radiate with the same beauty as the scene around you, and for a moment, he felt as if he were seeing you for the first time. The sun casted a golden glow over you, illuminating the spark in your eyes and the subtle curve of your lips as you looked around in wonder. To him, you were the most beautiful part of the entire landscape.

You wandered closer to the water’s edge, laughing softly as you spotted a group of butterflies fluttering nearby. You crouched down, extending your hand as one of them landed gently on your fingertip. Hyunjin had no choice but to lift his camera, capturing your delicate smile and the sunlit waterfall shimmering behind you. He couldn’t help but take a few more photos, capturing your wonder and delight. Each slot felt like a small treasure, a memory he wanted to keep alive forever.

You wandered around the waterfall, watching the small creatures that made their homes there— a white rabbit sprinting into the bushes, a red squirrel darting up a tree, tiny birds fluttering their wings between branches. But Hyunjin could hardly focus on any of it. His gaze kept drifting back to you.

Finally, you sat by the water’s edge, side by side, your shoulders nearly touching. The sound of the rushing water filled the air, but between you, there was a comfortable silence. You turned to him, a grateful smile on your lips, and he felt the weight of your gaze like a warmth that reached straight to his heart.

“Thank you.” You said softly, your voice filled with an emotion he couldn't quite place.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm shine over the clearing, you made your way back to the town. Hand in hand, you walked together, Hyunjin feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t experienced in a long time. As you reached the village, he realised that this little corner of the world held something far greater than he'd ever expected.

The evening air was tinged with the faint aroma of blooming flowers as you both lingered, just for a moment, beneath the soft glow of the streetlamp. You looked at him, your gaze steady and warm. “Meet me at the stream tomorrow around 11,” you said with a small smile, your voice carrying a hint of mystery. With one last glance, you turned to walk down the cobblestone road, leaving Hyunjin standing there, heart fluttering in his chest.

That night, sleep evaded him. He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the way you looked at him, the softness of your voice, the invitation in your words. Every thought of you filled his chest in a quiet happiness, and by the time he finally drifted off, his mind was full with dreams of the stream and the promise of seeing you again.

He woke up at dawn, hours too early, unable to keep himself from the thrill of the day ahead. He got dressed slowly, choosing his clothes with great care, and ate a small breakfast to settle his nerves. Finally, as the clock ticked closer to 11, he set off, feeling the warm rays of sun on his back as he walked through the wildflower fields towards the stream.

When he reached the water’s edge, his heart sank. The gentle trickle of the stream was the only sound to be heard, and you were nowhere to be seen. He kept glancing around, his excitement quickly fading into disappointment. Just as he was about to turn around, he noticed a figure across the stream, lying on a soft patch of grass, gazing up at the pearly white clouds.

It was you.

You laid sprawled out on the grass, one arm behind your head and the other resting across your stomach. Your eyes were closed and your face was relaxed, your expression almost serene. The sunlight cast a golden glow across your skin, and you looked as if you were part of the landscape itself, a piece of this quiet paradise. Hyunjin’s hand rushed to his camera, lifting it to his eye, capturing you from afar, framing the curve of your face, the peacefulness in your expression, the way the soft light danced around you. He took a few quiet shots, smiling as he lowered the camera, unable to tear his eyes away from you.

There was something about you… a presence, a quiet strength, a beauty that felt otherworldly. Each day you spent together drew him further into your orbit, and he found himself marvelling at how effortlessly you seemed to capture his every thought.

Realising he’d have to cross the stream to join you, he looked down at the wide body of water separating them, assessing his options. The rocks looked slippery, and the stream was deceptively deep in some parts. He considered looking for a branch or some sort of makeshift bridge, half-laughing at the lengths he was willing to go just to avoid wet feet.

He was mid-search, crouched over a pile of sticks when he heard a soft laugh. Looking up, he saw you gazing back at him from across the stream, a curious smile tugging at your lips.

“Need some help there?” you called out, amusement clear in your voice. A blush crept across his cheeks as he straightened, giving you an embarrassed smile.

“Just… planning my route,” he replied, sheepish.

You stood up, brushing bits of grass from your legs and waded into the stream without hesitation. The water lapped at your bare ankles as you moved towards him, your shorts rolled up just above your knees, your steps sure and graceful. The sound of the water splashing softly around you filled the air, and Hyunjin watched, momentarily mesmerised as you approached him.

“Scared to get wet?” you teased, stopping just a few feet away, your eyes twinkling with mischief.

He chuckled, quickly recovering. “No, just trying to protect the camera,” he said, lifting it slightly as though to defend his excuse. “Can't risk it getting wet.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping even closer, until your face was mere centimetres from his, your gaze looked onto his. Hyunjin felt his heart stutter, his pulse racing as he met your eyes. Your face was so close, he could feel your breath, warm against his skin, your expression full of intent.

In one swift motion, you reached out, snatching the camera from his hands, and darted back across the stream, genuine laughter spilling from your lips. Hyunjin stood frozen in surprise, watching as you reached the other side, grinning triumphantly as you held the camera aloft.

“Hey!” he called, his voice tinged with laughter. You flashed him a mischievous smile, the sun catching the glint of your eyes.

“Should’ve just worn shorts like me!” you shouted back, waving the camera. Your laughter was harmonious, and Hyunjin couldn’t help but smile, feeling his heart swell with affection.

With a sigh of playful defeat, he set his shoes and socks aside, rolling up the bottom of his jeans to his knees. Tentatively, he stepped into the stream, the water frigid yet refreshing against his skin. You watched him from your side of the bank, your laughter softening as he made his way across.

He took slow, tentative steps into the stream, eyes focused on the rocks beneath him as he playfully navigated the water, each step cautious to avoid slipping. The cool stream tickled his ankles, and he winced as the water seeped higher, inching towards the rolled-up hem of his jeans. You watched him with a smile, setting his camera safely on a dry patch of grass away from the water before coming to his side.

“It's really not that cold,” you said, giving him an encouraging smile as you knelt down to scoop up a handful of water, letting it trickle through your fingers.

He nodded, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, it's nothing,” he replied, though the water’s chill was starting to make him shiver slightly.

You looked at him with a delinquent glint in your eye. “What's that?” you asked, your gaze fixed on something just over his shoulder.

He glanced back instinctively, only to feel a sudden splash of icy water against his back. The shock jolted him, and he straightened with a gasp, feeling the cold seep through his shirt as a gasp escaped your lips. Slowly, he turned back to face you, and there you were, grinning widely, your eyes dancing with pure mischief.

He genuinely felt like his heart might burst as he looked at you, the playful glint in your eyes making him smile despite the chill running down his spine. You didn’t waste a second before gathering another handful of water, tossing it at him with a delighted laugh.

“Oh, it's on.” He laughed as he kicked his leg, sending a wide spray of water your way, drenching you in a sudden wave. You shrieked, laughing as the water splashed over you, soaking the front of your shirt and sending your hair tumbling in wet waves over your head. Hyunjin couldn’t help but laugh, the sound of your delighted squeals filling the air around you.

You weren’t about to let him with that easily, though. Bracing yourself, you used your foot to send another splash in his direction, water arching towards him as he lifted his hands in mock defence. Before you could gather more water, he lunged forward, closing the distance between the two of you in an instant. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he lifted you off the ground, spinning playfully as you smiled, your laughter ringing out in joyous peals that echoed across the stream.

He carried you into the middle of the stream, your laughter mixing with the bubbling of the water and the gentle rustling of leaves overhead. You kicked playfully, your arms wrapping around his neck as he finally set you down, your faces close as you both struggled to catch your breath between giggles.

Just as he let you go, your foot slipped on a wet rock, and with a yelp, you fell back, splashing down into the shallow water, your arms flailing as you tried — and failed — to steady yourself. You landed with a splash, your clothes soaked, and for a split second, the laughter stopped. Hyunjin froze, watching you with wide eyes, worry etched across his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hand immediately extended towards you, concern evident in his eyes.

A wicked smile spread across your face as you took his hand, your grip firm as you tugged him down towards you with surprising strength. Before he could react, he was tumbling forward, splashing down beside you in the cool water. For a moment, he was stunned, the cold soaking through his clothes as you burst in laughter, your face alight with pure joy. He joined in, the laughter ringing through the clearing as you began splashing each other with abandon, the water flying as you playfully fought your way across the shallow stream.

Minutes passed, all the laughter echoing in quiet solitude around you. Eventually, as your energy waned, you waded back to the grassy patch near the water's edge, both of you soaked to the skin, hair dripping as you flopped down onto the sunlit grass, lying side by side, gazing up at the sky.

The warm sun beat down on you, drying your clothes slowly as you lay there, side by side, watching the fluffy clouds drift lazily across the sky. You exchanged stories, small secrets, and laughter as the sun climbed higher, casting its warmth over you. Together, you spoke of dreams and favourite memories, of fears and the quiet hopes you held close to your heart. You told him about growing up in the village, the little joys and the familiar rhythm of life there, while he shared stories of his travels, the places he’d been to and the adventures he’d had.

As the afternoon sun reached its peak, Hyunjin felt an overwhelming sense of peace settle over him. Lying there on the grass, side by side, with no rush and no expectations, you simply enjoyed each other’s presence, as though the world beyond the stream had faded away, leaving only the two of you and this perfect, sunlit moment.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in an array of deep purples and warm oranges that stretched like watercolour strokes across the landscape. Hyunjin’s camera clicked rhythmically, capturing the last golden rays as you two bathed the town in a soft, dreamlike glow. He paused for a moment, turning his lens towards you as you stood by the edge of the path, your hair catching the evening breeze. You looked beautiful, framed by the colours of twilight, and he couldn’t resist reserving that fleeting beauty.

As you made your way back into town, the gentle hum of the evening settled around you two. Streetlights began to flicker to life, their warm glow casting dancing shadows across the rocky streets. The town bustled with soft laughter and the chanter of people heading home, mingling with the faint melodies of a street musician strumming an old guitar.

Hyunjin glanced at you, an unspoken question shimmering in his eyes. He took a deep breath, trying to sound casual. “Would you stay with me tonight? We could watch the stars together and talk until morning.”

You paused, your gaze softening as you looked at him. A hint of regret flickered across your expression, and you gave him a gentle smile. “I can’t tonight, Hyunjin,” you said softly, your voice tinged with a quiet sadness.

A brief pang of disappointment bloomed in Hyunjin’s chest, but he quickly swallowed it down, curving his lips into an understanding smile. “That's okay,” he replied, his tone light. “Maybe another time.”

You walked side by side through the town, the comfortable conversation between you being punctuated by the distant hoot of an owl and the rustling of leaves. Hyunjin’s heart ached a little; the desire to be closer, to cross that invisible line between friendship and something more was gnawing at him. Yet he pushed that feeling aside, content to be simply near you.

The following days passed in a blue of laughter and shared moments that felt suspended in time. Together, you explored every nook and cranny of the village, from the bustling market where you sampled sweet pastries and admired handcrafted trinkets to the quiet meadow behind the old church where life bloomed in a riot of colour. The air between you cracked with a subtle electronic tension — each accidental touch and shared glance heavy with meaning.

One afternoon, you tugged at his sleeve, a playful grin lighting up your face. “Come with me,” you said, excitement sparkling in your eyes. You led him through narrow, winding roads to a small, stone fronted bakery tucked between two larger shops. The scent of fresh bread and sugar wafted out to greet you, warm and inviting.

“This is where I work,” you said, your voice brimming with pride. Hyunjin’s eyes widened in surprise as you pushed open the wooden door, ushering him inside. The bakery was cosy, large shelves lined with golden loaves, pastries glazed with sugar, and cakes that looked almost too beautiful to eat.

“Choose anything you like,” you said, slipping behind the counter, grabbing tongs before staring back at him. His heart swelled at the sight of you, framed by the warm glow of the bakery, the soft light catching in your eyes.

He pointed to a delicate looking pastry, making you chuckle. “Good choice,” you said, handing it to him with a wink. You sat at a small table in the corner, sharing bites and trading sentences as the afternoon filtered through the windows, casting golden patches across your faces.

The moment felt perfect — simple, sweet, and filled with an unspoken connection that made Hyunjin’s pulse quicker. As you laughed and talked, surrounded by the comforting scent of baked goods, he felt the romantic tension between the two of you deepen, like a song waiting for its crescendo.

Every evening, as the sun dipped low and painted the village in warm hues, Hyunjin would pull out his camera, capturing the moments that made up these perfect days. But no photograph could capture the way his chest tightened when you laughed or the quiet longing that settled between you as you walked through the lit streets.

Your days were filled with joy, yet the feelings hung between you like an unsaid promise, waiting for the right moment to be spoken aloud.

Hyunjin could feel the weight of impending departure pressing on his chest, a dull ache that grew with each passing hour. The small town, once just a place on a map, had become a part of him, woven with memories that, at this moment, felt bittersweet. It wasn’t just the winding streets or the sun kissed fields that made leaving so hard — it was you. The one who had turned his days into something extraordinary. He wished, with silent desperation, that time would stop, but no amount of hoping could change the inevitably of his departure.

The morning of his last day arrived, a cruel uncertainty settling over him like a shadow. He kept the knowledge buried deep, unwilling to burden you with the same weight that made his heart heavy. He moved through the hours as if in a dream, visiting familiar places and capturing their essence through the lens of his camera, but none of it brought him the comfort it once did.

As the sun began its leisurely descent, casting the sky in the hues of amber that rose that he had gotten to know so well, Hyunjin made his way to the bakery. The bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside, and there you were, apron dusted with flour, a smudge on your cheek that made him smile despite the lump forming in his throat. You looked up, your eyes brightening as they found him, unaware of the storm brewing behind his steady gaze.

“Ready to go?” you asked, untying your apron and setting it aside. The warmth in your voice and the way you looked at him as if he belonged there — it made everything harder.

“Yeah,” he managed, his voice softer than usual. He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as you walked out into the golden light of the evening.

You wandered down the familiar path that led to the willow tree, the leaves rustling in the soft breeze as if whispering their secrets. The pond mirrored the warm colours of the sky, it’s surface glistening with a gentle shimmer. It was where you had first met, where the story between you had begun, and now it seemed it would be where it came full circle.

You settled into the roots of the tree, the quietness between you not uncomfortable but thick with meaning. The sun dipped lower, casting a halo of light that danced across the water. You leaned back, your eyes tracing the leaves as they drifted lazily, unaware of the truth he was about to speak.

Hyunjin looked at you, the words tangled in his chest, each one sharp and aching. Finally, he let out a breath and said, “This is my last day here.”

The silence that followed was different, sharp and brittle. You turned towards him, disbelief shadowing your expression. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” your voice trembled.

He swallowed hard, searching your eyes and finding a mixture of hurt and confusion. “I didn’t want it to be real,” he said, his voice cracking with the weight of it. “I thought maybe if I didn’t say it out loud, it wouldn’t come true.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, but you brushed it away with an angry hand. “That’s not fair, Hyunjin,” you said, a sharp edge to your tone. “I deserved to know.”

“I know,” he whispered, guilt lacing through him. He reached for your hand, but you pulled away, the movement breaking something inside him. “I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you.

“Well, you did,” the rawness in your voice matching the ache in your chest. The willow’s leaves swayed around you, casting dappled shadows that seemed to echo the heaviness of your conversation.

A tear welled up in his eye, blurring his vision as he looked at you. “I don't want it to end like this. I care about you more than anything, and it’s tearing me apart to leave.”

You stood up, the movement abrupt, your eyes blazing with a mixture of heartbreak and frustration. For a moment, Hyunjin feared you were going to walk away without another word. But then, you turned back to him, your chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, eyes glistening as you asked “Are you sure you care about me?”

The question struck him like a physical blow. “Of course I care about you,” he replied, his voice low but urgent, filled with concern and confusion. “How could you even think–”

“Then why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you interrupted, tears brimming your eyes, threatening to spill over. “Why did you keep this from me if I meant anything to you?”

“Because I was scared,” he admitted, the words tumbling out, raw and exposed. “I didn’t want to see that look on your face! The one you're giving me now.”

You laughed, a bitter and broken sound, and the tears finally escaped down your cheek. “And yet here we are,” you said, wiping your now wet face with a shaky hand. Your gaze dropped for a moment before coming back up, piercing him with its intensity. “You never even asked for my name, Hyunjin.”

His heart clenched, guilt twisting through him like a knife. “It’s not that I didnt care enough to ask,” he expressed, taking a step forward, trying to close the space between you. “It’s just… I felt like I already knew you. Like your name wasn’t just a word but something I already carried here.” He pressed his hand to his chest, eyes pleading with yours. “I was too afraid that asking would make it feel real, that acknowledging it would make me fall even harder, and then this —” he gestured helplessly between you two, the air crackling with unspoken words,”–- would hurt even more.”

You turned, taking a few uneasy steps away from him, and he felt his chest tighten with panic. He reached out, grabbing your hand before you could move any further. The touch froze you in place, and though you didn’t turn, he could see your shoulders shaking as more tears fell.

“Wait!” his voice cracked with emotion. “Please, just listen.” He drew in a breath, his throat tight, his heart pounding with a mix of desperation and raw honesty. “You have to know how much I care about you. I know the sound of your laugh, how it changes when something really makes you happy, and how you tilt your head just a bit when you’re really listening to someone. I know how your eyes catch the sunlight when you talk about your dreams and how your smile softens when you’re lost in thought.”

He took a shaky breath, trying to keep the surge of emotion in check. “I remember every time you tucked that stray piece of hair behind your ear, not knowing how much it made my heart race. I know the way your voice wavers when you’re about to admit something close to your heart, and the way you hold back tears even when you don’t need to be strong. I noticed the scent of freshly baked cookies that lingers on you from the bakery, the way your fingertips are dusted with flour when you’re in a rush.”

Tears welled up in his own eyes as he spoke, each word a step deeper into his vulnerable heart. ��I know the way you pause to watch the sky as if you’re searching for something beyond the clouds and how your entire face lights up when you’re caught up in a story or memory. I know all these little things because every second with you, I’ve been memorising them, afraid I’d have to leave and forget even one.”

You stood frozen, tears now streaming down your cheeks as you absorbed the weight of his confession. He stepped closer, his voice trembling but resolute. “Leaving now feels like tearing away from everything that's made me feel alive for the first time in so long. I never asked for your name because I was terrified that knowing it would make it impossible to let go.”

Your eyes softened, the wall of hurt between them crumbling under the weight of his words. Without saying a word, you took another step closer, searching his face for any trace of insincerity. All you could find was the unguarded truth, etched in every line of his expression.

With a suddenness that made his heart stutter, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. The first touch was tentative, almost hesitant, as if testing the fragile connection between you. Hyunjin’s breath caught in his throat, and the world seemed to still, holding its breath around you. The taste of you was both familiar and sweet, a mix of warmth and the faintest hint of cinnamon from the bakery.

As the initial shock melted away, he responded by deepening the kiss with a slow, careful intensity that spoke of every unspoken word and unfulfilled wish. His hands found your waist, fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt as though it was the most delicate thing he’d ever touched. You leaned into him, your own hands trembling as they came to rest on his shoulders, holding on as if to anchor yourself in the moment.

Time felt irrelevant; the cool breeze rustling the leaves above and the golden hues became a backdrop to the raw emotion between you. The kiss shifted from hesitant to certain, your lips moving together in a dance that spoke of longing, desperation, and a promise that defied the reality of your impending parting. It was a kiss filled with everything you hadn’t said, a final bridge between two hearts that had found each other by chance and were now bound by something neither could quite explain.

When you finally broke apart, your faces lingered close, breaths mingling in the space between. Hyunjin’s eyes searched yours, finding them still wet with tears but now shining with a new depth of understanding. He reached up and gently wiped away a tear with the pad of his thumb, his touch lingering on your skin.

“You have no idea how much this moment means to me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his words seep into your heart before opening them again, your gaze tender but filled with the bittersweet truth that this moment, however perfect, might be your last for a long while.

As your breath steadied and the weight of the moment settled, you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him in an embrace that felt like it could seal the cracks of your heart. Hyunjin hugged you back, pulling you close as if he could imprint the memory of your warmth into his very being. You stood there for what felt like an eternity, the world around you fading into the background — the rustling of the leaves, the distant hum of the town — all a mere whisper compared to the quiet thrum of your shared heartbeat.

When you finally pulled apart, it was with an unspoken understanding that the night was yours. Hyunjin gently took your hand, guiding you down to the soft grass beneath the willow tree. The moon had risen higher, casting the world in a dusky glow that seemed to embrace you in its shallow light. You lay side by side, your fingers brushing against each other as you stared up at the sky through the leaves, which now began to shimmer with its first hints of stars.

A gentle breeze played with his hair, helping you smile softly when a strand ticked his nose. He turned his head to look at you, memorising the way your eyes crinkled at the corners and how the curve of your smile seemed to brighten even the coming night.

“Remember when you tricked me into thinking there was a festival happening in the square, and it turned out to be just you with your basket full of pastries?” he asked, his tone light and the memory evoking a shared laugh. You nodded, eyes glistening with amusement.

“You fell for it so easily! But it was worth it when you kept guessing what kind of pastries I'd brought,” you replied, the mirth in your voice softening as you continued, “I’d never seen anyone so happy over cinnamon rolls.”

You talked about more moments like these — you showing him secret corners of the town where the wildflowers grow in vibrant clusters, or your afternoons spent by the stream tossing stones and sharing stories, and the impromptu dance in the rain that had left you soaked and laughing under the stormy sky. Each memory unfolded between you like chapters in a book, your voices mingling with the chirp of crickets as the sky turned from twilight to deep indigo, scattered with stars.

“Why do these memories feel so big, so… heavy?” you asked, your voice barely above a winter as you turned to him.

Hyunjin reached for your hand, your fingers intertwining as he looked at you with a tender smile. “Because they mean everything,” he said. “Every moment, no matter how small, it all matters.”

Silence fell between you again, comfortable and profound. You laid there, hands clasped, eyes drifting from the sky above to the features of each other’s faces, illuminated by the soft starlight. The night air cooled, but neither of you rushed to go inside; you were content to stay, to hold on to every second of this final night, filling it with whispers, stolen glances, and the unspoken wish that time could somehow stand still.

Hyunjin shifted slightly so that he could draw you even closer to him. The night air whispered through the leaves of the willow tree, but in each other's arms, you felt only warmth. You nestled into his chest, draping one leg over his, as if to anchor yourself to this moment that neither of you wanted to let slip away. Your bodies fit together naturally, the rise and fall of your chests synchronising like a silent conversation spoken only in heartbeats.

With one arm wrapped securely under your head, Hyunjin lifted his other hand to gently trace the line of your jaw. His touch was gentle, reverent, as if committing each contour to memory. He tilted your face upward, your eyes meeting in a gaze that held everything. The stars above seemed to watch over you; their light pale in comparison to the spark that flickered between you.

Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was soft yet full of the intensity of leaving. It lingered, carrying the weight of the promises you wished you could make, the longing that neither voice. When you broke apart, he kept his eyes closed for a moment, savouring the feel of you so close, the taste of a dreadful goodbye.

With a soft smile, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger as if to imprint the gesture into the space between them. You sighed contentedly, nuzzling further into his chest; the sound was like music to his ears — a melody he'd keep long after this night.

You both settled back into the embrace, limbs entwined, and your bodies bolded together as if you were two halves of the same whole. The surrounding sounds faded into the gentle rustle of the leaves and the rhythmic murmur of your breathing. Your fingers traced light patterns on his chest as your eyelids grow heavy, the exhaustion of the day finally overtaking you.

Hyunjin felt your body relax, and he smiled as sleep began to claim him too. The last conscious thought he had was of the way you felt against him — safe, cherished, and heartbreakingly fleeting. He tightened his hold just slightly, as if to keep the dawn from stealing you away too soon, and then, with your hearts beating as one, together you drifted off into a sleep that felt both peaceful and poignant.

The first rays of dawn filtered through the thin, whispering branches of the willow tree, casting a dappled golden glow across the ground. Hyunjin stirred, his eyes fluttering open as the memory of the night before settled like a bittersweet weight in his chest. The warmth that had cradled him as he slept was gone, replaced by the cool, empty space where you had been.

He sat up quickly, scanning the small clearing. The dew-damp grass was undisturbed, and there was no trace of you — not even the soft indentation where you had laid. A pang of loss shot through him, sharp and sudden, catching him off guard. His breath hitched as the realisation sank in: you had left.

The silence around him was deafening. The soft rustle of the leaves seemed almost mocking, a gentle reminder that the world moved on, indifferent to the ache that now gnawed at his heart. Hyunjin ran a hand through his tousled hair, the gesture rougher than intended, as if trying to shake the emptiness away. He wanted to believe that you’d left to spare you both the agony of goodbye, but it didn’t lessen the sting. If anything, it made it sharper, more personal.

Pushing himself to his feet, he glanced back at the willow tree, its long tendrils swaying gently as if bidding him farewell. The place that had held so much joy and hope now felt hollow, like an echo of what had been. He swallowed hard, a bitter taste in his mouth, before turning away and walking back toward the town.

The streets were already beginning to stir with early risers. The bakery was opening, the familiar scent wafting into the crisp morning air, but it brought no comfort as you weren’t there. Each step felt heavier as he approached the small motel where he’d been staying. It all seemed so mundane now, so void of the magic that had filled his days with you.

Packing his belongings was mechanical. The room that had once felt like a safe haven now felt suffocating. He stuffed his camera into his bag, careful not to let the precious film be jostled, each roll holding memories that were already starting to feel like dreams. His eyes stung, and he blinked quickly, unwilling to let the tears fall.

With his bag slung over his shoulder, Hyunjin took one last look at the village, the place that had changed him in ways he hadn’t expected. Then, without a word, he walked to the bus stop, the weight of departure pressing down on him.

The journey back to Korea was a blur, punctuated only by the steady thrum of the plane’s engines and the hollow ache that seemed to grow with each passing mile. When he arrived home, the familiar sights of Seoul did little to lift his spirits. The bustling city, with its endless energy and noise, felt strangely detached from him. It was as if he were walking through a film, present but not truly there.

Hyunjin dropped his bags in the corner of his apartment, pausing to glance at the framed photos on the wall. Images of friends and family stared back at him, but they failed to spark any joy. He sighed, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. The echo of your laughter, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention — it all replayed in his mind like a haunting symphony.

The emptiness settled deeper, and for the first time, he realised just how much you had become a part of him. And now, without you, Seoul — the place he had always called home — felt strangely foreign.

Days in Seoul blurred into each other like a monotonous painting. The once-vibrant city, alive with lights and the hum of possibility, felt devoid of colour. Hyunjin walked through the bustling streets, surrounded by people yet feeling utterly alone. The familiar sights of cafes, street vendors, and neon signs barely registered in his mind. The laughter of friends and the clatter of car horns seemed muted, as if the world were moving at a distance, separated from him by an invisible barrier.

A week passed in this haze of emptiness, the weight of memories pressing down on him like an anchor. He avoided looking at his photos, afraid that seeing you would unravel him completely. But one night, when sleep refused to come and the silence of his apartment became suffocating, he gave in. Pulling out the small stack of printed photos, his fingers trembled as he sifted through them.

His heart thudded as he glanced through the images, expecting your smile to leap from the film or the sparkle in your eyes to cut through the gloom that had wrapped around him. But as he flipped through one photo after another, confusion began to cloud his mind. The meadow with its sea of wildflowers, the sun-dappled stream, the towering willow tree—they were all there, captured in their vivid beauty. But you weren't.

Hyunjin’s breath caught in his throat as he went through the photos again, this time slower, more deliberately. The bakery where you’d shared secret smiles and laughter was absent. The quaint cobblestone streets of the village, the small square with its fountain—none of it was there. His photos were filled only with sweeping landscapes, untouched by any sign of human presence.

He sat back, the photos slipping from his hands and scattering across the table. A chill ran down his spine, and he pressed a palm to his forehead as if trying to steady the storm in his mind. How could you not be there? How could the town, as real as the warmth of your touch, not exist in any frame?

The unanswered questions gnawed at him, pushing him to action. The next morning, with barely a moment’s hesitation, he found himself in the public library, searching for maps and old records. The smell of aged paper and ink surrounded him as he pored over books, their yellowed pages filled with histories and lists of places he had known since childhood.

He traced his finger over the worn map of the countryside, finding familiar town names, but there was no mention of the town where he had spent those unforgettable weeks. No quaint bakery, no vibrant market. It was as if the place had been swallowed by the earth, erased from existence.

A feeling of dread unfurled in his chest, cold and insidious, snaking through his veins until it gripped his heart in a vice. It spread to his stomach, coiling and twisting until nausea surged within him, threatening to pull him under. His mind raced with questions, each more unsettling than the last. Had he imagined it all? The doubt whispered like a traitorous voice, chilling him to his core. Were you nothing more than a figment of his longing, a cruel trick played by his own desperate heart? The notion made his skin prickle with an icy sweat, and the room seemed to shrink around him, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

Hyunjin's hands trembled as he pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to still the storm of confusion and fear that buzzed in his head like a swarm of angry bees. He felt lightheaded, as though the ground beneath him were shifting, pulling him further away from any sense of reality he could hold on to. The world around him blurred, the distant sounds of pages turning and the soft murmur of voices dissolving into a muffled hum.

His chest tightened, each breath a battle as doubt gnawed at him, insidious and relentless. It left him feeling hollow, as if the foundation of everything he had believed had suddenly been yanked away, leaving him suspended in a void of uncertainty. The pounding of his heart was loud in his ears, a frantic, dissonant drumbeat that matched the frantic thoughts tearing through his mind.

But deep down, buried beneath the avalanche of fear and questions, where logic could not reach, he clung to the unwavering truth that you were real. Your laughter—bright and free, wrapping around him like a warm embrace—had touched a place in him that no illusion ever could. The way your eyes, with their depth and unspoken secrets, could convey a thousand stories in a single glance was not something his imagination could conjure. Those moments were etched into his soul with a permanence that no doubt could erase, as vivid as if they had happened just moments before.

He swallowed hard, the sick feeling still churning in his stomach, but determination began to glimmer through the haze of dread. Whatever this meant, whatever reality had slipped between the cracks, he needed answers. He wouldn’t let you become a ghost, a beautiful and tormenting figment lost to the shadows of memory.

He had to go back. The need was so overwhelming, it left no room for second-guessing. With a heart pounding hard enough to echo in his ears, he booked a flight for the very same day, every passing moment stretching unbearably thin. The hours in the air were a blur of anxiety and hope tangled together, each heartbeat a whispered plea that this time, reality wouldn’t betray him.

When Hyunjin finally stepped off the plane and onto the familiar soil, he felt a pulse of something close to relief, though it was soon replaced by a gnawing unease. He hurried to the bus station, breathless, as he approached the driver and gave the name of the village. The driver looked at him with a furrowed brow, confusion darkening his features.

“I’m sorry, where?” the driver asked, his tone laced with doubt.

Hyunjin’s stomach dropped, but he forced his voice to stay steady as he repeated the name, this time adding details and directions etched in his memory like the lines of a map. The driver’s expression softened with reluctant understanding, and after a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “Alright, I’ll take you as far as I can.”

The ride was steeped in silence, the bus rattling over the winding road as the landscape turned from bustling streets to rolling fields and dense woods. With each mile, Hyunjin’s chest tightened, the unease blooming into full-blown dread. Every bend in the road seemed to taunt him with the question: What if it was never there?

Finally, the bus halted. The driver gave him a cautious look, as if unsure whether to leave him alone in a place that seemed to exist only in the past or imagination. Hyunjin muttered his thanks, his legs unsteady as he stepped off and felt the crunch of gravel beneath his feet.

Hyunjin’s eyes swept frantically across the landscape, searching for the familiar details that had once filled his world with warmth and belonging. He looked for the narrow paths that twisted between stone cottages, the soft glow of lanterns hung from doorways, the flower boxes brimming with wild blooms. But instead, an expanse of untouched green stretched before him, an endless sea of grass swaying gently under the afternoon light, mocking him with its emptiness. Not a single trace of the village remained.

The silence was suffocating, pressing into his ears until all he could hear was the thundering of his own heartbeat. Panic bubbled up from deep within, sharp and wild, clawing its way up his chest. His breath came in shallow gasps, each one feeling like an attempt to swallow shards of glass. The air thickened, heavy with disbelief and a dread that threatened to choke him.

He stumbled forward, feet tripping over themselves as if they could outrun the reality taking shape before him. With each step, the ache in his chest tightened, coiling around his ribs and squeezing until pain radiated through every nerve. He was running now, the world around him blurring into a smudge of green and gold, desperation urging him forward despite the screaming in his mind: It’s gone. It’s all gone.

Suddenly, he stopped, heart still pounding as his vision cleared. There, rising like a guardian from the past, stood the old willow tree. Its sweeping branches dipped toward the earth, the leaves dancing with the same gentle grace he remembered. It swayed as if greeting him, as if acknowledging his return. A shiver raced down his spine, cold and electric, and for a moment, he could barely breathe. The tree was the only remnant left of what had once been so alive, so tangible.

Confusion flooded him, crashing over the fear and heartbreak like a storm surge. He pressed a hand to his chest as if trying to hold the pieces of himself together. How could this be real? How could everything else be gone, as if it had been nothing more than a dream, an illusion spun by his longing heart?

His legs buckled under the weight of it all, and he sank to his knees beneath the tree’s canopy, his hands gripping the grass as if it were the only thing tethering him to reality. The ache in his chest erupted, raw and uncontrollable, and a guttural cry tore from his throat, echoing into the silence around him. His pain spilt out in waves, a sound filled with loss and longing, shaking his entire body.

He stayed there, unmoving, his head bowed as tears traced hot, stinging paths down his face. The world around him seemed to hold its breath, time frozen in a painful stasis. The whispering of the willow's branches brushed against the silence, a sound so soft it almost felt like your voice, gentle and familiar. Each rustle seemed to echo with laughter, the kind that had once filled this very space when you had spun around in carefree circles, hair catching the sunlight like spun gold.

The memories clawed at him, vivid and relentless. He could see you leaning against the tree, eyes bright with mischief as you teased him, daring him to catch you in a game only you understood. He could feel the warmth of your fingers entwining with his when you sat together, your touch grounding him in a way nothing else ever had. The way you would tilt your head, eyes searching his face as if he were the only thing in your world, made his heart ache with both joy and loss.

He remembered the mornings by the stream, where the sun would paint your features in gold, your laughter bouncing off the water as you splashed him and ran. The scent of wildflowers that clung to your hair, the soft hum of your voice as you sang under your breath while tending to your work at the bakery. Each memory pressed into him, sharp and bittersweet, until the weight of them made it impossible to move.

Time stretched endlessly, each second punctuated by the ragged sound of his breathing, each breath feeling like a battle to reclaim air. The quiet closed in, oppressive and suffocating, pressing against his chest until it felt as if it might shatter. The wind swept through the willow’s leaves, carrying the final notes of his broken cry into the void, leaving him in a silence so deep it threatened to consume him.

The minutes ticked by, or perhaps it was hours. He couldn’t tell; the line between past and present blurred in the flood of memories. His vision swam with the ghostly images of your smile, the light in your eyes, the way you would say his name, drawing out the syllables as if savouring them.

He stayed there, head bowed, the pain carving deep, unrelenting lines through his soul. The world remained unmoving, frozen with him, until the stillness itself seemed to breathe, waiting for something neither of them could name.

And then, cutting through the suffocating stillness, came a sound that made his breath catch.

“Hyunjin?”

quite a long one :3 i actually wrote this story a while ago and then deleted the whole the thing and restarted 😀 this version is actually so much better tho it just took me foreverrrrrr 🥲 BUT ANYWAYSSSSS I hope you guys enjoy it and please tell me what you think :) OH and pls let me know if u find a mistake somewhere!

136 notes · View notes

criticallyinneedofadar · 28 days ago

Note

Hello!

Could you do Celebrimbor pov while his falling in love with one of the singing teachers of Eregion, pls?

(Celebrimbor x fReader)

Thank you!

This was such a sweet ask! I love nervous/flustered Celebrimbor!

Steel and Song

The forge had been unusually unkind that day, its heat mirroring the restless fire within Celebrimbor’s mind. His thoughts, usually sharp and precise, tangled like an unruly chain. Setting aside his tools with a sigh, he sought refuge in a place far removed from the clang of hammers and the glow of molten metal—the singing halls of Eregion.

Nestled on the eastern edge of the city, the halls were surrounded by flowering trees that swayed to their own gentle rhythm. From within came the intertwined voices of young and old, melodies reaching skyward like birds in flight.

Celebrimbor had no intention of lingering, but as he passed beneath the archways, a clear, strong voice caught him mid-step. His gaze was drawn through an open doorway, where a woman stood before a gathering of elflings.

Her name was Y/N. She stood tall and graceful, her hands moving as though shaping the very air, guiding the young ones through their song. Her laughter rang out when one child stumbled over a note, light and warm, encouraging rather than scolding. The child smiled in return, their confidence restored by her patience.

He told himself he was merely observing. It was a lord’s duty to know his people, after all. But the next day, he returned. And the day after that.

Y/N taught more than children. Travelers, artisans, and warriors alike joined her lessons, setting aside their burdens to sing. Celebrimbor lingered in the shadows, content to remain unnoticed until, one afternoon, her gaze caught his.

She approached him during a break, her steps unhurried and her expression curious. “My lord Celebrimbor,” she greeted, inclining her head with a smile that was neither fearful nor deferential. “I’ve noticed you watching my classes. Are you seeking instruction?”

The question startled him. He, a master craftsman, unshaken by the most complex of creations, now found himself tongue-tied. Her gaze was steady, yet kind, and he blurted out, “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly, surprise flickering across her face. “A lord of your renown, interested in song?”

He cleared his throat, feeling the heat of embarrassment rising. “Well… I thought it might be a useful distraction.”

Her smile widened, and she nodded. “Then let us begin tomorrow.”

The next day found Celebrimbor seated among her students, acutely aware of his inadequacies. His voice, unpracticed and hesitant, stood in sharp contrast to the melodic ease of those around him. Y/N, however, offered no criticism, only gentle corrections. Still, he caught the amused quirk of her lips when his notes faltered, as they often did, into something closer to a croak.

By the lesson’s end, it was painfully clear to both teacher and student that he had no gift for song, nor any real desire to pursue it. As the other students filtered out, Celebrimbor lingered, knowing he owed her the truth.

When she approached him, her expression was kind but curious. “You don’t enjoy this, do you?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “No. I owe you an apology for wasting your time.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “Then why agree to the lessons?”

He hesitated only briefly before the truth slipped out. “Because I wanted to meet you.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she said nothing. Celebrimbor braced himself for laughter or disapproval, but neither came. Instead, her gaze softened, and she smiled—not the indulgent smile of a teacher humoring a poor student, but one touched with understanding.

“You might have simply introduced yourself,” she said lightly, though a faint blush crept across her cheeks.

“Easier said than done,” he admitted, his own cheeks burning.

She laughed then, a bright, musical sound that lifted the weight from his chest. “Well, Lord Celebrimbor, if you ever find yourself in need of a distraction again, the singing halls will always welcome you.”

Though he knew he would never master song, Celebrimbor found himself returning—not for the lessons, but for her. For Y/N, whose voice and spirit stirred something within him that even the finest forge could not.

#celebrimbor x reader #celebrimbor #the rings of power #fanfiction #eregion

67 notes · View notes

leandra-kinard · 8 months ago

Text

The Tommy timeline is making me insane

We know the 911 writers are REALLY crap about timelines. I mean, just within the Eddie Begins episode there are several dates that just don't add up. I love those writers, but they can't even count to 10, lol.

Tommy was never supposed to come back, so him being in his late 20s-ish in 2005 when Chim joins the 118 was of no consequence, but now that Tommy is back, that makes it really difficult to say how old he really is.

Some people have speculated that he's 45, but I find that too old. Lou was born in Nov 1984, which makes him 39 currently. I could see Tommy being 1-2 years older than that AT MOST.

So let's say Tommy was born in early 1983 and go from there.

He would have started school at 6.5 and finished HS at 18 years old in 2001. Which means he could have joined the army that year and started training to be a helicopter pilot.

There's a program called "From Street to Seat", also sometimes called "High school to Flight School", so that is a possibility. Training would have been around 2 - 2.5 years until he'd achieved the rank of Warranty Officer and be a fully trained helicopter pilot in late 2003. After that, you have to enlist for TEN years at minimum to repay them getting you through flight school.

At that point, the US had entered the war in Afghanistan and just started the one in Iraq.

Tommy could have been stationed anywhere in the US, or been deployed to one of those countries, or at first, as a still very young officer, been deployed to an allied country like Germany. In the early 2000s, there were many bases in Germany where US soldiers were stationed, only serving short missions in Afghanistan or Iraq. So that's an option if we don't want him to be permanently stationed inside a war zone.

Now, how did young Tommy leave the army early so he ended up being a firefighter just two years later?

Well, there's always medical discharge, but if it was for any injury, him already being a member of the team (and by the looks of it no longer a probie) in 2005 is a bit tight. He'd have to recover from his injury, then apply, then be accepted, do the basic training at the academy (18 weeks) and his probie year... so yeah, that's really a very tight timeline.

Another option would have been Don't Ask, Don't Tell. Back then, army members could not be actively asked if they're gay and therefore fired for it, but if they voluntarily disclosed/confirmed it, they would be kicked out.

If he was lucky (and probably the version I'm going for in my fic), and had a very lenient superior officer, he might be offered medical discharge for depression. Usually, that can get you out of the army pretty quickly.

So, to recap:

Born between Jan/June 1983

Finished high school summer 2001, joined the army

Finished flight school in fall 2003, was deployed somewhere or in service in the US

Found out/discharged in early 2004

Started LAFD academy in summer/fall 2004

Started his probie year end of 2004

Just finished it when Chimney joined in (should be late) 2005, at now 22 years old.

Still an incredibly tight timeline, and I wish Chim joining had been more like 2007 or so, but alas. It works.

You are welcome.

And I need to lie down. God I hate inconsistent timelines, lol.

Oh and I just looked it up, and apparently you're only a probie for 6 months at the LAFD, so I guess that makes it a little easier.

I mean, if you shift things around a little, you could even make him only 40 now, born in summer 1983 instead of early. Maybe he was initially gifted and able to enroll in school at just barely 6 years old.

#Tommy Kinard #911

194 notes · View notes

verspia · 1 year ago

Text

—𝐢 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

You frown in thought as you cradle a warm cup of hot chocolate in your hands, huddling a little close to the heat emanating from the fire place, which you’re seated in front of.

Christmas is one of your favorite holidays of, and this year, you celebrate it with your boyfriend, Oscar. Normally, with the end of the season, he would be in Australia with his family, spending the holiday under the blazing sun, not under frosted snowflakes and the biting cold of London with you.

The thought makes you pout a little, guilt eating at you for keeping him away from his family during the holidays, as if he isn’t apart from them for most of the year anyway.

Originally, you both were meant to go together, but with christmas being near, the visa application process had taken a lot longer than you’d both expected and that meant that you were only eligible to travel to down under after New Years.

You had insisted that Oscar leave without you, urging him to spend the christmas holiday with his parents and sisters, but he had resisted, arguing that he would make it up to them and it was far too late to book a flight, what with the rush that came during winter break, and you had reluctantly agreed.

That didn’t stop you from feeling guilty though, but you refrained from thinking about it more, knowing that there wasn’t much you could do about it.

Instead you wondered what you could gift your boyfriend for your first christmas together.

You knew that Oscar wasn’t much of a material person, and that he was happy with anything you would give him, but you wanted to do something meaningful.

Given the fact that gifts were your love language, both giving and receiving, it was important to you that you find the perfect gift for Oscar.

You worried your lip between your teeth as you pondered, when your eyes lit up with an epiphany, and you stood up abruptly, abandoning your hot chocolate on the kitchen top, grabbing your keys and heading out to the store immediately.

You payed no mind to the snow that nipped at your face, staining your cheeks a rosy red as you hurried out, charged with excitement for the gift that you had in mind.

When Oscar awakes on Christmas morning, you are not where you’re supposed to be, cuddled up in his arms, and the loss of your presence next to him startles him awake.

He steps into the living room, rubbing away any trace of bleariness from his eyes and finds you there, still in your pyjamas and with one of his hoodies on, Home Alone playing on the tv screen.

Your smile is radiant, and your zealousness for christmas is almost childlike. His heart warms at the sight of you and he smiles widely, trudging over to you.

“Why aren’t you in bed, love”

You turn around at the his voice, beaming impossibly wider, and your eyes sparkle with delight as you spot him.

“Oscar!” His name on your lips always makes him giddy, but the exhilaration in your tone today is tremendous, and vastly contagious, to the extent that Oscar begins to wear the same excitement you do.

“It’s Christmas! I was waiting for you,” You grab Oscar, pulling him on to couch with you, “We gotta open the gifts, Oh you’ll love what i’ve gotten you!”

Oscar stares fondly at you, “I’m happy with anything you give me, baby, you know that.”

You nod at him, not really paying attention, as you stand up and pull him along towards the direction of the christmas tree that you both had decorated together, weeks prior.

He happily lets you drag him along, and soon, both of you have unraveled the presents from your friends and family.

You open the gift that Oscar has gotten you, and gasp in elation, throwing yourself at Oscar, Thank you’s and I love you’s falling from your mouth as you pepper his face with kisses.

He laughs as he holds on to your waist, and then finally, both of you turn to the last present, that is inside a conspicuous bag, glittered golden.

You move over a little, eyes fixed on Oscar as he opens the bag, pulling out a cardboard box that is too, shimmering golden, with a red ribbon holding it together.

He unwraps it, and the sides of the box fall flat in five sections, each have attached a packet of Tim Tams on it, and another box stands proud in the middle.

Oscar uncovers the lid, and another lid appears, the words Merry Christmas on it and much like the first time, the sides fall into sections, each holding polaroids of you and Oscar.

The pictures are of monumental moments of your relationship, His first sprint win and you congratulating him with a kiss, his first podium as he smiles brightly, you wrapped up in his arms, smiling equally as bright. There’s photos of Oscar surprising you at your graduation ceremony, and kissing you when you win a debate’s competition, as well as a few pictures of your first date, and first kiss.

He pulls away the last lid, and finds a heart shaped letter inside, which he picks up and discovers a keychain for his car.

The keychain is shaped as a heart, and he examines it closely, accidentally clicking it open and finds both his and your initials together in a smaller heart inside.

He breathes softly, a little baffled at the thoughtfulness of the gift, and looks up at you, adoration clear in his eyes.

He’s a little breathless as he whispers I love you to you, and you smile shyly at him.

“Do you like it?”

Your eyes glimmer with hope and a little uncertainty, and Oscar pulls you into his lap, kissing you softly.

He’s not good with words, so he hopes to show to you just how happy you make him, pulling you closer than you’d ever thought possible, kissing you deeper to convey his appreciation to you.

You both are enveloped in a warmth that contrasts the dreary weather outside, but it’s clear that you both have a jolly christmas, under the shimmering pine tree.

This was inspired by this

didn’t proofread so pls don’t mind any errors

#formula 1 #f1 fanfic #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x reader #max verstappen x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #mclaren #christmas #fanfic #papaya #fandom #oscar x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x yn

236 notes · View notes

seventeenpins · 7 months ago

Text

a little domesticity

pairing: Tess x F!Reader word count: 2.3k summary: You discover it's Tess's birthday. You decide you want to make it special. Tess fingers you while you cook her dinner. Same universe as Drive Me Home if you like?? content/warnings: basically just porn, no implied age gap, this is so domestic!!!!, established but new-ish relationship, lil bit of daddy Tess, fingering, very mild degradation, no outbreak or pre-outbreak AU, pet names (baby, honey), Tess works at a high-powered but undefined job a/n: For @ozarkthedog 🩷 Congrats on your 11k, and happy birthday Ozzie!! You've given us so much with your celebration, but you should be the one getting gifts! I know this is pretty extraordinarily late (sorry, love) but I hope you like it 😚

You are determined not to have to make two trips. Tess's apartment is up five flights, the elevator is on the fritz, and your legs already ache from the gym yesterday. You want to do anything you can to not have to go back and forth.

Three grocery bags hang off your left hand and two on your right, slowly cutting off any remaining circulation. A bottle of wine and a gallon of milk are tucked into your elbows as you heave yourself up the steps. Grocery shopping is a truly Sisyphean task, and the slog up to the apartment only confirms this.

By the time you turn the corner past the fourth landing, you're cursing yourself. It's so much. You know your arms will be aching, but of course you're stubborn enough to overdo it.

Finally, you make it to the fifth floor landing, and Tess's door is the third on the right. It's inelegant, trying to keep the bags steady while shoving your hand into your pocket to dig around for your keys. Your fingers are verging on numbness, and right as you move the key to the lock, you fumble and drop it.

That's the moment you hear the phone ring inside.

It sends you into a rush, and in your haste, you drop half the bags and still don't manage to open the door before the ringing stops.

Instead, you swing the door open right as the beep of the answering machine sounds, a bunch of bananas and a bag of English muffins fallen at your feet.

A man's voice chimes out, tinny and a little distorted.

"Tess! It's Joel. Happy birthday! We're gettin' old, huh? Let's get dinner soon, on me. Tommy's wishing you well, and Sarah, too. I'll catch you later."

Then you hear the click of a receiver, and the machine stops.

You frown. Leave the groceries where they're sat and rewind the tape a few seconds. Hit play.

"'S Joel. Happy birthday! We're gettin' old, huh? Let's get dinner soon, on me. Tommy's wishing you--"

You click it off.

He definitely said Tess. And 'happy birthday'.

So why the fuck didn't Tess tell you it was her birthday?

You know it's not really a big deal. Maybe she's just not a birthday person. It wouldn't really surprise you; there's a nonchalance that she exudes that sometimes throws you off .

If you're honest, though, you love birthdays. The gift-giving. Getting to make a fuss over your loved ones. And, you reason, if the Millers can wish her well, then it's probably not a sore spot for her.

More than anything, you've been wanting an excuse to celebrate her. Maybe this can be it?

As you prop the door open and begin to drag the grocery bags in, as you scrubbing the produce and putting everything away, you allow a plan to form.

It's been a long day but a good day. Work was a series of tasks that required some creative problem solving, and Tess felt like a fucking magician the way she'd been kicking ass and putting out fires.

Trekking up the innumerable steps, she felt suddenly lighter when she remembered that you had offered to make dinner.

From the moment she turns the key in the lock, she immediately starts salivating.

"Babe?" she calls, shucking off her shoes and shrugging off her jacket.

"In here-" you call back.

A moment later, soft footfalls are padding into the kitchen, and she's slipping her arms around you. She rests her chin on your shoulder and surveys the scene in front of you both.

"Shit, hon, this smells amazing."

You do a happy wiggle against her and start pointing out everything in turn. "So, we've got garlic tossed broccolini. Parsnip ravioli in that one, only has a minute or so left. I'm just starting the sauce now, so it'll be a few minutes before everything's ready, but you've made it in perfect time."

"Ugh," Tess groans, appreciative, "You spoil me. What's the occasion?"

"OH, don't let me drain the pasta water without saving some."

"I got you," she promises, sliding past you to grab two beers from the fridge. She notices when your eyes linger on her hands as she pops the bottle caps. "Careful, don't burn-- whatever you've got on the flame there."

With a shake of your head, you roll your eyes. "But seriously, is that a real question, or are you testing me?"

She frowns. Hands you a bottle and takes a swig of her own, sliding back behind you. She presses against you and wraps her arms around your waist.

"What are you talking about?"

You grind your ass back a little more and she puts one hand on your hip, but now she's smiling at you, mildly puzzled.

"Do you know what the date is today?"

"Oh shit, did I forget something important?" she detaches. "Did I forget our anniversary?"

"You tell me." You nod your head towards the calendar hanging on the fridge. "I'll help you out, it's a Tuesday today. And we've only been together six months. And you brought me flowers for that, like, a week ago."

She stares at the calendar for a moment and then looks at you. Looks back and forth.

"I--"

She's frozen in an incredulous frown.

"Happy birthday, honey," you tell her.

"I can't believe I fucking forgot. And how did you know?" she laughs.

"Hah," you laugh, "Answering machine went off when I got in. Your friend, Joel, he was calling to wish you well."

She snorts. "Fuckin' Miller saves the day?" Then she looks you up and down. "And you, baby, you've definitely saved the day." She looks over the spread again and notices the counter covered in flour, the kitchenaid with a roller attachment, a piping bag nearly fully emptied, and various pastry cutters. "Shit, did you make all this yourself?"

"The ravioli? Sure did. Just wanted an excuse to spoil you."

Tess plants a kiss on your lips and you moan into her mouth. When you pull apart, you're panting.

"Now," you tell her, suddenly serious, "I prioritized dinner and didn't have a chance to get you a present."

"Oh, hon, you don't have to-"

You cut her off, waggling your eyebrows. "But you do still have someone to unwrap."

"Don't have to tempt me, honey," she grins.

"Just let me finish up with dinner-"

She has a different idea. "I bet you can finish up while I open my present."

You snort. "Be patient."

"I don't have to be patient--it's my birthday."

"Tess, I-"

She ignores you, pressing gentle kisses down the side of your throat.

She know's it's a guaranteed horny button for you, and she exploits that weakness mercilessly. You have to fight not to melt. Even so, you let your eyes flutter closed, bathing in the sensation and not wanting anything to stop or change. She lets you relax into it for a moment, before bumping her hip against you, nudging you forward.

"Go on, baby. Better keep cooking. I'm hungry."

You let out a deep breath and snap yourself back. You spark the cooktop and place down the sauté pan. (You prefer cooking at Tess's apartment. Hers has a gas range. Yours has electric.)

After checking the temperature, you place a stick of butter in the pan. Tess runs her hands up and down your sides at a leisurely pace. Just her touch is enough to make you weak kneed again.

She passes you a slotted wooden spatula and you start to push the stick of butter around, watching it sizzle and melt as Tess makes you melt. You hear the clink of her own belt before you feel her undoing the button of your jeans.

Your pasta timer dings and the moment is broken. You grab the pan and are about to drain it in the colander you have set up in the sink, but before you can tip it out, Tess stops you.

"Hold up, hon, save that pasta water."

"Shit! Yep, nearly forgot it."

You set a liquid measuring jug beneath the colander and let the pasta drain, before taking the pasta water and turning back to the melting butter.

Tess's hands are back on you, pulling down your zipper now. She shimmies your jeans past your hips, kneading your ass with one hand as she trails the other from your belly button lower and lower and lower-

You start to lose focus on dinner and can only pay attention to her.

Tess slips her hand down your front and gasps when she gets to your bare cunt, hot and wanting. You're wearing no underwear, clothed only in the curls between your thighs.

"Naughty girl," she praises, and you swoon as she starts stroking her fingertips along your cunt, collecting your wetness and smearing it on your clit before pressing harsh circles into you that make you shudder and squirm deliciously.

"Don't let the butter burn," Tess chides, and you blink your eyes open, reaching for the utensil and moving the last of the unmelted butter around the pan, watching it start to foam at the edges.

"What else do you need, hon?" she asks, "Got all your ingredients?

You glance around. The sage is there. The pasta water. Garlic. Pepper.

"Uh-huh."

"Good," Tess says, "'Cause I'm gonna need you to stay put and focus."

A surge of heat pulses through you and you feel Tess's breath on your neck, a delicious sigh.

You add sage leaves to the browning butter, savouring the sudden aroma as the sage begins to heat, releasing its fragrance.

Tess resumes her work, slipping your jeans down to your ankles and guiding you to step out, all the while you stir the pan.

As the sage sizzles in the butter, she presses a finger against your folds, finding your opening, and eliciting a gasp from you as she enters you with two long fingers.

Finding a rhythm, she starts pumping the digits, pulling whines and moans from you, pausing only to let you smash the peeled garlic with the palm of your hand against the flat of a chef's knife and mince it a little more. You toss it into the pan and, once the knife is out of your hand, she resumes.

Two fingers become three, and as you splash the pasta water in with the butter and sage and yelp as she picks up the pace.

"Love those lovely little whines you make for me. All those sweet noises, that's all for me, huh?"

"For you," you agree, another whine escaping.

"Messy fuckin' hole, taking my fingers so good. Such a good girl, baby," she praises, and you don't realise she's not referring to you until she says, "Look at her, gettin' all puffy and wrecked."

You let out another sound, this one closer to a growl. You can feel yourself beginning to drip down her hand as she fucks her digits into you, pressing into you so nicely, working you open, making your knees quake.

"Sweet little pussy opening right up for me. Think she can take another?

"Fuck, daddy, please-"

Trying to keep stirring while she works on you is a near impossibility. With a focus that can't be anything less than witchcraft, she smacks your cheek while you're moaning, eyes closed and keening.

"Don't let it burn," she scolds, and your eyes snap back open.

The sauce has started to thicken, and you turn down the flame so you can take a moment to grind yourself deeper onto Tess's hand.

"Wanna put on the strap?" you ask. "Want me to put on the strap?"

"I'd take either," she admits with a laugh, "But the dishwasher's running."

"Fuck."

"Did you just put the cycle on?"

"Yep. Are our dicks in the dishwasher?"

"Our dicks are in the dishwasher."

You let out a whine. She just maintains her pace and rubbing a fingertip in blinding, tight circles around your clit.

"Poor baby," she teases, "I barely have to play with you and your cute lil hole soaks me like a fuckin' whore. You're so fucking easy."

"Hnnnggg-"

"My pretty little slut. Just gotta give me one, baby, just one and I'll let you finish dinner."

Another whine.

"C'mon, honey, I feel you gettin' close. Clenchin' on daddy's fingers. Fuck, cum for me baby, let me feel you-"

She reaches around you and turns off the flame, the fingers of her other hand pumping faster and rougher. You're bent forward, gripping the counter for support, as you feel yourself start to tip over.

"Fuuuuckkk-" you cum with a cry, Tess's fingers working you through it as her other hand wraps around your waist, steadying you. You hear the splash of your release against the laminate floor as she keeps going, pumping her fingers fast and deep, hitting just the right spot, dragging your orgasm out longer than you knew yourself capable of.

It takes a couple of minutes, coming back down. You feel your slick cooling on your thighs and turn around to see Tess leaning against the hallway behind you, grinning wickedly as she licks her fingers one by one.

"You're gonna be the death of me," you tell her, and she slides back behind you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Not allowed to die. It's my birthday."

"Hmmph," you roll your eyes and begin to plate up.

The groan Tess lets out as she takes her first bite is more than worth it.

"Fucking fuck, honey, I mean- holy shit this is so good."

You grin. "Glad you like it."

"I know what I'm having for dessert," Tess smirks, waggling her eyebrows.

"Yeah," you agree, "I made you a tart."

"You're my tart."

You roll your eyes again. "I am, but I made one special for you. Dessert first, then you can eat me as much as you like."

Tess nods solemnly before breaking into another grin. "Thank you honey."

"Happy birthday, baby."

#tess servopoulos fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou #tess servopoulos x reader #tess x reader #tess x f!reader #okay it should PROBABLY be your birthday rather than hers but this is what flowed pls forgive meeeee

116 notes · View notes

vex-bittys · 2 months ago

Text

When Life Gives You Skeletons: Chapter 6: Sleepover 2: Skeleton Boogaloo

“THERE’S NO NEED TO CRY, HUMAN,” the skeleton monster named Papyrus tells you. You may not have realized that tears were streaming down your face, but being overwhelmed by positive emotions totally qualifies as a reason to cry. “IF YOU DISLIKE THE GIFTS, WE CAN GO TOGETHER AND EXCHANGE THEM.”

“I love the gifts,” you say quickly, not wanting to seem ungrateful. “I'm just emotionally overwhelmed and-”

Edge interrupts you. “THE HUMAN IS A BLUBBERING CRYBABY, PAPYRUS. GET USED TO IT.” The grumpy skeleton pushes past you, bumping Papyrus roughly on his way towards the kitchen. He drops the bag of toiletries onto the coffee table but takes the rest of the bags from the shopping trip with him. “I'LL PUT THE CLOTHING ITEMS IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM, BUT DON'T THINK FOR A SECOND THAT I'M GOING TO WASH YOUR CLOTHES FOR YOU!”

You did not think for a second that Edge would offer or in any way help you out with chores even under extreme duress, but instead of saying so, you call out a humble “okay” in the general direction of the kitchen. Nobody else seems to be surprised or offended by Edge’s behavior, so why should you be?

“I APOLOGIZE THAT I MUST DEPRIVE YOU OF MY ILLUSTRIOUS PRESENCE, DEAR HUMAN, BUT THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL BE PREPARING TONIGHT'S FAMILY MEAL!” Papyrus strikes a heroic pose, much like Blue had done last night, then spins off into the kitchen in the strangest way. Once again, you choose to ignore the odd behavior, this time in favor of shouting your name after the retreating skeleton monster.

“guess we're havin’ spaghetti t'night.” You turn to Red to ask him about his comment (after all, spaghetti is delicious), but you never get the chance because the voice of a very loud and most likely very angry someone begins yelling outside, and the sound is coming closer.

“that's our cue to leave, doll.” Red grabs your hand in one of his and snatches the bag off of the coffee table with the other, then he drags you up a flight of stairs just before the front door explodes open. You don't see the voice's owner, but as Red rushes you down a door-lined hallway and up another flight of stairs, you certainly hear him.

“-AND WHEN I FIND THE CAR-THIEVING CURMUDGEON, REST ASSURED THE CONSEQUENCES WILL BE SUITABLY DIRE,” the speaker threatens in a grating, deep shriek.

Red leads you down a short hallway on the third floor, pausing at an open doorway to listen. He probably wants to know if you're being followed, or maybe he's just trying to find out exactly what the promised “dire consequences” for grand theft auto and curmudgeonry will entail.

“You wouldn't happen to be the car-thieving curmudgeon, would you?” you ask innocently, though Red's reaction downstairs is answer enough.

“go easy on him,” a pleasant, low voice calls from beyond the door. “red’s not a bed guy.” You instantly identify the voice (and use of puns) as Sans, and when you push the door further open to reveal a skeleton monster laying on his side on a large bed with his skull propped up on one hand, you are not the least bit surprised. You are, however, ready to return fire (of puns).

“Oh sheet ! There's a skeleton in here!” Sans chuckles, and it's such a happy, contagious sound that you immediately catch a very severe case of secondhand giggles.

“doll, no,” Red scolds you gently, sounding exasperated already. Little does he know that his attitude practically guarantees more puns will be used. Sans does not disappoint.

“she seems a little shocked, Red. maybe you should-” Sans pauses, and that ever-present smile that adorns the faces of all skeletons, monsters or not, widens and tilts upwards at the corners ever so slightly. It is the universal expression of mischief. “- comforter .”

Red groans and clutches his chest as if Sans has struck a mortal blow with his wordplay. You decide to deal the coup de grace.

“I'm sorry, sir, but you're under… ar rest for utilizing the… pil low-hanging fruit of the joke world.” You somehow manage to deliver the joke deadpan, but when Sans cracks up, you dissolve into hearty laughter and collapse next to him on the bed.

Red makes a noise of disgust and throws his hands in the air, forgetting that he's holding a plastic bag full of heavy bottles and packages. Your earlier purchases swing forward and smack Red right in the face. He drops the bag, spilling toiletry items across the hardwood floors. Red rubs at his bruised cheek, and when you try to check him for injuries, he waves off your concern so you scramble off of the bed to gather up the scattered supplies before they leak their contents everywhere.

“Good thing none of these broke open.” You breathe a sigh of relief and stuff your shampoo and conditioner back into their crinkly plastic prison. “I'd feel so bad if we left a mess in your room.” You glance at Sans to see if the incident has upset him, but he's just chuckling again.

“it's not my room, kid. it's your room, and you can make a mess in here if you want to.” Oh. Oh, wow.

“yeah, my room's a disaster area, just how i like it,” Red brags. As he goes on to extoll the virtues of messy living spaces, you take a look around yours.

The best word to describe the… well, it's not actually a bedroom; it’s more of a suite. The best word to describe the suite would be beautiful, followed in a close second by breathtaking. The bedroom area contains dark wood floors, walls, and ceiling with white trim and furnishings decorated tastefully in sage green, salmon pink, and buttercream yellow. The floor to ceiling shelving along the far wall is bare, but some kind-hearted skeleton monster (you'd bet on Papyrus) has put a vase of fresh flowers on one of the nightstands. The other nightstand holds a lamp and a Bluetooth speaker with a built-in clock. It's a thoughtful touch.

Across from the sleeping area is a sitting area decorated in the same style. Huge sliding glass doors frame the sitting area with a spectacular view of an open air veranda and the forested slopes of Mount Ebbott. Living here is going to be like living in one of those luxury lodges for extremely rich people who shoot animals for bragging rights, minus the excessive amounts of money and the complete disregard for the sanctity of life.

On the bed itself is Sans the skeleton, who you now realize must be the source of the clothing you borrowed earlier because you're practically wearing the same outfit. The lounging monster is rocking pink slippers with socks, basketball shorts instead of track pants, a white t-shirt, and a blue hoodie identical to the one that you have on. Sans makes “I reached into my closet in the dark and put on whatever I grabbed first” look good; you make it look like you reached into your closet in the dark and put on whatever you grabbed first.

Red must have recovered from his traumatic encounter with your deodorant because he's watching you with that subtle sincere skeleton monster smile. “ya haven't even seen th’ bathroom yet, doll,” he teases, pointing to a closed door. You hurry over to check it out, chased by the sounds of two skeletons’ very similar-sounding low chuckles.

You think that you should pinch yourself to see if you're dreaming, but who would want to wake up from a dream like this? The bathroom is just as stunning as the rest of the house, maybe more so because it's your very own personal, private bathroom. You've always shared a bathroom with a roommate or with Gran, and it feels surprisingly decadent to have one all to yourself… especially this one.

The floors are tiled in natural rock in different shades of tan, brown, and gray, and the wall has loving crafted mosaic tile waves in shades of deep rich teal and dark cyan. Evening sunlight spills in through a skylight to illuminate the pale blue color of a summer sky above the tiled waves, and the large porcelain bathtub, sink, and toilet with their palest cream shower curtain and plush rugs are like clouds floating across a gorgeous beach paradise. A small arrangement of succulents on top of a linen cabinet adds to the tropical resort vibe. You even spot a pristine white bathrobe hanging on the back of the door.

You hear Sans's voice speaking from right behind you; he must've gotten off the bed while you perused the bathroom in slack-jawed wonderment. “papyrus did all of the tile work himself,” he informs you with secondhand pride.

“It’s amazing,” you breathe without bothering to turn around and face him. You can't tear your eyes away from the bathtub and its glorious array of water jets. You plan to live in that bathtub, no matter how prune-like your skin becomes.

“yeah, my bro is pretty awesome, isn't he?”

You agree wholeheartedly, but you definitely have a question about your sudden good fortune in living arrangements. “Why don't you or your cousins use this room? The view is spectacular.” You gesture at the sprawling vista of forest and mountains visible through the sliding glass doors.

Though you direct the question at Sans, Red decides to answer it.

“when ya spend as much time as we did under a mountain, ya don't want a constant reminder of it starin’ atcha through yer bedroom window.”

Red has never spoken to you in such a somber voice before, and you aren't sure how to respond. Melancholy silence never gets a chance to settle over the room because a certain artistically talented tile-laying skeleton thunders up the stairs, announcing the advent of dinner in his booming, boisterous voice.

With your three skeleton monster entourage in tow (although Papyrus is technically not “in tow” because he's leading the way), you head back down the stairs for dinner. Delicious aromas of fresh herbs, garlic, and tomatoes waft from the kitchen on currents of air warmed by the cooking process. Your mouth waters at the thought of a home-cooked meal despite your sandwich luncheon a scant few hours earlier. Bread, cheese, and cold cuts don't really compare to something made with time, effort, and care.

You enter the dining area off of the kitchen and find five skeletons seated around a massive wooden dining table. You recognize Edge and Blueberry, and the short skeleton practically tips over his chair leaping out of it to greet you.

“MAIDEN!” Blue grabs both of your hands in his and his namesake eyes are huge and round. “I HEARD WHAT HAPPENED! I'M SO SORRY YOU WENT THROUGH SOMETHING SO TERRIBLE!” You hear sincerity in every exuberant word.

“It’s okay, Blue,” you reassure him. “It’s over now, and as a bonus, I get to stay with my new friend, the Magnificent Blueberry.” Blue cheers. “Which reminds me, I need to go wash the clothes that my other skeleton friends bought me.” You gesture at Red, who is sinking into a chair next to his brother. Edge is busy having an inaudible conversation with another scarred skeleton- a short and sharp-toothed one with purple eyelights.

You duck into the kitchen, on your way to the laundry room, and spot Papyrus at the counter, scooping hearty servings of spaghetti onto plates. A baking sheet of homemade garlic bread dotted with green herbs sits steaming next to him, waiting its turn to be plated.

You call out to him: “Hey, Papyrus, as soon as I get my laundry going, I'll help you with those plates ok?”

“HUMAN,” Papyrus greets you even though you told him your name earlier. “YOUR NEW CLOTHES ARE ALREADY SORTED AND BEING LAUNDERED, BUT IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO HELP ME, COULD YOU CARRY A FEW OF THESE PLATES TO THE DINING TABLE?”

You shuffle over and transfer garlic bread segments onto some of the plates before picking up and nimbly balancing four plates on your hands and lower arms, a skill you learned during a stint of waitressing during college. Papyrus blinks at your carefully balanced load, impressed.

“WOWIE, HUMAN,” says the sweet skeleton, hands on either side of his face, his dark onyx eyelights sparkling in the depths of his sockets, “YOU SURE ARE GREAT AT BALANCING PLATES! I'VE OFTEN THOUGHT IT WOULD BE NICE TO HAVE EIGHT ARMS TO CARRY PLATES… OR EIGHT LEGS SO I COULD WEAR FOUR PAIRS OF HOTPANTS.” Papyrus pops his hip to the side and wiggles his coccyx at you. His tight shorts hug his bones nicely.

“I don't know if the world is ready for you in four pairs of hotpants, Papyrus,” you tell him with a smile, ferrying the warm plates of food to the skeletons waiting at the dining table. Papyrus trails behind you, carrying just two plates. You drop off your cargo in front of Sans, Red, Edge, and the short skeleton next to Edge whose name you haven't heard yet, then hurry back to the kitchen for the last two plates which end up in front of you and Papyrus.

Your butt barely introduces itself to your seat between Papyrus and Blue before the short skeleton with the purple eyelights makes a snarky remark at your expense.

“SO WE'RE JUST LETTING IN ANY RIFFRAFF OFF OF THE STREETS NOW?” His voice is deep, forceful, and as venomous as a king cobra, and he points at you with a fork full of perfectly twirled spaghetti.

You're not just going to sit there and take his verbal jab. Oh no. “Well, you're here, so I guess we are,” you say with obviously fake sweetness. The offensive question had left a shocked silence in its wake, and you drop your bomb of a response directly into that silence.

A second passes.

Another second passes.

Nobody moves. Nobody speaks.

A snort from Sans's general direction shatters the silence. Red pounds the table and guffaws. More laughter erupts around the table. Edge covers his mouth to hide his smile, but you see it anyway. The tension dissipates quickly, and everyone, including you, gets back to the task at hand: dinner.

You taste your first mouthful of pasta and sauce; the flavor is as heavenly as the aroma. Papyrus even grates some fresh parmesan onto your spaghetti with the type of grater that you've only seen in fancy restaurants. You savor your next few bites while studying the housemates that you haven't officially met yet.

Sans sits at the head of the table, and Papyrus is on his right-hand side. You come next, then Blue. On Blue's other side, a skeleton in an orange hoodie is slouched in his chair. He resembles Papyrus. He's tall with dark eyelights that only appear as a glimmer in his sockets. You watch him sneak something out of his pocket. It's a honey bear, and he pours some of its sweet, amber contents onto his plate of food. Blue scolds him.

Red shovels spaghetti into his mouth across from you. His brother is once again deep in conversation with the shorter scarred skeleton monster. Red must be their topic of conversation because he suddenly and loudly interjects.

“i didn’ steal the fucking car. i borrowed it without askin’!”

“THAT'S STEALING,” Edge informs him.

“i stole the fucking car then.” Red shrugs. “s'whatcha get fer double-parking it behind my chopper.”

“I LEFT AMPLE SPACE,” the purple-eyed skeleton argues hotly.

“bullshit!”

The purple-eyed skeleton drops his fork onto his plate and starts to push his chair back. Things are getting out of control, but Edge handles the situation before his brother and the other skeleton can start brawling at the dinner table.

“I WILL TAKE CARE OF THE SITUATION, BLACKBERRY.”

“SEE THAT YOU DO,” the skeleton with the purple eyelights, Blackberry, says in an officious tone of shout.

With the impending fight diffused, the tension once again fades away. You take a bite of your garlic bread, enjoying the buttery, garlicky goodness. You swallow that bite and allow your attention to wander to the last skeleton monster at the table. Two dark orange eyelights catch your eyes. How long has he been staring at you? You refuse to act guilty by lowering your eyes. If he wants to stare, you'll stare right back!

Your unblinking nemesis is another tall skeleton, but he's slouched in his chair as if he might slide out of it and onto the floor at any moment. This skeleton, like the other skeletons sitting across the table from you, has sharp teeth, including a gold fang. His angular facial features remind you a bit of Edge, though Edge doesn't strike you as the type of guy who would wear a jacket with fluff around the perimeter of the hood.

You give up on winning the staring contest because your poor dry eyeballs are screaming at you to blink. You suddenly find your plate of food to be extremely interesting to look at. You think you hear a dry chuckle from Mr. Fluffy Jacket, and you barely resist the urge to start the staring contest all over again. Instead, you decide to give credit where credit is due.

“Thanks for starting my laundry for me, Papyrus.” You stab your spaghetti and spin the fork to gather a hearty bite, not really expecting more than a mumbled “you're welcome.”

Papyrus does not mumble his reply, nor does he give that response.

“I DIDN'T START YOUR LAUNDRY, HUMAN,” Papyrus explains in his theatrical boom. “EDGE DID THAT.”

You glance at Edge across the table from you, and your words of gratitude stall in your throat. Edge gives you a defiant glare, daring you to utter a single word about your precious laundry. You remember how Red had reacted to being thanked and wonder if Edge has the same aversion to gratitude, but you also hate the thought of someone being kind to you without at least verbal recognition to show for it.

“Oh,” you say, knowing it's woefully inadequate. You search for different wording, a way to tell Edge that you appreciate what he did without making him uncomfortable. He saves you the trouble.

“THE CLOTHING ITEMS WERE IN THE WAY. I DIDN'T WANT TO WASTE TIME WAITING FOR YOU TO GET AROUND TO MOVING THEM YOURSELF.”

Edge’s speech makes perfect sense if you ignore the fact that he took the clothes to the laundry room himself and could've easily left them in any one of the available hampers you saw earlier. You decide not to point that out, or the fact that he had very pointedly declared that he would not be helping you with your laundry. In fact, you drop the matter entirely since Edge seems dead set on pretending he had acted out of simple convenience. The grumpy skeleton monster relaxes, and you know that you made the right decision.

Dinner continues. You listen to the ebb and flow of conversation like a tide of noise as conversations start or break up around the table. Minor squabbles begin and end to the clink and clatter of silverware on plates. Is this what family dinners are like? You wouldn't know because you only ever ate dinner with Gran. You think you could get used to the cozy white noise of it all, perhaps even enjoy it.

You manage to finish most of your meal in spite of your midday sandwich with Red. Things are definitely winding down for the evening, and a lull in the chatter gives you an opportunity to ask a question that's been on your mind.

“I thought Red mentioned that there are ten skeleton monsters living here?” You direct your inquiry at Sans since he isn't engaged in conversation currently (mostly because he just dropped a pasta pun that made Papyrus nearly apoplectic).

Sans shrugs and winks, thereby winning the award for least helpful answer ever given. You have a sudden urge to join Papyrus in his eye-popping, foot stomping fit. Sans basks in the glory of his two person infuriation streak when he notices your scowl.

Thankfully, in addition to being a skeleton monster, Papyrus is also a saint. He answers the question for his brother smoothly, and you wonder if this is just typical Sans behavior.

“AXE AND RUSTY AREN'T VERY SOCIAL, SO THEY DON'T USUALLY JOIN THE REST OF US FOR DINNER,” he explains. “THEY ARE-” Papyrus pauses to weigh his word choices. He completes his thought at the same time that two other voices add their own opinions to the end of his sentence:

“- SHY AROUND NEWCOMERS.” Papyrus.

“- psycho.” Red.

“- DAMAGED.” Blackberry.

You wait, but nobody corrects the less than flattering descriptions of the missing housemates. Your eyes travel from skeleton to skeleton, but every single one of them averts their eyelights, willing to look anywhere else to avoid your accusatory gaze. Beads of red sweat form on Red's skull, and you focus your scrutiny like a laser. The sweat beads multiply, and Red finally breaks.

“they went through some shit n’ it messed ‘em up,” Red reluctantly explains. “they have episodes sometimes n’ axe can be dangerous. jus’ don't wander ‘round here at night is all.” Well that's not at all terrifying.

“I'M ONE HUNDRED PERCENT CERTAIN THAT AXE AND RUSTY WOULDN'T HARM YOU ABOUT NINETY PERCENT OF THE TIME,” adds Papyrus. Somehow you are not reassured, and it gives you something to think about while dinner wraps up.

Blueberry scolds the hoodie-wearing skeleton next to him for falling asleep in the remains of his sauce. Edge lectures Red about grand theft auto. Sans sports a shit-eating grin after making another successful brother-irritating pun, and the skeleton with the dark orange eyelights has resumed his staring. Blackberry’s eyelights are locked on the fork in his hand, turning it to and fro to catch the glimmer of the overhead lights. Occasionally he utters a few muted words to Mr. Stares-a-Lot.

You hear Sans accuse Papyrus of laughing at his puns. “I AM, AND I HATE IT,” Papyrus cries, then stands up and starts gathering empty plates from around the table. You rise to help him though he insists that it isn't necessary.

Blueberry gives you that genuine skeleton smile of his and lifts his brother’s sauce-spattered skull off of his plate. You take both plates and stack them with yours, but before you can move on to collect more dishes, a bony hand grips your wrist. The hoodie-wearing skeleton regards you with narrowed sockets, and the red sauce on his face resembles blood. Creepy.

“don't try to play games with us,” he warns in a low voice meant only for your ears. Also creepy.

“Not even Candy Land?” you ask with an exaggerated pout. Deflection is the better part of valor.

The skeleton monster's expression instantly relaxes. Without the tension in his facial bones, his round features exude a youthful, lackadaisical aura.

“i'll make an exception for candy land.” He winks at you and wipes spaghetti sauce off of his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. Blueberry goes right back to scolding him.

Your conversation only lasts for a minute, but Papyrus already has the rest of the plates and utensils in his hands. You follow him to the sink and adjacent dishwasher while the other skeletons disperse to places unknown. Papyrus scrapes the plates over a trash bin, and you give them a rinse before loading the dishwasher. Next, you both move on to packing up the leftovers.

Papyrus retrieves two large plastic containers from an overhead cupboard; you envy the ease with which tall people are able to reach things. The containers have “Axe” and “Rusty” printed neatly on them in permanent marker. You help Papyrus divide the rather large (in your opinion) portion of leftover spaghetti equally between the containers, but when you're done, Papyrus scoops some out of the “Axe” container and adds it to the “Rusty” one. The tall skeleton finds you some aluminum foil, and you wrap up the remaining pieces of garlic bread. Papyrus takes a marker out of a drawer and labels them.

“AXE AND RUSTY HAVE ISSUES SURROUNDING FOOD,” Papyrus tells you while you work, “SO MAKE SURE YOU WRITE YOUR NAME ON ANYTHING THAT YOU DON'T WANT THEM TO EAT.”

You open the fridge and make a space for the leftovers. Using the permanent marker, Papyrus points to your half-eaten sandwich from earlier. Accepting the offered writing utensil, you remove your lunch from the fridge and scrawl a quick note on it:

Axe and Rusty,

If you’re hungry, help yourselves to this sandwich.

You print your name on the bottom so that it's nice and legible, then put the uneaten sandwich half back in the fridge.

With the kitchen restored to its pre-dinner glory, there's only one task left to check off of your to-do list: folding your laundry! Someone else had the same idea though because when you slip into the laundry room, Blueberry is already there, adding a neatly folded shirt to a stack of clothing in a laundry basket. You recognize the items that Edge bought for you earlier as well as underwear and bras that you hope didn't make Blue feel uncomfortable to handle.

“ALMOST DONE HERE, MAIDEN,” Blueberry informs you. “I CAN CARRY THE BASKET UP TO THE ATTIC FOR YOU TOO!” Blue proceeds to flex despite a distinct lack of muscles.

“I'LL BRING THE GIFT BASKET,” Papyrus calls from behind you.

Thanks to the combined efforts of Edge, Papyrus, and Blueberry, not only did you not have to buy yourself new belongings, you also didn't have to wash, dry, fold, or even carry a single thing back up the two flights of stairs to your new bedroom. You have to admit that just going up and down all of those stairs day after day is going to be quite the workout for your leg muscles. You don't feel it yet, but you're pretty sure that your legs are going to ache tomorrow.

Blueberry holds the basket of your clothing while you arrange its contents in the chest of drawers in your room. There's plenty of space, but Edge also kind of went overboard replacing your destroyed wardrobe. Papyrus hums a jaunty little tune and places the gift basket items on the shelves in your bathroom. You and Blue join him, and in no time, the entire suite looks homey and lived-in.

The problem is that it still feels strange and unconnected to you. You stand in the center of the bedroom, trying to vibe with your new surroundings, but you can't rush familiarity.

“THE FIRST NIGHT IN A NEW PLACE IS ALWAYS A LITTLE UNSETTLING.” It's as if Blueberry can read your thoughts. He has a faraway look in his eyelights, and you notice Papyrus staring out at the hulking moonlit silhouette of the mountain. They must know better than anyone what it's like to have everything in your life change all at once.

“MAYBE WE COULD HAVE A SLEEPOVER DOWNSTAIRS TONIGHT WITH MOVIES AND POPCORN, AND YOU CAN ACCLIMATE TO YOUR NEW ENVIRONMENT TOMORROW.” Papyrus's suggestion makes you feel a bit like a new goldfish in one of those plastic bags from the pet store, floating in a new tank until you get used to the temperature of the water, but the idea of a sleepover does sound appealing. Movies, new friends, and hot buttery popcorn are definitely a great way to ease your transition to your new home.

Blueberry and Papyrus wait for your answer with bated breath (if that's even possible for monsters who don't possess lungs). You want to tell Papyrus that a sleepover is a brilliant idea, but a sound at your door steals the attention of everyone in the room.

Knock, knock.

“Come in,” you call out to the mystery knocker.

“aw, doll, yer s'pposed ta say ‘who's there?’” It’s Red, and he seems a bit surprised to find Blue and Papyrus standing there.

“Blue and Papyrus are here,” you tease him, “and we're all going to have a sleepover and movie marathon downstairs!” Blueberry and Papyrus cheer, but Red shuffles his sneakered feet for a moment before deciding to accept the implied invitation.

“guess i ain't got nothin’ better ta do.”

You emit a happy little “yay” and clap your hands in delight.

“I'LL MAKE THE POPCORN,” offers Papyrus, who then immediately dashes out of your room as if popcorn-making simply cannot wait one more second.

“I'LL SEE WHO ELSE WANTS TO JOIN US,” contributes Blue, leaving your room at a much more leisurely pace.

“c'mon doll, we can raid my blanket stash.” You grab the comforter and pillow off of your bed, then follow Red to the second floor. He shows you a closet overflowing with plush blankets and extra pillows. Each and every one of them smells faintly of cranberries. Red piles pillows and blankets into your waiting arms; you press your face into them and inhale deeply.

“ya like the smell of my blankets?” Red asks you playfully.

“Mmm, I sure do,” you tell him, wondering why he has such a huge(r than normal) grin on his face. He doesn't say anything else, just trots down the stairs to the living room with his own armload of blankets. You scurry after him.

Sans dozes in an armchair in the living room. Papyrus peeks out of the kitchen and lets you know that the popcorn is in progress. You and Red arrange pillows and blankets on every piece of available furniture in preparation for the sleepover, and the other skeletons begin to file in and find seats. Every single skeleton monster who was present for dinner shows up to join the sleepover.

By the time you prop up your pillows and arrange your blanket into a comfortable nest on one of the sofas, the other skeletons have helped themselves to the remaining blankets and pillows. A pillow and blanket have found their way to Sans though you didn't see him move. Red is on an opulent throne of bedding on the floor in front of your sofa, and the skeleton with the dark orange eyelights and the fluff-lined jacket drapes himself over the back of the sofa. Blackberry sits stiffly on the chair next to Sans without any sleepover supplies at all. Hoodie Guy, Blueberry, and Edge are occupying the other couch; Edge folds his arms grumpily across his chest while Blue practically bounces with excitement.

“Looks like the gang's all here.” It's just a flippant comment, but some of the skeleton monsters insist on explaining themselves lest you mistakenly think that they might attend a sleepover party in their own living room voluntarily.

“i told ya i didn’ have nothin’ better ta do,” Red defends himself.

Edge huffs. “I'M JUST HERE TO MAKE SURE MY BROTHER DOESN'T DO SOMETHING STUPID AND EMBARRASS ME.”

“i'm making sure the human doesn't try any funny business,” the hoodie-wearer contributes, but when you turn towards him, you see that he's wearing Groucho Marx glasses. When he’s sure you're looking right at him, he wiggles his bony brows, making the glasses bounce up and down comically.

You school your face to neutrality and pretend it's perfectly normal for a skeleton monster to have fuzzy black eyebrows, a plastic nose, and a mustache. “That's a lovely mustache you've grown since dinner,” you compliment him, barely managing to hold in your laughter.

“i picked my nose too.” Mr. Hoodie touches the fake plastic nose attached to his glasses. Blueberry shouts “BROTHER!” indignantly, and your composure disappears under a landslide of giggles.

Blackberry sighs and rubs his skull with his hands. “CONGRATULATIONS, STRETCH, YOU IMBECILE. YOU'VE STARTED THE HUMAN BRAYING.” You slowly shift your attention to Blackberry. Granted, he's a bit (ok, more than a bit) of an asshole, but at least now you know that Mr. Hoodie's name is Stretch. Stretch Hoodie, if you will.

“AND IN CASE ANYONE IS WONDERING,” Blackberry continues, “I AM HERE TO ENSURE THAT THE HUMAN DOESN'T STEAL OR BREAK ANYTHING.” Not only were you not wondering about Blackberry’s motives, you also kind of wish he would just find something else to do or somewhere else to be.

“Sorry, but I intend to do nothing except steal and break hearts all night long.” You resist the temptation to blow a raspberry at the rude skeleton… barely.

“stealin’ and breakin’ hearts sounds good to me.” Fluffy Hood, for lack of a better descriptive verb, oozes down the back of the couch and somehow ends up partially underneath you. It would be odd to describe a skeleton monster’s movements as boneless, yet this skeleton monster somehow manages it. Red scowls at him from the floor.

“BEHAVE, MUTT,” snaps Blackberry.

“yeah. behave, mutt,” echoes Red with a slight growl in his voice.

“Oh, no. Tell me your name isn't really Mutt.” You fake pleading with Mutt, but he just shrugs and winks, jostling you. “That's almost as bad as Edge!”

“WHAT?!” Edge is indignant, but Red howls with laughter.

At that moment, Papyrus enters the living room with a tray in his hands. The tray contains cups, a bottle of soda, a stack of small bowls, and the single largest bowl of freshly popped popcorn that you have ever seen. You could swim in that popcorn like a cartoon billionaire swimming in a vault of golden coins.

“THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAS ARRIVED WITH PROVISIONS!” Papyrus places the tray on the central coffee table with a flourish, then flops down onto the couch next to you.

Sans cracks a single socket open and delivers a line: “At least they aren't amateur visions.”

Every single skeleton monster in the room reacts except for Blackberry, who coolly observes his housemates as they interact with each other and you.

Blueberry, Red, and Edge groan loudly at the pun, and Papyrus wails out a dramatic “NO!” Sans collapses over the armrest of the chair laughing while Stretch laughs so hard that his Groucho Marx glasses fall off. You accidentally snort while laughing which makes Mutt chuckle, a deep rumble that reverberates against you. Stretch is on his hands and patellae on the floor, pretending that he can't see well enough without his fake glasses (they don't even have lenses!) to find them. It's the very best kind of chaos.

Things finally settle down enough for a discussion to start over possible movie choices. Some movie titles, genres, and even favorite actors are brought up, but nobody can seem to agree on something to watch. You fill up a bowl with popcorn, letting the conversation lull you. You didn't expect to be hungry enough to eat anything else after practically licking your plate at dinner, but the popcorn tastes amazing.

“SINCE THE SLEEPOVER IS FOR MAIDEN, MAYBE SHE SHOULD CHOOSE THE MOVIES,” suggests Blue, and suddenly every eyelight in the room is trained on you.

You consider a few different options. “How about the newer King Kong and Godzilla movies?”

“ARE YOU SUGGESTING THAT WE WATCH SPECIESIST HUMAN PROPAGANDA?” Blackberry asks the question in a biting tone. You aren’t going to tolerate an accusation like that.

“Human monster movies represent human fears. In this case it's a fear of unstoppable natural forces and the consequences of nuclear radiation.”

“DON'T FORGET THAT THE HOLLOW EARTH THEORY, WHILE IT DOES SHOW A STARTLING PARALLEL TO MONSTER IMPRISONMENT IN THE UNDERGROUND, TRULY REPRESENTS HUMANS’ FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN AND THAT WHICH THEY CANNOT CONTROL.”

Blackberry smirks, and you narrow your eyes at him. That smug bastard knows all about the Monarch and Hollow Earth mythos! Blueberry is already queuing the movies in chronological order, so you ignore him and the recurring urge to blow a raspberry at him.

The movie marathon begins with the newest remake of King Kong. Nobody talks during the movie, and you wonder if this is the first time some of them have seen it. The first movie ends with a rousing discussion about how disappointed humans must have been at the relatively normal size of real monsters. You point out that you would much rather hang out with walking, talking skeletons than giant murder insects.

The second movie, the recent Godzilla reboot, plays, and everyone appears to be fully relaxed and enjoying the snacks and beverages. Mutt and Papyrus are both pleasantly warm. You find yourself resting your head on Mutt's shoulder and letting your feet and legs tangle with Papyrus's. For monsters made entirely of bone, they are surprisingly soft and comfortable to lean on.

A popcorn battle takes place during the movie thanks to the slow plot and Sans’s attempt to make a science-themed pun. Red throws a handful of popcorn at Sans. You bounce a piece of popcorn off of Red’s skull in retaliation on behalf of puns everywhere; he picks it up off of the floor and eats it. Stretch tries to throw a piece of popcorn at you, and you somehow catch it in your mouth. Soon, fistfuls of popcorn become airborne, though whether it’s to create a chaotic mess or to show off mad popcorn-catching skills really depends on the skeleton who is doing it.

Thankfully the plot of the third movie in tonight’s queue proves to be interesting enough to save the floor from sporting a crunchy carpet of popcorn kernels.

Halfway through Godzilla: King of Monsters, you begin to feel drowsy. You keep blinking to keep from falling asleep, but you doubt you'll be able to finish the marathon. A noise from the kitchen draws your attention. You spot a faint halo of light through the kitchen entryway, and you think it might be the interior light from the refrigerator. After a few moments, the light vanishes, dousing the kitchen in inky late night shadows once more. You smile to yourself, hoping that either Axe or Rusty accepted your food offering.

With that thought in your mind and the sound of the Alpha Wavelength from the television speakers in your ears, you finally drift off into dreamland.

READ ON AO3

PREV | INDEX | NEXT

21 notes · View notes

elizabethrobertajones · 4 months ago

Text

FFXIV Write 2024

6. Halcyon

“Aha! I found you!”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Erenville said calmly, paused mid-stroll across the Sharlayan Aetheryte Plaza in the bright midday sun.

“Nevertheless, I have something for you.” Bounding Frog smiled at him, and there was a strange glint in her eyes.

That made him pause. The Warrior of Light had been popping up around him all month since she’d recovered from her unspeakably epic quest to save the universe. For some reason she appeared to be coping by demanding to know if he knew about various Gyr Abanian river frogs and toads. He heard she’d had a rather intense confrontation and the various versions floating around in Sharlayan gossip of how she’d got that far all spoke to a gruelling and emotionally fraught struggle filled with loss and pain; he had to assume this new hobby was a manifestation of a healing mind and so he had been as gentle as he could with her strangely aggressive requests.

However, he was on his lunch break, and if she handed him an enormous fire-breathing rock toad to care for, he was not going to have time to eat his sandwich and make sure a surprise amphibian was handed off to someone who could catalogue it and find space to safely house it in the collection. He was going to have to draw a line somewhere.

“What is it?” he asked, narrowing his eyes to look her up and down. Her arms were behind her back but she didn’t appear to be struggling against holding a living creature.

She brought her arms forward with a little flourish, to reveal a three yalm long green feather, curling gracefully and dappled with many iridescent flashes of colour along its incredible length. “Guess what this came from!” She handed it over with a huge grin.

It was heavier than he had expected, the whole thing glossy with a sheen of oil and the barbs thick and a little crystalline; the greenness seemed to be a wind aspected coating, presumably to help hold the creature aloft, since the shaft was too thick, the hollowness inside only as narrow as the average dodo quill scholars bought in bulk. It wouldn’t have been able to fly without the aetheric adaptation.

He turned it in his hands, and glanced up. Bounding Frog’s face had gone from smiling to rather smug.

“This is from your adventures,” Erenville said slowly, weighting the feather in his hands again. “I know you went to the far edge of the universe and saw many alien things… But this feather is too like the ones our own birds on Hydaelyn grow. I doubt it’s alien in nature and you’re hoping I get swept up in the tales of the Scions’ great mission.”

She looked surprised. “Where then –” she rallied.

He held up a hand. “I also heard from Dickon that you alone went to the very birth of our Star, and saw the cradle from where life was made. As fanciful as that sounds, I would not doubt this feather was an early attempt at Creation before flight was fully perfected as a mechanical process, relying instead on plying it with aetheric advantages to become airborne. This is from an early bird.”

Bounding Frog visibly deflated and sank down several ilms. “Aye, ‘tis from a Bird of Elpis,” she mumbled. “Do you want it or not?”

“Of course. I am not prone to extravagance but this will make a most entertaining quill.”

“Ugh, fine! I’ll get you one of these days.”

“What?”

“Huh? Never mind!” She threw her hands in the air, and strode away, as suddenly as she had arrived.

He shook his head, baffled, and carefully threaded the long tail feather through the side of his pack for safe keeping. Still, he couldn’t help smiling. It reminded him of the incomprehensible way a cat might bring a gift, only to become furious when you let the mouse back out the door rather than eat it yourself.

It was almost cute, except for the veiled threats.

#frog feud #erenville #bounding frog #i wrote this #my stuff #endwalker spoilers #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2024

20 notes · View notes

avonne-writes · 4 months ago

Note

Would you feel inspired to write something for #38 Multiverse? I imagine them falling in love with each other in every universe 🥹💓

Thank you so much for the prompt, lovelies ❤️ This is exactly why I have "In Every Universe" on my blog!

I'm so sorry but this got very angsty... This is a multiverse of two new and wildly different AUs. Tell me if it’s too much and I should delete it. I uploaded it to AO3.

Warning for angst, MCD and suicide.

~~~

It's no harder to die in sunshine than in rain. It’s a fat fucking lie that tragedy avoids the light. In fact, in John's experience, heat and blue skies bring more pain striking at unsuspecting hearts than a storm or nighttime. This is why today is so fucking perfect - not a cloud in sight above the wide plains of the desert. The wind whips past his ears as he pushes his chopper to speed on towards the valley as fast as it can go.

The road is straight and empty. A path devoid of life.

Nothing makes John feel more alive than staring that gaping nothingness in the face and accelerating. The sun tilts towards the earth with sharp, cheerful rays the colour of the marigolds in the front yard of John's Ma. The marigolds he trampled to death when Gale told him he was going to 'Nam, the marigolds that grow in the park where his love rests now. It's the same hazy, warm sunset that shone when Gale’s Huey was shot down.

A light John will never forget. Fire under blue skies, his own bird straining to stay up high. The same heat that rose from the pyre of Gale's helicopter wreck that day will see John off on this last flight. His bike's engine roars like a cry of rage, and he laughs even as the tears spill out his eyes.

"That’s what you get for being sentimental." Gale's deep drawl says in his mind. Then a kiss, the last one, pressed hastily to his lips behind a jeep in the deep, silent night, his gift for remembering a simple date in the calendar. Not much.

If he had known, he would have given his own life instead, but he couldn’t, so here he is now, rectifying that mistake even if it doesn't bring Gale back. Down to the exact date. Still sentimental to the bone. He promised Gale they would ride these roads together one day - it feels right to end it here.

John lets his focus slip as his bike flies towards the end of the road, the wind in his curls, sunshine warming his side, and Gale’s voice riding with him, "still with me?" His dog tags feel heavy on their chain. He blinks, and his sight blurs. Reds and blues and marigolds rust together into one glistening swirl of colour. Light shatters in his eyes, and the blood in his ears deafens him to the screech of his skidding bike, do you hear me? John John -

"Bucky!" Gale's voice rings loud and clear through the sudden silence that snaps into clarity around John. He closes his eyes for a moment to fight down a wave of nausea, then sits up with a groan.

Around him, all he sees is a sleek, dim cabin with dark furniture and an oval window like a ship's, only larger. Outside, the night sky. A strip of teal light lines the feather-soft bed he’s sitting on, and ink black clothes as soft as silk rustle as he bends his arms. Somewhere off to the side, he hears the sound of a shower running.

Is this the afterlife?

"Gale?" He calls out tentatively, his heart stumbling painfully over every breath, scared to believe but helpless to hope.

"Finally." Gale mutters.

John's lips twitch into a smile. This isn’t the heaven he imagined but nothing matters, as long as they're together wherever they are. He’s sorry it took him so long to make it here. He’s sorry Gale had to wait two whole years for him to follow.

"I know that you're sorry, but come over here already, will ya?" Gale says impatiently.

"I'm coming!" John jumps up, then promptly falls back on the bed when something yanks him down. Something flexible around his neck with a transparent mask dangling from it, connected to the headrest behind him. He’s curious, but there’s no time. He needs to get to Gale, he waited long enough. He needs to hurry.

"Damn right, hurry up." Gale says, then part of the seamless black wall hisses open to reveal a doorway with rounded corners. Warm air and steam rushes out, and a golden glow radiates from the space inside.

John extricates himself from the strange tubing and pads towards the light on bare feet. Perhaps, the space he’s in is Purgatory, and he’s headed to Heaven now. He just needs to follow the voice of his love. His heart swells with joy as he steps inside.

Behind the curtain of steam, Gale laughs that stifled chuckle of his that John has always loved ever since they met at the country fair three years before they went to war. It's him. John's best friend, his love, his man - everything. John rushes towards him but he stops dead in his tracks when the air suddenly clears at the press of a button and Gale turns to face him head on.

He looks older than John has ever known him, closer to thirty than the twenty-one of his death. There’s light stubble on his jaw and twin scars on his cheeks. Silky-smooth, sleeveless blue pajamas cover a frame a touch too thin but familiar. His hair is long enough that he could pass for a hippie, well over the regulation cut he said he would grow out again once their tour was over. But he never got to do that, not John's Gale, so he doesn’t understand -

"Whoa!" John exclaims.

A pair of hand-sized... things flare out behind Gale's ears. They look like iridescent palm leaves. They twitch, ripple, then fold away as Gale winces and turns to the mirror on the wall.

"That bad, huh?" He says. Then, whispered in John's ears, disappointed. His lips don’t move, but John hears him as clearly as if they were standing inches away.

John's heartbeat speeds up. When one of the appendages on Gale’s head flares out again, John jumps.

Irritated, Gale's voice says without uttering a word.

"It’s just a goddamn haircut, not the end of the galaxy. No need to panic." Gale says, holding a device up to his hair. Blond locks fall to the shiny grey floor with a swish. "I thought you'd like it."

Insecure. Sad. The whispers echo in John's ears. When Gale shakes himself and gives him a faint smile from the corner of his eyes, the murmuring changes to hopeful. "Come here and tell me how much I should cut."

John takes a step closer, then another, until he’s close enough to touch. His trembling hand finds Gale's shoulder. When it connects with solid, warm muscle and the jut of an unbroken bone, skin healthy and not burnt, John's breath hitches around a suppressed sob. His eyes water again.

"Buck." His voice cracks. He raises his fingertips to Gale's cheek. Saltwater runs down his own. "Is it really you? Are we in heaven?"

This time when the flaps flare around Gale's head, he expects it and only jumps a little before he leans in for a kiss, long and desperate because he spent two years wishing he held Gale longer the night before his death. He never wants to let go of him again. It barely even registers in his brain that Gale keeps whispering feelings close to his skin even though his lips are pressed to John's.

Confused, confused, happy, affectionate -

John figures it's something about this place that lets him hear Gale's thoughts. They're one in God - must be, if their souls are tangled like this. A shared heaven. Peace. The pain of John's grief is nothing compared to the slowly spreading happiness he feels.

"How about this?" Gale mumbles, pulling John's hands to his hair. It’s longer in the back and shorter on the top, an unusual style but John likes it, but he doesn’t know why Gale is so preoccupied with his hair. Don’t they have more important matters to discuss?

"Gale." John says quietly, running his thumbs over Gale’s cheek scars. He wonders how they got there. He didn’t think they’d still have marks like that after they die. "Do you remember Vietnam?"

Gale draws his eyebrows into a severe frown. Irritated, John hears him again. "Don’t tell me you named that mutt and smuggled him aboard."

"What?" John replies. His pulse starts racing with his confusion again. "Aboard?"

The appendages behind Gale's ears flutter wildly as Gale stares at him with those bright blue eyes of his. His expression is one of surprise and bafflement before a look of realization passes through him.

Alarmed, exasperated, John hears in his ears, then, calm. Pitying.

Gale's voice, when he speaks again, is patient and reassuring. "Is that where you come from? Viett-namm?"

He takes John's hands and pulls him gently towards the bedroom, too gently not to be suspicious. John's scared now. He doesn’t know what's going on or what he did wrong. Perhaps he only hit his head and didn’t die like he wanted, and these are the last fever dreams of his mind. Or, what if he didn’t say the right thing and he’s expelled from heaven?

"What are we doing?" He asks, chest rising and falling rapidly from the fear he tries and fails to control.

"We're just going to lie down, and you'll put your mask on." Gale says. "Calm down. Tell me about Viett-namm."

"I don't want to." John swallows, sitting on the mattress when Gale pushes him down. "You died." He grabs Gale's hand again. "Figured I'd follow you."

The anguish washing over John doesn’t feel like his own, but Gale’s face is kind and unreadable as he keeps pressing on John's shoulders until he lies down.

"Tuck these in." Gale says, sitting by John's hip and touching something around John's head.

"Ah!" John yelps when he feels a part of him flutter. He has those feeler things too, he realizes, gobsmacked. He reaches up to touch them, and they flare out against his pillow again.

Fond, heartbroken, he hears before Gale reaches up and tucks the things away again. When John tries to raise his hands to them once more, he pushes them away. They keep swatting at each other until Gale cracks a smile.

"Stop playing with you antennae."

"Yes, sir." John grins, but Gale just gives him a confused look as if he doesn’t understand.

He pulls the tubes around John's head again, then tries to put the mask on him, but John resists. "Wait, wait a second. What the hell is going on?" John tugs at the device. "What’s this? Where are we, Buck?"

Gale gives him a sad look and strokes John's face. "I'm not your Gale."

When John gapes at him, he slides the mask over John's face. He presses a button, and a sweet smell fills John's nose. Like a meadow. His limbs grow heavy, and he tries to protest and fight this strange, alien Gale off, but his strength drains from his limbs, and all that's left to him is to blink at Gale through drooping eyelids. His fingers flop on Gale’s thigh.

"My Bucky likes to use this device to see things happening to him in other times and other places. But this thing -" Here, Gale’s jaw clenches. "- is so goddamn old that sometimes it fails to wake him up properly. So you need to go back to sleep." He leans over John and strokes his head.

When John's antennae flare open again, he gives John a fond, amused smile. "In every universe, huh?"

The world starts darkening around the edges. Shadows cling to John's vision, narrowing it down to Gale's face, then only his eyes. A drop of wetness trickles down John's cheek.

"Gale..." is all he manages to say.

"He's waiting for you in your world." Gale says quietly. "Just go to sleep."

He's dead, John wants to say, but the words don’t make it to his lips. His eyes close, and he can’t open them again.

The soft touch of a kiss brushes his forehead. I love you, Gale’s voice whispers, but John isn’t sure if he really hears it.

Darkness descends, and he leaves.

#mota #buck x bucky #gale cleven #john egan #clegan #tw: death #tw: angst #tw: mcd #tw: suicide

20 notes · View notes

florencemtrash · 1 year ago

Text

Flame, Shadow, Beast : Beast II

Azriel x Reader x Eris

Summary: Years after Eris frees you from his father’s prison, you’ve managed to find a new love, new friends, and build a life for yourself in Autumn. But when a certain Shadowsinger stumbles upon your home, dragging in painful memories of betrayal and longing, you’ll have to face the things you left in the past and make choices about the future you want.

Warnings: Angst and allusions to torture and death.

Flame, Shadow, Beast: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

You sat on Eris’s bed, your gorgeous dress crumbled beside you with the crown resting on top of the heap. It silently mocked you as you wrapped his robe closer around your body, burying your face in his scent. You shut your eyes and looked away from the door where Bryaxis was currently pacing on the other side.

Eris, Halvor, and Aurelia had been gone for two hours. Locked away in his official chambers discussing the matter of your bond with Azriel.

“My Lady-”

“Don’t call me that, Myrah.” The blademaiden had similarly tossed aside her glittering gown of silk and metal, choosing instead thin armor of bronze and soft leather. It was better suited for her slick style of fighting. She didn’t say anything as she climbed onto the sheets behind you and began to brush the tangles out of your damp hair.

“He won’t send you away.” She finally said after your hair had been brushed, oiled, and braided.

The bond fluttered as if in disappointment. You shoved it deeper, willing it to disappear entirely.

“He may not have a choice.”

Autumn couldn’t risk another war. Prythian couldn’t risk another war. But if Azriel dared to invoke the Blood Duel, no matter the outcome more blood would be shed.

No, he wouldn’t do that. You thought to yourself. Would he?

You’d heard of males doing worse things for less and Azriel was no male to be trifled with. And… He was in pain.

As much as you tried to ignore it, and as much as he tried to shield you from it, Azriel was hurting. You felt muted waves of it through the bond like washes of tide against the shoreline.

If only you hadn’t chosen tonight to wear the crown or the dress or to subtly declare yourself the future Lady of Autumn. If only you’d had them leave sooner or… maybe this had all been a mistake. Maybe all the time you’d spent in Autumn had been a mistake, even if you were happy. Maybe…

You looked around the room. The bedposts soared into the sky, disappearing into a ceiling that had been painted to look like the forest canopy. Colors of the sunset swirled down like wind. The roaring fire spread its molten heat across the warm wood furniture. Everyone spoke of the cruel beauty of the Forest House, its opulence and the disloyalty it housed within amber-encrusted walls. But you had only ever felt safe here. You’d fallen in love with all its old-fashioned peculiarities and the tales that had written themselves into the wood without anyone ever knowing.

There in the corner was a dresser with burned handprints crawling up the sides- courtesy of Eris sneaking into the room to visit his mother after he’d just learned to walk. There above the vanity were two magnificent elk horns, altered to look like wings in flight. Lucien had found them shed by the river when Eris had first taken him hunting. Little trinkets you’d bought for him littered the room alongside the additions Myrah, Halvor, and Aurelia had gifted him over the years. Your own belongings filled the spaces previously left cold and empty, just like you spent most nights filling the empty spaces in his bed.

You set your jaw.

“Myrah,” She looked at you with wide eyes, “I think it’s time I got dressed.”

“Eris specifically said not to let you out of his room. It could be dangerous.” Myrah said with a half-concealed smirk, walking beside you as you made your way towards Eris’s office.

The Forest House was impenetrable… but a Shadowsinger could get into places others couldn’t. You felt the bond within you, daring to follow the string to wherever Azriel lay on the other side. The smallest tug and Azriel was stirring. You pulled away almost immediately. He wasn’t anywhere near the Forest House.

“He also said you were to be my blademaiden. Remind me of what that entails.” You said, refusing to slow down.

“To protect you with my life. To follow your orders… To care for you as my best friend.”

You blinked and shot her a look. “The last part isn’t in your oath.”

She shrugged, “It’s not in my oath as a blademaiden… doesn’t mean I don’t have personal oaths I adhere to.”

You squeezed her hand and she squeezed back harder.

Whatever conversations had been going on when you burst through the door died immediately. Halvor and Samson - third in command and Autumn’s spymaster - bowed when you entered, looking like a storm on a mission to render the room to splinters. Aurelia dipped her head, eyes shifting between Eris and you with a hint of sadness. It shaved away at your confidence.

“I need to speak with Eris. May we have the room?” You said, phrasing it more as a command and less of a question.

Halvor nodded, making his way out with Samson and Myrah in tow. Aurelia lingered behind, squeezing Eris’s shoulder before waltzing out.

“What have you been discussing?” You said once the door had shut and you felt Eris’s magic wall up the sound in the room.

“I think you already know.” Eris said, standing up behind his desk and rubbing away the pressure building behind his eyes. He still wore his clothes from dinner and although he’d taken off his crown, a greater weight seemed to have fallen onto his shoulders.

Eris swallowed. He had a letter crumpled up in his hand, half-written and blotted with ink spills. It began to smolder and burn.

“We weren’t sure-I wasn’t sure…” his voice trailed off, “I wasn’t sure if you’d already made up your mind.”

“About?” “About going to him. About being with him.” The words sounded strangled, like they were beasts that had fought against being spoken out loud. “He is your mate.”

“I don’t care.”

Eris closed his eyes, “Y/n, I’m not-” “I said I don’t care.”

He refused to look into your eyes, hands splaying out on the table as he fought back the fear in his chest. He didn’t want you to go. He’d given more of himself to you than he’d ever dared to before, and you had protected that trust with a fierceness he’d never seen. But this was something wholly out of his control. Something that had been dictated by the Mother. Who was he to stand between you and your mate? “What if… If you choose me, what if you come to regret it? What if I can’t give you what a mating bond can?” He said softly, as if he’d already given up on the hope that you’d stay. It lit a fire in your soul.

“I don’t care what the powers-that-be say about us.” You said, storming around the desk, “I don’t care if some force decided I am his equal or that we would make strong children together.”

The bond was a sacred thing, more precious than anything land, gold, or blood could buy. But it was no guarantee of happiness. No guarantee of love. You would know, because you’d already found your happiness and love elsewhere.

You rushed forward, taking Eris’s face in your hands and feeling immediate relief when he didn’t move away. He leaned into your touch, turning his head to kiss the palms of your hands with reverence.

“I choose you, Eris. This hasn’t changed anything. Not for me.” You said with conviction.

“It hasn’t changed anything for me either.” Eris sighed in relief and touched his forehead against yours, your breaths mixing sweetly in the space between you two.

“I would choose you.” He whispered fiercely, “Every. Single. Time. I would go to war for you, my love. Come hell or high water.”

“I know,” You smiled, gently kissing on the lips and sighing when his warm hands traveled up the skin of your back, holding you to him, “I would do the same for you. But let us hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Eris showed you the letter, the corners singed and flaking, and you smoothed it out on the mahogany table. Rhysand had been quick to request another meeting. Tension and worry were scratched into the curves of his flowery handwriting as he explained the situation in diplomatic terms:

He was sorry for not attending the dinner. The Inner Circle had been unaware of the mating bond until it was too late. Azriel would behave himself and only come if called. The decision was yours. Whatever you chose, they wanted to continue being Autumn’s allies for the good of Prythian and to have you in their lives as friends, not enemies. It was delicate. Hopeful. A letter from someone who wanted peace as much as you did. Peace for his family. Peace for his son.

The letter placed you in a position where you could wait for the tidal wave to settle. But just like the last time, this was not an issue you could ignore forever. An ax would always linger over your head, swaying dangerously close to your neck until you spoke with Azriel. So although you didn’t agree to another visit with the Inner Circle, you did allow Azriel to come to Autumn again.

You stood by the border, whispers of frost bitten wind snaking through the white gaps in the trees and reaching for your ankles.

Samson and twelve of his best males and females stood behind you, archers at the ready and swordsmen with their hands gripping their hilts. They were more for Eris’s comfort than your own, and you would have your privacy when it mattered most.

Azriel emerged from the blizzard beyond like an ink stain on porcelain paper, bleeding into existence with his shadows swarming around him. He hadn’t been sleeping - you could tell from the faint bruises beneath his eyes. Somehow the imperfection made him more handsome, more mysterious. But you hadn’t had eyes for him in a long time.

“Come on.” You said, tilting your head towards the river that rushed and danced in the distance. You walked in silence, Azriel trailing behind like the shadow that he was and matching your shorter footsteps. He didn’t want to alarm you by overtaking you. Still, it was even more unnerving to know he was behind you without hearing or seeing him. You could only feel that bond tying you together, pulling you towards the male who walked ten paces behind.

You glanced back and he stopped, teeth clenching tightly as he looked at you. You were beautiful, shining in the burning forest like a flame. You’d always been beautiful and he had known this, but he hadn’t fully recognized it until it was far, far too late.

“Will you be slinking behind me the whole time like a kicked dog or will you walk beside me?” There was a biting humor in your voice that eased the tension in his shoulders. He walked beside you until you finally led him to the river. Any concerns that he might take this opportunity to survey the Autumn Court disappeared. He had his eyes on you the entire time like you were the only thing left in the world.

You sat down on the slick rock, dipping your bare feet into one of the clear streams that branched off from the river beyond, tumbling over boulders and stones with crisp clarity. Azriel took the cue to lower to the ground as well, his knee barely brushing against yours as he settled his magnificent wings on the cool stone.

“I’m sorry about Elain.” You said after a while of staring at the water.

Azriel winced.

Maybe it was the wrong thing to say. It was no secret that five years after the Autumn Court war ended, Elain had quietly moved to the Sun Palace and mated Lucien. You’d met her briefly when he’d visited Eris, and as much as you wished you could resent her, she’d been lovely and kind, and kept good on her promise not to say anything about you to her family. You understood why Azriel had loved her… why he’d chosen her.

“I didn’t… I didn’t continue things with her after you were gone.” He said, choosing his words with care. His voice was rougher than usual, the sound rumbling out from his chest like the rolling of thunder. “It never felt right… I never felt right. I suppose I understand why now.”

He looked at you hopefully, hazel eyes wide and uncertain as he gently sent his thoughts down the bond. You shivered, feeling echoes of his love and longing for you along with the shame and guilt that accompanied it.

He hated himself for the decisions he’d made. He had thought that Elain was meant for him - three sisters for three brothers. It seemed so simple, so obvious. So with each year that the mating bond hadn’t fallen into place, dark voices had whispered in his mind that he wasn’t truly a member of his family. Always an outsider. Always alone. It was why he’d traded you for Elain. A choice born out of a desperate desire to be loved and accepted. It was the worst mistake he had made in his life.

“Azriel. I can’t.” You said, shaking your head and breaking eye contact.

“Can’t, or won’t.” He hadn’t touched you yet, but you saw his scarred hands flex out of the corner of his eyes, inching ever closer to where yours rested in your lap.

“Both.”

You thought back to the first days you’d spent in the caves: Your wounds fresh and bleeding, the itching and pulsing of your burned flesh somehow getting worse as they healed, the desperation that came from existing in complete and total darkness. The only sounds you’d heard being the crunch and moans of the other poor souls that Beron sent down.

It still hurt to think about and you didn’t believe it would ever go away.

“I learned something the day you left me.”

“Y/n. Please-” He whispered, begging. His hands reached out for yours, and you let him.

You smiled sadly, tracing the scars that marred his hands. All the terrible past things that still clung to him. Things he could never forget.

“Please.” He didn’t even know what he was begging for. He knew he didn’t deserve your forgiveness. He didn’t deserve the right to call you his mate. But… he could hope.

You traced over the scars once more, then let go of his hands.

“I learned I was never part of your family. Not truly. I was the one you were willing to sacrifice, not the one you’d burn down the world for.”

Azriel swallowed thickly, pulling back on the shadows that had escaped his control and had begun to curl around your arms and your legs.

He shook his head, “That’s not true. You have always been a part of this family. You will always be a part of this family.”

You stayed silent.

“Is there… is there any chance at all for me to fix this?” Azriel asked. His hands now rested in between his knees, clasped so tightly together the pale skin of his scars blended into nothing. “To convince you to come back.”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

He closed his eyes and deflated. A tear streaked down his cheek, dripping onto his lap.

“I won’t leave him, Azriel. I won’t. Not for anyone. Not even for you.” “I know.” He whispered.

“I don’t… I don’t hate you. I never did. And I’m glad that Elain is alright. It probably was the right decision to make. I don’t know if Beron would have let Elain live. Not even as his prisoner.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say that just to spare my feelings or to try and make things better.”

“That’s not why I’m saying it.”

Azriel stood up, furiously wiping away his tears and burying the feelings deep. He buried the bond even deeper and for the first time since the bond had snapped into place for you, you felt silence.

You looked at him sadly. He hadn’t changed since the last time you saw him. He still loved deeply and hurt deeply too.

You stood by his side, watched the river wind its way through the woods.

“It’s a beautiful place.” Azriel said softly, “I can see why you love it. And I… I understand why you love him. I do. I just wish it was me.” He swallowed thickly.

“You’ll find someone else, Azriel. I know you will.” You said, offering him a small, sad smile.

He didn’t return it. Just looked at you for as long as he could, drinking in the sight of you.

The next time he saw you he’d be calling you High Lady of Autumn. You’d be bound to this place and its magic, and he would never see you like this again. Gone were the days when you’d collapse on his office couch, chatting his ear off to help him forget the terrible things he’d done, or the days where you’d perch by the window in silence just to remind him he wasn’t alone. Gone were the nights where he’d gather you in his arms and shoot off into the sky to count the stars and find peace. He wanted those days back. He would have done anything to get those days back.

“No. I won’t.” Azriel said quietly and then said nothing more.

You took the cue and led him through the woods, tracing a path between the trees no one from outside the Autumn Court would be able to recognize.

Samson bowed when you reached him, signaling his warriors to fall back. You would have your privacy.

When Azriel stepped over the threshold back into the Winter Court, you felt the magic in the air change, sealing the Shadowsinger out of your home. He pressed his hand against it, momentary panic freezing his lungs as he saw that you remained on the other side.

You breathed in deeply, steeling yourself for the words you were about to speak.

“Azriel, I will say this once, and only once. If you so much as lay a finger on Eris or my home, I will never forgive you. I won’t hesitate to protect what’s mine.”

“I know.” He said. The small smile he gave was full of heartache. He wished he’d done so many things differently, then maybe he would have been so lucky to hear you threaten someone to protect him. It was a terrible fate to be on this side of things.

“If… if anything happens - anything at all - know that I will always be here to help you. Promise me that you know.” “I know.” You said sadly. “I hope you find someone, Az. I really do. But that person will not be me.”

He nodded.

You didn’t look away, not as he held up both hands and pressed his forehead against the barrier. It was his own silent way of saying goodbye. Then, just as he had appeared, his shadows swallowed him whole, carrying him away to the Night Court where you hoped he would find a life that would make him forget all about this pain.

“Goodbye, Az.” You whispered.

But he was already gone.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Might write some Azriel x Reader oneshots to make myself feel better after wrecking my own heart.

Sorry for this chapter, everyone. But Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate. Lol.

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @nightless @mmb-09 @thesnugglingduck @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @logankemaek @the-sweet-psycho @a-frog-with-a-laptop @flameandshadowx @applerubyy @esposadomd @imma-too-many-fandoms @bubybubsters @kalulakunundrum @chasing-autumns-chill @brujitafantomatico @emptyporsche @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @saltedcoffeescotch @djdjdhdheh

#eris x reader #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #High Lord Eris #High Lady Reader #azriel x reader #azriel x mate reader #azriel x you #eris x you #eris x reader x azriel #azriel x reader x eris #acotar #acotar fanfiction #autumn court #acotar autumn court #the inner circle #inner circle #inner circle x reader #azriel shadowsinger

359 notes · View notes

gretavanfleetposts · 1 year ago

Text

Fire in the Water: Chapter Nine

Summary: You had thought dating a vampire would be the most complicated thing you'd ever done. But as it turns out, becoming one is even more complicated. The boys are determined to make your transformation as smooth as possible while each fighting to maintain the relationships they once had and those they now lust for. Author's Note: As always, I'd like to thank the lovely @gretasmokerising and @earthlysorrows Content Warnings: swearing, death, mentions of being burned alive, allusions to drowning (no one is actually drowning but it is written that way), mentions of suicide (this one is a lot, folks) Word Count: 10k

Add Yourself to the Taglist

Jake sat next to you with a cool exterior but you could tell by the way he fidgeted his thumbs around one another in a frantic dance, one always chasing after the other, that he wasn't as calm and collected as he wanted to appear. You could guess what was going through his head, too: the danger you were both in now that the council knew about you. It was what had been going through your head since you'd laid eyes on the tall man who looked like the creature he was in your home. It was what had been going through your head during the silent journey to the airport, through security, sitting at the gate, and now as you sat in a cramped airline seat surrounded by blissfully unaware human passengers waiting to take off.

The council had summoned you to their place of rule in a city called Niterra, tucked away within what humans knew to be Barcelona. The way Jake described it, it was a well-kept secret hidden in plain sight. That was where the high council wrote law into stone. That was where you were headed for what you could only assume would be a trial, with you as the evidence of Jake's crimes.

“I need to tell you something.” Jake only gave a quick glance at his surroundings before leaning over slightly to speak quietly to you.

He spoke in a hushed tone to avoid Marcus’ ears; Marcus, who appeared to be making light conversation with a flight attendant, several rows in front of you.

You nodded uneasily, glancing about at your surroundings the way he had before meeting his eyes. And when you finally did match his gaze, you saw the cracks in the facade.

“The reason you're struggling to use your gifts is because we haven't completed the binding ritual,” he explained with a guilty look on his face. “You'll grow weaker and weaker until we do.”

You could tell he was waiting for the brunt of your anger but it never came. Instead, all he found behind your eyes was shock.

The last instance you had tried to use your gifts to no avail suddenly made sense to you now. It was the reason you hadn't flown off the handle at your usual readiness. It was the reason you hadn't hurt anyone in over a week. You hadn't even realized it had been happening, your abilities dampening from the inside out until they were nothing but a slurry of mush that couldn't form into anything substantial. You only wished you had known before you’d possibly found something good to put them to use for. Something worthy of such pain, at least.

“I should have told you sooner but I didn't want you to think I was trying to push you before you were ready just so that I didn't have to be without my gifts.”

You swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump that now blocked your throat. That’s exactly what you would have thought if he had told you before the high council arrived. You never would have given yourself over to him that way. You probably never would have trusted him again. So you could hardly blame him for it.

But regardless of what had led to the decision and how warranted it had been at the time, it still left you both in a dangerous position that you now couldn’t ignore.

“I can't protect us,” you whispered, your eyes boring holes into the back of Marcus’ head.

Jake gave you a look of disapproval, his hand meeting yours on the armrest to give it a tight squeeze. “You won't have to. I'm prepared to take full responsibility for what I did. There's no reason it should even involve you.”

“But what happens if one of us dies before binding?” You turned to study him, suddenly thinking about the different ways this situation might play out and just how fucked you possibly were. “Are they permanently weak? Permanently unable to defend themselves?”

“There haven't been many documented cases of that happening but yes, historically the other has weakened to the point of losing their gifts entirely.”

Losing your gifts entirely. It would be a reprieve from the inner turmoil you'd felt since the moment you turned. Maybe it would even be a blessing. But a life without Jake would hardly be worth it. Your selfish reasons were exactly that: selfish. And Jake had given you a reason to leave that selfishness behind you.

You only wondered if the high council would even leave it up to you. And if you were to be honest with yourself, you doubted they would.

“Who is Cassius?” you asked, the thought having brought another name to mind that set your teeth on edge more than Marcus’ did without even knowing the man behind it.

Jake cleared his throat and seemed to gulp down the more aggressive feelings he had about the man you had just named. “He's the head of the high council. He has final say on all decisions, all laws, all rulings,” he shook his head, almost exasperated, “everything.”

“What's his gift?”

“He's clairvoyant.”

“Like Danny?”

“No,” Jake corrected, “Danny's visions are subjective. Cassius sees everything exactly as it will happen.”

You sucked the skin of your cheek between your teeth as you thought about what that meant.

“So he saw me coming?” you questioned.

“Well, I don't think he'd given me much thought in years. Something brought us to his attention in the first place for him to know to look.”

His voice was never void of that concern that had been there since the moment Danny had interrupted you both earlier that night. It was there now as he thought of this man he must have known. One he must have feared, by the look of it.

You didn't relish seeing Jake that way, thinly veiled fear in his eyes as he tried his best to put on a good front for you. Jake was always so calm, always so even. It didn’t bode well for the man you were about to meet.

“Can he stop the things before they happen?” you asked. “I mean, can he intervene?”

Jake pursed his lips, looking more and more lost in his own thoughts the longer you spoke about Cassius.

“Yes but he rarely does. Only when it suits him…He's not exactly a good person.”

As he trailed off quietly, you tried your best to piece things together. A powerful man with the ability to see all, unwilling to change the course of the future unless it suited him. You could guess how things typically ended in his court. But that wasn’t exactly what worried you.

Something had brought Cassius’ attention to your doorstep. And there was a fear that had been creeping up the back of your throat like a lump that refused to go unnoticed since Marcus had arrived. It was a fear born of something Jake had said in a more heated moment, something you never in a million lifetimes would have believed. But two of his brothers were absent from the house. Neither seemed capable of it, betraying their brother. But one of them had been just angry enough when he left…

Jake's hand found yours again, the chilled comfort of his skin breaking you from your thoughts before you could entertain them for too long.

“Just do what they say no matter what and you'll be fine,” he whispered with his eyes suddenly locked on yours like he was begging you to listen to him for once in your life without argument. “I promise you, I will get you out of this.”

Your shoulders fell and a sigh puffed in your chest. You'd give anything to go back in time several hours, to relive your night with Jake but finish what you had started. Maybe then this mess wouldn't feel so messy.

“We should have bound when we had the chance,” you admitted, turning to stare forward, this time at the seat back in front of you, losing yourself in the knit blue pattern.

Mentally reprimanding yourself now would do you no good. Still, that didn’t stop you from doing it.

So fucking stubborn.

“You weren't ready for it,” Jake answered quickly with another squeeze to your hand.

“Look at the position I've put us in, Jake,” you argued back. “Ready or not, we can't defend ourselves-”

“There is no ‘we’ here,” he stopped you with a pointed look and a tense tone tightening his already rigid demeanor. “I don't want you to do anything that will put you in harm's way. You're still a newborn and you're strong. Cassius will take a liking to you. As long as you listen to him, you'll be fine.”

“But what about you?”

He was silent when you met his eyes, his jaw clenching under the weight of your stare, a stare that didn’t hide any of its accusatory heft, like you didn’t trust him not to do something stupid for your sake. And you certainly didn’t.

He relived it as your eyes locked, unwavering despite the chaos of life around you, just the way you did, relived the night only hours prior when you had each finally bared your souls to one another. It was worse this way, you couldn’t help but feel it. Now you knew what you’d be sacrificing, you both did. Maybe it made the path clearer before each of you but it hurt all that much more.

He stared forward again, breaking whatever magnetizing force had been holding you that way with a relinquished sigh that came from a place of resentment, not from what he had done but from the fact that he had never had any choice but to do it. He could have lived a thousand lifetimes over and he would have turned you in each one. You both knew it. You were always destined to end up here.

“It was my decision. I alone will face the consequences.”

It didn’t stop you from protesting, but a flight attendant passing by and giving you a warm greeting cooled any escalation before it heated to a boil. So rather than causing a scene, you decided to drop it for the time being, opting to attempt to gather more information from him instead while he seemed so willing to give it.

“I take it you've met them all before.”

“Sam and I both have. When I turned the other woman, I was summoned alone. But after Adele bound with Danny in the 70s, Sam spent a decade sitting on the council.”

“Sam was on the council?” Why anything surprised you anymore, you weren't sure. But this certainly did. You couldn't imagine Sam sitting so still. Couldn't imagine him confined within walls and rules, doing the bidding of others and judging everyone who stood before him. He didn't seem to have it in him and if he did, surely he would have cast judgment over you. He'd had reason enough to.

“Barely,” Jake answered. “Low level position. They liked his gifts; he could tell them when their subjects were lying. But they were hard on him. I swear, it wasn't Adele leaving him that turned him into what he is now, it was his time on the council.”

You felt your forehead crease, the weight of your sudden worry folding the skin downward as you thought of anyone hurting Sam.

“What did they do?”

“Constantly tested his loyalty to them. Cassius would have him prove someone's innocence just to turn around and have him kill them.” Jake sighed and shook his head, dropping his eyes to his hands that fiddled once again in his lap. “Sam would never admit it but it really did a number on him.”

“How could they-? I mean, why would Cassius do that?”

“Not all vampires have gifts. Cassius doesn't really value the lives of those that don't. But those that do, he wants to make sure they're in his pocket. He wanted to break Sam to use him as his own.”

“But he was able to leave? I mean, they didn’t break him. He left. Cassius let him leave.”

If Jake could see how frantic you suddenly felt, he didn’t let on other than slowing his words as if that could slow your panic.

“Sam is incredibly gifted. Whatever he's shown you, it's only the tip of the iceberg in terms of what he can do. Cassius would either have a vampire like that killed or he would use them. Whatever he has seen in Sam's future must have either made him feel safe enough to leave him alive or interested him enough to leave him alive.”

You were almost speechless. All that time and Sam had never even so much as let on.

“I take it Sam hasn’t really shown you much of what he can do,” Jake said quietly, like he was testing the waters.

“You mean other than the mind reading and the memory projection,” you answered quietly as you sat staring stunned at the stupid stained blue airline seat before you.

“I visited once…while he was on the council,” he began slowly and suddenly you weren't sure if it was for your sake or his. “I saw him…I mean, I-I watched him crawl inside another vampire's mind and drive them so crazy that they burned themself alive just to get some relief.”

He eyed you carefully before he continued, looking for a sign of, well, anything really that might have told him continuing was a bad idea.

“He can show you your own memories, make you relive them even if you thought you'd forgotten them. He can make you believe something that isn't real. Make it feel like a memory of something that actually happened when it didn't. He can see your dreams, manipulate them, give you nightmares, share his own. He can convince a person’s brain to just…give out on them. Convince them they’re on fire to the point that their skin actually burns. He can make people go crazy and turn them sane again with hardly any effort at all. If it can happen in your mind, Sam can manipulate it how he wants.”

He was shaking his head by the end and it made you wonder what else he had seen his brother do, things that Sam had never shown you. Although you couldn't really blame him for not wanting to subject you to that.

“To be completely honest with you, I don’t even know why Cassius let Sam live, let alone let him leave the council.”

“I had no idea,” you whispered. It was all you could muster at the mental image of Sam hurting people that way. The way you did. Maybe even worse than the way you did.

“He doesn’t ever use his gifts to their full extent anymore. I think he's afraid that if he does, he'll grow to enjoy it too much.”

“But he's so…gentle…”

“Yeah, I think you're the only person that Sam shows that side of himself to.”

It was hard to ignore the tinge of jealousy, anger, something, that seeped into his words. It only made you want to defend Sam harder, like you had not too long ago in the greenhouse when his brother had launched a similar attack.

“You really think he could be the type of person-”

“I've felt it in him,” Jake cut you off swiftly. “He struggles to resist temptation just the way you do. Why do you think he kills the people he feeds from when he doesn’t have to? The same reason that you prefer it.”

It was the comparison that silenced you. You'd only been without your gifts for a short while but had you already forgotten the things you yourself were capable of? And thinking about it now, Sam had been more than able to dig around in your mind and manipulate things however he wished but he hadn't. And yet, that didn't mean he didn't deal with his own demons. It was just another battle he hadn't shown you, another secret he had kept, maybe for your sake, maybe for his. Not that it really mattered when it came to things left unsaid.

You were even more like Sam than you realized. You had thought it was the way you struggled that reminded him of Danny and warmed him to you a bit but the whole time, it had been himself that he saw, like he was facing a mirror, one he couldn't turn away from. He had helped you to help himself. And maybe, just maybe, he really did need you the way you needed him. Perhaps a selfish thought but one you couldn't quell nonetheless. Maybe you had shown Sam a side of himself that he could find. Maybe he could only find it with you.

It suddenly made more sense why he left. And why he didn't say goodbye. You knew how hard goodbyes were. You never would have let him go. And he probably never would have been able to leave.

You tried to remind yourself that Jake wasn't the enemy as your thoughts swirled around Sam and the pain you felt for him, like a dagger growing sharper and puncturing deeper with every new morsel of information you learned about him, his life, the things he had given up. The things he had lost. You tried to remind yourself that Jake had given things up, too. Jake had lost things too. And now, he faced an even more terrible fate than saying goodbye. He faced judgment for being unable to say it.

“What was her name?” you asked out of the blue, swiftly cutting through the silence with the question and stunning Jake by the look on his face when he met your eyes. “The woman you turned, what was her name?”

He stared at you squarely for a moment before answering, straightforward. He rarely ever did that.

“Rebecca.”

Rebecca.

“Did you love her?”

“I thought I did. But I never even really knew her.”

His voice cracked when he said it. Not in any way that signaled to you that he was still emotional over her, but in that Jake way, where the husk reached a tipping point and his voice gave out slightly thanks to the rasp and the push and pull of a quiet word spoken just above a whisper that always seemed to strain his vocal cords a little harder. It was something unique to him that his twin didn't share. But it suited him. You thought so now more than ever. It was that familiar crack that let a hint of what was behind it shine through, his more honest self. His more scared self.

And you were scared, too. Maybe it was the tie, maybe it was self-preservation. Regardless, you felt it. It tugged on you, yanked on your skin and wrestled with your stomach.

“Jake, if anything happens to you, I'll never forgive myself,” you breathed lightly, deciding you didn’t want to learn anything else for the foreseeable future. Whatever else there was to know, you didn’t need to know it.

It was the first smile he had given you in hours but it barely touched his eyes. And even so, you found some comfort in it, whatever you could manage.

“Trust me, I have a lot of incentive to stick around.”

—

There was a car that arrived to drive you through the narrow streets of the city to the great stone fortress that laid at the heart, housing more danger than anyone in the vicinity even realized. Little humans going about their little lives, living blissfully unaware that another civilization lived right atop them, feeding from them and discarding them like nothing.

You weren’t one to find things so grotesque so easily but the moment you stepped foot out of the car and gazed up at the large, assuming structure, you felt just how morbid it all really was.

You and Jake were escorted inside by a pair of unflinching guards who likely were used to their duties, enough to know there was no point in getting to know either of you. But Jake’s hand gripped yours tightly, all through the entrance and down the grand, dim, castle-like hallway, until two wide double doors that reached up fifteen feet high were opened to reveal before you a large room made almost entirely out of white and black checked marble with seven throne-like seats lining the back wall.

When Marcus took his seat amongst them, each was filled. Your eyes scanned over them all, from one end to the other. Every vampire who sat among them with eyes more piercing than the last seemed to sit like stone statues, practically blending into their marble surroundings. You presumed it was Cassius who sat in the center, taking up the largest throne in the middle. But it was the vampire who occupied the seat furthest to the left that suddenly had you holding back tears you didn’t know had been at the ready.

Sam.

“Ah, my guests!” the vampire in the middle exclaimed before you’d had enough time to think through Sam’s presence or his icy stare toward his brother. “I am so honored you both could come.”

If Marcus’ appearance had been unsettling, it was nothing compared to the way you felt staring into Cassius’ blood red eyes, an eerie smile curling up his thin lips against stark white skin that almost looked like powdery snow under the dim lights.

He held his eyes open far too wide for anything natural, flared his nostrils too much to look even remotely calm. And yet, he stood slowly and walked over to greet you both, practically floating his way across the room with the smoothness of his movements.

And although he seemed pleasant and endeared, it was obvious he was anything but. Merely putting on a show in hopes it would lower the guards of his prey. Or those he wished to keep in his pocket. You weren’t yet sure which one you were.

When he stood only a few inches from your face, unblinking as he took you in and sized you up, you fought against your nerves to remain silent and still, hoping that if you made yourself small enough or quiet enough, he would turn his focus toward something else.

But that odd, disingenuous smile never vacated his lips.

“Orestes,” he said, unflinching as a large man who looked just as ancient as he was approached like a gargoyle from behind him and took your hand roughly into his.

It sent an immediate jolt through your body, like he could get under your skin and touch you in a way you didn't like. But it only lasted a moment before he dropped your hand, offering a fingertip to Cassius who pressed his palm to it. And when their skin met, his eyes went even wider and he sucked in a long, deep breath.

“Ah, my Jacob.” He spoke inhumanly slowly and the way Jake's name rolled off his tongue made your skin crawl. “You have created something very…interesting.”

Cassius stepped around you, circling you to take you in from all angles before crossing in front of Jake and stopping there, just as close to him as he had been to you. An intimidation tactic if you were to judge it by the way it had left you feeling.

“You have not yet bound to her.” He didn't ask it like a question but he waited for a reply nonetheless. Despite probably already knowing the answer, too.

Jake looked as though he were fighting with every ounce of strength he had not to glance over at you. He looked to almost be straining himself keeping his eyes on Cassius’, to talk about you like you weren't even there just as Cassius seemed so keen on doing.

“No, not yet.” His voice sounded like a mere squeak when he finally found it.

“You mean to,” Cassius answered, and it was the wide smile that practically stretched from one ear to the other that churned up a rude nausea in your stomach.

It was what seemed to incite Jake to fail at his task too as his eyes clumsily found yours for too long a moment.

Cassius tutted his tongue and took Jake's cheeks roughly in one hand, turning the poor boy's eyes back to him. “Ah ah ah, I am the one who asked the question.”

“Yes,” Jake breathed out as the vampire dropped his hand. “Yes, I mean to.”

It seemed to entertain Cassius to no end, a shrill, piercing laughter shaking from his throat. He glanced about the room as he did, encouraging laughter from the others on the council. All but one. All but Sam.

When he turned back, his laughter quieted but his face hardly settled from its gaping mouth and wide eyes.

“May I speak with your lover in private?” he asked, still staring intently at Jake. “I should very much like to get to know her.”

You would have begged Jake to stay if you could have. But you knew he had no say in the matter. Do as you're told, that was what he had said to you. He was smart enough to do the same so despite how cold you suddenly felt, with only one quick glance, he accepted his usher toward the door with a trail of council members following him.

Sam was the last to leave the room, staying still in his chair with his eyes on yours. It was the first time you'd let yourself really look at him. You could have run to him if your feet had let you, even now knowing with almost certainty what he had done. You could still deny it. You could still lie to yourself. He at least looked sorry when his eyes found yours, a hint of red rimming at their edges.

He broke eye contact with you when Cassius turned impatiently, his smile widening awkwardly like he wanted to scold him but refused to do so in front of you for some reason. But without any word, Sam stood and crossed the room in stride, turning his back to the hall as he shut the large double doors to give Cassius one last haunting look before you were alone with your fate.

And he looked delighted to finally be alone.

"A vampire who has not yet bound herself to her soul tie, and one who is so beautiful too, after how long exactly?" He took the emptiness of the room as an opportunity to stand mere inches away from you now.

"A-a little over a month," you stammered as you found your own voice and tested it.

"Ah,” he breathed. “You are special indeed."

When you met him with silence and a blank stare, he began to pace a few feet in front of you, hands held behind his back and fingers practically twitching against his palms. You hoped you wouldn't come to learn what that must have meant although you could hardly complain about the distance he had put between you.

"The restraint that requires,” he continued. “I've not known many who can last much longer than a week. And you certainly did get a pretty one."

"I was with his brother before. It hasn't exactly been an easy transition." As you explained it, your voice gained steadiness, like you were finding your bravery.

"The one I now keep in my pocket?" he asked.

"No,” you corrected him. You hoped your hurt didn’t show in your voice. “A third."

He nodded and smiled to himself, something a little less eerie but just as entertained.

"Quite an entanglement you've seemed to have ended up in."

"You have the gift of astuteness, I see."

He laughed that same odd, delighted laugh at your sarcasm and although it wasn't a sound you particularly cared for, it was better than any punishment he might have thought to inflict upon your lack of respect. Actually, he almost seemed to approve.

"Intuition,” he smiled as his eyes widened deliberately and pointedly at you. “That is how I know it is neither the third nor the one to whom you are tied that sees your soul as it is."

Even if you had known exactly what he had meant by that, you wouldn't have given anything away willingly, and your icy stare was met with a gleeful giggle as he scrunched up his shoulders and slunk over to you.

“I must say, I do love the drama of it all,” he practically squealed before continuing his serpent-like movements around you. “I have long tried to recruit Jacob into my ranks. I’d have loved to have a matching pair. And yet, he refuses. It is a shame, too. If I had been successful, you would not be in the mess you are now.”

“I don't understand,” you broke your silence, catching him off guard when he stopped in front of you yet again.

“You have a very interesting future, my dear. I knew our beautiful little Jacob would break the rules for you. I saw it all. It was not a future I was prepared to see through to the end. But your lover is stubborn, and he refused my invitation. And so here we are, barreling toward the end of this exciting journey.”

He seemed far too excited to see things play out for your taste.

“I didn't realize there was someone out there so invested in my future,” you answered flatly.

“I am invested in all things worthy of my intrigue. And you, my dear,” he took your chin in his hand this time, yanking your face toward his, “you are more than worthy.” He let your face drop as he turned his back on you, heading for his throne that he practically threw his body into once he reached it. “The question is, do I let this mess continue or do I intervene?”

You shouldn't have encouraged him but you couldn't even help yourself, given the mess you were in. The mess you continued to make just like the trashed greenhouse you had left behind you. You had hurt so many brothers and in such a short amount of time, it was almost a relief to hear Cassius say it was not the future he intended to let happen. It was hardly a future worth letting play out at all.

“Can't say I wouldn't mind a little intervention,” you huffed under your breath.

It was an answer that delighted him.

“Oh, I do like you. I knew I would.”

He sat lounging comfortably in his chair with his untrustworthy eyes on yours and a smile plastered to his face. This was the man Sam had sold his soul to. This was the man that had hurt him beyond belief and yet it was the same man he had gone running back to in the end. And in that moment, you weren’t sure who you hated more, Cassius or Sam.

“If I may,” you began uneasily, knowing there was no going back once you’d asked the question, “how did you find out about me?”

“Ah, yes.” Cassius stood and took his time slinking across the room once more. This time when he reached you, his fingers curled in your hair and brought it to his nose, his eyes falling shut as he breathed in deeply to catch your scent and commit it to memory. And when his eyes opened, they almost seemed redder than before.

He took your face in one hand, the ice of his skin feeling like it could splinter your own where he touched you.

“It was our dear Samuel who told me it had been done,” he answered. “He is loyal to me. I made certain of that.”

If you had been alone, you would have sunk to your knees and screamed. If you’d had your gifts, you would have disintegrated everything in your path. And if Sam had been standing before you, you would have beat your body against him, waged war against him, begged him to tell you it wasn’t true or demanded a reason. But Sam wasn’t there. And you had no gifts. You had almost nothing left, not even any fight. And all of that anger and betrayal and heartbreak crescendoed into a single tear falling from the corner of your eye.

Cassius wiped at it with a single finger, studying the drop where it lay on the pad of skin. “Do not blame him for what he has done, my dear. You would not have gone unnoticed by me for long. I was always destined to find you out.” He turned his back on you again, a simple flexing of his two fingers against his palm held behind his back some invisible signal as he made his way to his chair once more. "It really is too bad he broke the rules."

You didn’t even have the time to grieve before two members of the council each opened one of the large doors behind you, as though they had been summoned. They made way for the rest to enter once more, Jake trailing in behind them all with Marcus to his back to ensure he didn't run. Not that he would without you.

And this time, Sam never let his eyes find yours.

“It isn't often I take the opportunity to step into another's path and alter it,” Cassius began once the company returned and settled into their respective seats. “But I have seen things in your futures that I cannot overlook. So, I am left with a choice: let you bind and restore your strength so that you may forever sit on my council…”

He took a sick moment to smile over at you before he finished.

“Or kill you both.”

“No!” Jake was already fighting against the hands that had quickly come to stop him from whatever feeble attempt he was about to make to stop Cassius as Sam’s voice screamed out overtop.

“That wasn’t our deal!”

“Silence!” Cassius boomed, suddenly a picture just as threatening as you now understood him to be as the smile dissipated and what had been hiding, that sinister, deadly serious look, shone through from beneath. “You,” he pointed at Sam, “have no weight here! You come and go as you please; you do not get to snivel and whine in my ear!”

He stood and turned his eyes toward Jake, anger turning into a dangerous glower. “And you.” You could practically see the disdain dripping from his mouth when he said it. “You have broken what little rules I set before you. Not to mention, I cannot overlook the fact that in the process, you have created something much more powerful than the last.”

It was then that Jake's eyes met yours again, tearful and tired and filled with remorse. It wasn’t an image of him that you wanted to remember.

“Leave me!” Cassius demanded again. “I shall think on it. And you two shall remain separated until I've decided.”

With a wave of his hand, you found yourself being dragged out the door by hands you didn't recognize, only the sound of Jake's cries for you audible over the ringing in your ears as he fought and ripped his way to you to no avail.

You went much more willingly, without hardly any fight at all as Cassius’ words sunk in, never letting your eyes leave his as hands similar to those that dragged Jake away pulled you in the opposite direction. You knew what he would choose. Jake had denied his council more than once already. You knew your fate. And as you were hauled away, gazing at Cassius unflinchingly while that smile returned to his face, you couldn’t help but wonder if Sam was happy with himself.

—

It was almost comical how cozy the room you had landed in was. They'd practically thrown you into it, a warm, golden-colored library that seemed so inviting when compared to the atrocities the council committed on a daily basis. You almost didn't even mind being locked away there, apart from the fact that you felt you'd go crazy sitting with your back to a tall shelf of books in a dreary silence as you wondered where Jake was and if he had ended up in an equally cozy room himself while hours ticked by.

You hoped he had. He deserved to spend his last moments in some kind of comfort, even if you desperately wanted to be the one to provide him with said comfort. It made you regret all the time you had spent running from him. All of the time you had wasted. If you had known this would be the outcome, you’d do it differently. If you had known your eternity together would be so short, you’d have cherished every moment you’d been given.

The sound of the door opening, the only door to the room, snapped your attention to the figure suddenly standing there. A familiar face amongst a sea of hostility.

“Danny,” you breathed, each of you crossing the room in a second to pull one another into an embrace.

“We came as fast as we could,” he answered with his lips pressed against your hair and his arms holding you tightly to him.

But you broke from his embrace to stare up at him.

"It was Sam. He told them about Jake turning me.”

You could tell he was fighting back his more immediate reaction to this news, looking stunned for only a fraction of a second before he shook it from his mind. Things he would deal with later, you presumed.

His hands landed on your biceps as he met your eyes and spoke almost frantically. "Y/n, they're going to kill you both. It's been decided. Josh is trying to talk them out of it now."

It was your turn to look stunned, the mention of Josh's name having done it. After all this time, after everything you had done, he had come back for you after all. Maybe you’d get to apologize to him before you died.

"Intervention,” you chuckled under your breath at the word Cassius had used, the one you had echoed. God, you had practically asked him to kill you.

“It won't work," was all you said as you pulled yourself from Danny's hands to pace about the room.

"Maybe we can sneak you to Jake to complete the ritual-"

"Sam can hear our thoughts. He’s probably relaying this all back to Cassius right now. He’ll never let it happen.” You turned around to face him again. “How is Jake? Have you been to see him?"

"Adele is with him."

You sighed, going back to your spot on the floor by the bookshelf and dropping down onto the marble floor heavily. And your thoughts circled just as endlessly as the room spun around you. "We were meant to spend an eternity together. Maybe if I hadn't been so stubborn-"

"This isn't your fault."

"It is my problem though."

Danny was on edge. You almost felt bad for him, seeing him standing there so helplessly, clearly not getting through to you. Although, that was hardly your fault. There was nothing to understand about the situation. Cassius saw the end. He would make it happen. Still, the way his shoulders slumped and his curls practically weighed themselves down along with his body as he sank to the floor in front of you, you couldn’t help but feel guilty for what this was doing to him.

"Adele was a lot like you when she was human,” Danny said quietly. “Very stubborn. Loyal. Fought the tie hard."

"But she came to you in the end," you finished it for him. The way it had happened. Not the ending you would get.

He nodded. "She did, she did. I'm just saying, it wasn't without a fight. She loved Sam deeply. And he didn't exactly make things easy for her."

You felt a deep sigh brewing in your chest, like a stress beginning to whistle inside your body, begging for you to let out some of the steam.

"Josh is a good person,” you answered, thinking of how he had come back to save you. And how you didn't deserve it. “If I could have chosen him, I would have."

"Is that the truth?"

Danny's question caught you off guard. But as you met his eyes, deep and imploring, you understood exactly what he was asking.

There was that sigh that had built. Except, instead of letting up on the pressure, it only seemed to add to the stress pulling your seams taught.

“Doesn't matter now,” you clenched your jaw hard thinking of the Sam you had known sitting in his rightful place on Cassius’ left. Where he clearly belonged. God, you hoped you didn’t cry. “He betrayed his own brother.”

Danny fell silent, watching you intently. He looked like he wanted to speak but he didn’t. He let the silence linger.

It gave you too much time to think about Sam. You’d tried to expel him from your mind when you’d been sitting there alone, thinking only of the way Jake had touched you earlier that night. Reveling in it. Reliving it. As many times as you could in the time you had left. But now it was Sam occupying your mind despite how hard you fought it.

You wondered what deal he had made with Cassius, why he had been so angry that he had ended up here in the first place. You wondered how he felt now, knowing you’d both die for it. Because of it. But more than anything, as you sat there silently, back propped up against books far older than you, maybe even far older than Danny, a world of history and lives lived and love loved, you longed for him.

"What are you going to do about him?" you asked without meeting Danny’s eyes, afraid of what he would see in yours if you did.

"There's nothing I can do, I don't think."

"You're his friend," you answered back, almost callously.

"I don't know if he still sees it that way," Danny admitted.

You felt your jaw clench.

“You gave up on him at some point,” you whispered suddenly as tears began to form in their usual place. “I see it. I feel it. You hide behind your tie like that's what stole you away-”

“You don't understand-” Danny tried to interject but you cut him off.

“He turned himself for you,” you spat finally. “You think you don't owe him anything? He gave up his life for you and then he gave up his love for you. He has given you everything!”

You could feel that familiar anger seething and spitting and spewing and desperately trying to claw its way out of you, weak as you were. But like this, Danny had no reason to fear you.

“He's the reason you're here,” he answered calmly, the only hint of his emotions being the wet glaze cast over his eyes that matched your own.

But not a single drop fell. Not from his eyes, anyway. And in the silence that clung to the air, uncomfortable and gnawing, Danny’s face seemed to wash over with realization.

“I can't believe I didn't see it,” he huffed out in exasperation, shaking his head lightly as his brows furrowed downard. “Adele tried to tell me; I told her she was crazy.”

You said nothing, rather opting to cast your eyes to the floor.

“But I see it now,” he continued. “Even after all of this. She was right. You love him.”

You wiped at your tears with the back of your hand, trying to dry them before they had a chance to fall and stain the floor with your remorse. And you sniffled back what emotions you could, pulling on your icy stare again and not caring that Danny could see right through you all of a sudden.

“Just don't abandon him again,” was all you said.

Danny looked like he was about to reach for you again when the door opened a second time, and this time the boy who stood in the doorway was much shorter than the last but with curls just as bouncy.

Josh.

There was only a moment of hesitation between you both before you found yourself in his arms, the tears finally falling when your face buried itself into the safety of the crook of his neck.

God, he practically felt warm. You had forgotten how comforting even just his presence was in the time that he had been gone but now with his arms wrapped around you, it was all you felt.

“I'm so sorry,” he mumbled against your shoulder where his head had dropped. “I’m so, so sorry. I should have been here. I never should have left. I thought I was doing you a favor.”

You couldn't even muster up the words, nothing but gentle sobs wracking your body as you longed to melt into him, to do nothing more than disappear where you stood in his arms and let that be your last memory.

Eventually though, it was the thought of your last moments and how you might spend them that forced you to dry your eyes and pull your head back to face him, just as teary-eyed as you.

He still looked like your Josh. He still smelled like your Josh. The pillowy skin of his lips and the rosiness his cheeks always carried despite being a vampire still sat warmly on his face but now, that toothy grin that had saved you from so much turmoil in the past was nowhere to be found. But even so, you found yourself forgiving him for all of the time he had missed.

His hands took your face between them and his thumbs seemed to strike over your face carefully to remember all the times they had done so under better circumstances.

“Cassius has already made up his mind,” he said as he held back his emotions rather clumsily. “Our only hope now is to break you both out of here.”

But you shook your head. “I don't think we can get out of this one.”

There were too many powerful beings at play, none of which now included you or Jake. You were exactly where Cassius wanted you and now, only a decision on his part could change that. But Josh didn't seem so ready to accept it.

“Don't say that. I'm not leaving you and Jake behind, do you hear me? I'm not losing you both.”

It was the way his voice cracked like Jake's usually did that shook the realization from you. Josh didn't have to lose you both. More importantly, he didn't have to lose his brother.

You took a step back from Josh, him and Danny both eyeing you carefully.

"They only need to kill one of us," you breathed out into the room.

"What?" Josh asked, his brows knitting together as he tried to understand where you were going with this, worried that he might have already known.

“If the other dies before they are bound, the one who survives weakens to the point of losing their gifts,” you explained. “That's what Jake said on the plane. With one of us gone, the other isn't a threat."

"Y/n, no-" Josh was quick to chime in with his disapproval but you continued, undeterred.

"We can still save Jake. If I'm gone, he won't be a threat to them. He'll lose his gifts and his tie. Surely Cassius will take that as payment for breaking the rules."

"He'll have no reason to live without you," Danny answered somberly from where he stood with his arms folded over his large chest. You could tell he was as equally displeased by the notion as Josh was but he was the one who could understand it the best. He would do anything for Adele, even this.

"I'm not going to let him die, Danny,” you shook your head, the tears finally drying on your cheeks and in your eyelashes as your decision became clear. “I won't let Josh lose something else."

But the curly-haired twin whose heart you had crushed looked even more devastated, taking you back between his hands to practically shake some sense loose. "Please don't do this. There's another way, we just have to find it."

You took his hands from your shoulders and cradled them before you in your palms. It was so weird to think of how far the two of you had been separated over the last two months, how you had gone from needing him to hardly even thinking about him. It felt so cruel now that you faced the idea of never seeing him again.

You owed that boy everything you could give him. Just the way Danny owed Sam, you owed Josh for everything you had put him through and everything he had done for you.

"He could live a life without me,” you said quietly as you studied his hands. “You both could."

He was already shaking his head vehemently.

"What makes you so sure I would want to?"

"This is all I can give you, Josh," you insisted. “Let me right all of my wrongs.”

Danny could see it now, your death set in stone, just as certain as the path you were on. You could tell by the way he was suddenly squeezing his eyes tightly shut, willing himself not to see it. It was how he had looked in the memory Sam had shown you after he had just turned, crouched and scared in the corner trying to hide from the things he didn’t want to see.

It was only when a commotion sounded from the hall that Danny’s eyes flew open again, searching for the cause. It had sounded almost like Sam although it was hard to tell through the racket. Maybe he had heard your plan just as Danny had seen it.

There was a layering of voices and what sounded to be feet moving, and suddenly the door was being pushed open by Marcus and another council member and you yet again found hands dragging you from your place.

This time when you entered the great hall, Sam looked forcibly sat in his seat, tears streaming steadily but silently down his face. Jake was dragged in soon after, the hands holding him clamping down much harder by the looks of it. You worried they'd break him if they held him any tighter.

And Cassius was at the center of it all, looking far more delighted than he had any business being.

“She has chosen to die for you!” he exclaimed from his throne, clasping his hands together with that eerie smile replaced on his lips.

One might have thought just looking at him that applause would be expected. But his words were only met with the sound of Jake screaming out and fighting against the vampires who held him back. And Sam, sitting up on his seat like the good little soldier he was, squeezed his eyes tightly shut as the tears streamed harder.

“My, you have enraptured so many hearts in your short life. I shall think of you often.” Cassius let his lips stretch even thinner before jumping up out of his seat and gliding over to where you stood, arms still clasped between cold hands now forcing you into a kneeling position.

When he reached you, he crouched down to meet you, lifting your chin with a single finger so as not to let you avoid the terror that was his eyes.

“I would be more than happy to do it, my dear,” he practically hissed.

“Don’t put your hands on her!” Jake screamed again, a sound that caused you to wince.

You couldn't let that be the last thing you heard before you died. It was too violent a sound to take with you to the grave.

Cassius glanced over to your tie with an annoyed look on his face.

“Let me touch her, please,” Jake pleaded, the pain in his voice surmounting until it cracked and fizzled and all but died in his throat. “Please,” he gave one last attempt, the sound barely audible in the room.

“You have no spark of power left in your body,” Cassius answered with a mean smile. “It would hardly do her any good.”

If you'd had your own gifts, you would have done it yourself. Jake was the second best, although to make him do it just felt cruel. And silently, you were thankful he couldn't. Surely that was a blessing, in the end.

But to die by Cassius or one of his minions felt a much more horrid way to go, your limbs being torn from your body, your head severed last. Or maybe they'd choose fire and there would be no escaping the blistering pain. You could be brave for Jake but the tears blurring your vision signaled to you and everyone else that you weren't nearly as ready for that as you had tried to believe.

That left only one capable of the task at hand: Sam.

You turned your eyes to his to silently plead with him. You spoke your thoughts as loudly as you could to force him to turn to you, to face you.

You watched his jaw tense and the red in his eyes grow angrier as you silently begged him to give you a more merciful death than Cassius would. He owed you, after all, didn’t he? If he could betray you so easily then surely he could do this, too.

If nothing else, you’d get to feel his hands again. Just one last time.

“I'll do it,” he said finally, reluctantly, through gritted teeth. “I’ll do it.”

Cassius stood and turned to him, seemingly surprised by what he heard though you suspected he wasn’t surprised by any of this.

“Now that I would like to see,” he grinned.

He dismissed Sam from his seat with a wave of two fingers, a signal to the vampire who seemed to be the only thing subduing him to let up his gaze and let Sam cross the room to you. And only the sound of Jake's repeated cries resonated about the room.

You didn't dare look over at him where he laid folded over on himself, having given up making his way to you in favor of chanting no over and over again until his voice hardly worked. You were thankful Josh couldn't see it. You hoped he was far enough away that he couldn't hear it, either.

When he met you on the floor, Sam's hands found your face, bringing your focus back to his tears instead.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered.

It had been so long since you had heard that voice directed at you and only you. It had been even longer since you had felt him touch you in that way that he did that seemed to right every wrong. And truthfully, it brought you comfort even now, knowing he would shield you from everything the way he always had.

“Don't touch her,” you heard Jake croak out one last time.

It was the last thing you heard before Sam invaded your mind.

Suddenly it was his thoughts that you could hear, sounding all around you and making you feel as though you had immersed yourself in him amongst a sea of black.

He wasn't invading your mind, he was letting you invade his.

“Please don't make me do this, please don't make me do this, please don't make me do this-” His thoughts layered one over top of the other but the dominant one, the one that was directed at you, thought for you to hear, it came through clearly.

“I won't let it hurt. You'll just feel me.”

Even with your tie and the way it felt toward the end being with Jake, Sam was never truly gone. Danny and Adele had been right and you saw that now. You loved him. And had you not tied with Jake, you would have chosen him.

“I always feel you,” you thought.

Sam took you back to the cliffs, back beneath the waves where you had last felt so close to him. Only this time, when you gazed out into the deep gray ocean that bubbled angrily at its surface but shifted so serenely beneath, it was yourself that you found staring back at you. He had taken you into his mind and cradled you there in his memory of you. His favorite memory of you.

You floated curiously across from yourself until you watched the arm of the other you slice through the water like it moved through molasses. You watched it push the water from its path and reach out for you slowly, gliding through ocean to find you. But the moment you felt your hand on you, in a blink it was Sam now floating across from you and pulling you into him.

In the distance, somewhere from a place beyond where your mind now was, you felt a burning sensation, working from the edges and doing its best to wriggle deeper. Sam was turning your own body against itself, convincing the rest of your body that it was on fire. Attacking your physical form using your brain and shielding you from it at the same time by housing your soul within the safety of his own.

Back beneath the water, he intertwined your bodies easily, letting your arms circle his back to feel the muscles beneath his shoulder blades, letting your legs weave between his and your feet hook around his ankles. He brought you as close to him as he could manage, one hand tangled in your hair to keep your face there against him, the other wrapping around your waist to steady you even more. And then he plunged you both down, together, sinking like stone into the darkness of the water.

It was a quiet dance down into death, one that you made together. And it was easy. It was peaceful. It was just as calm as you had felt that day beneath the water, ready to let the current take you. He must have heard it. He must have known you'd drift away peacefully that way.

And you did.

If you had seen it from Jake's perspective, you would have known that Sam meant to kill himself alongside you, only pried away once you'd gone limp and Cassius became wise to what he was doing.

You would have seen the torment on Jake's face as Sam was ripped away from your body screaming to let him die and was cast out of the council for good.

You would have seen Jake run to you and hold you the way he had the night you laid lifeless in the street, no longer able to do anything about it as if he were always destined to watch you die, over and over again until it finally stuck.

And you would have seen the aftermath of grief as it further entangled the people you had left behind as they scattered like dust in the wind: one who had been mourning your loss longer than the others, one who could no longer live without you, and one who was now convinced that he didn’t have to, if he could only track down the right witch who had scorned him years ago.

Taglist: @gvfcinema @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @hippievanfleet @crossczeched48 @cassiesgreta @sunfl0wer-power @abby-gvf @joshkiszkasfoot @joshskittytickler @lightsofthe-living-gvf @i-choose-the-road @am-bam @alwaysdaydreamingoffiction @themoreyou-love @bumblebeewrites @coolmedown @sacredthesin @jonch-gvf @justdamnpeachy @fallenstar1708 @vanfleeter @laurengvf8 @allybtj @watching-over-hypegirl @hr33gvf @kaitburb @threadofstars @jennasometimesreads @samiiijones @jakekiszkasmommy @lallisonl @therobynsworld-blog @misshunnybee @sparrowofthedawnsworld @demonrat444 @malany-gvf @myownparadise96 @capturethechaos @st4rdust-ch0rds @montenegroisr @sacredjake @notthedroidz @sinarainbows @kissingthegoat @eraofstardustchords @cherryflo @blacksoul-27 @lyndz2names @earthgrlsreasy @gvfmarge @carlyfleet @thetroublegetssoloud71 @withlovegvf @suzi107 @gracev0609 @objectsinspvce @kissakiszka @amorlizette @stardustcatcher @notsostrangerthing @brokebellsgvf @sweet1squash @imleavingyoufornewyork @lipstickitty @mavvanfleet

#gvf #greta van fleet #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fleet fic #greta van fic #greta van fleet smut #gvf smut #jake kiszka smut #josh kiszka smut #fire in the water #gvf fic #josh kiszka fic #sam kiszka fic #jake kiszka fic #danny wagner fic

89 notes · View notes

cetaitlaverite · 2 months ago

Text

Anything to Anywhere

Masters of the Air - John Egan x OC

masterlist is hereeee <3

20. All Come Up Roses

Christmas was coming and it was coming fast. The Moon Squadron pilots got their first gift a week early when the Nazi war machine coughed up and spit out Guy, the 161 Squadron pilot who had been stranded in occupied France in November when his plane had crash landed.

Squadron Leader William Lockhart - call sign Guy most uncreatively because it was his middle name and because he’d been with the Moon Squadron since the beginning, before there had been such an emphasis on creative nicknames - had stumbled back to Tempsford with bags under his eyes, a slump to his shoulders, and shaking hands in the early hours of the morning. After undergoing a hefty debriefing, getting as much food as he could safely fit inside him into his system, and passing out asleep for the rest of the day, his first request had been to go to the pub.

So, that evening, a week in advance of Christmas, everyone who wasn’t out flying tonight sat gathered around him in their usual corner of the pub, a vibrant fire roaring in the fireplace and their hands all wrapped around pints of beer. They sat bundled in scarves and gloves and hats over their uniforms all the same - this was a biting winter, which Guy knew all too well after spending a month in hiding in France.

“Fucking freezing out there,” he was saying, already on his third beer. He met the eyes of all the gathered pilots one by one, everyone hanging onto his every word as he revealed to them the reality of their worst fears. “Plane was like an icebox. And I was going dead deep into France as well. By the time I was flying over Lyon my hands were already like icicles on the yoke.”

Stella shivered just imagining it, slipping her fingers further into her gloves. Her last flight had been cold, too, and she only ever had to go to the northernmost parts of France. She couldn’t imagine how cold it must have been up there, flying that far inland.

“I get to the flare path and I’m thinking, result, nearly finished now. But, as it happens, the agent who was supposed to be in charge of my landing was drunk. He had laid the flare path over a goddamn ditch.”

Everyone around the table hissed. Some even physically recoiled. That had to have been a bumpy landing and a half.

“Right,” Guy agreed with the audience’s reaction. “Hardly any moonlight at all so everything else is pitch dark. I don’t notice until the plane’s already down that the path is a ditch, and by then it’s too late to climb again.” He shook his head ruefully. “The landing broke the undercarriage. We had to burn the plane so the Nazis don’t work out what we’re using to ferry Joes so far inland. I spent the night with the Resistance, then right before sunrise the next morning the Joe and I started to make our way across France. Got access to a radio in British-held Gibraltar and that’s where we got picked up.”

Stella’s eyes were wide as she watched him, even after he’d finished talking. He sat back in his chair, gulping down the rest of his beer, looking so casual after all he’d seen and done. She was baffled.

“You went all the way to Gibraltar?” Goose asked, the first to break the shocked silence which had fallen.

“Yep,” Guy confirmed. “British territory.”

“Why didn’t you try to get the Resistance to contact us and get picked up?” Donny asked.

Guy shook his head. “Too dangerous. My Joe had already been found out, that’s why she had to come with me to Gibraltar instead of just lying low. It was safer to trek across France and Spain than to try to hide in one place.”

Stella’s eyes were still wide. “How did you cross the Pyrenees?” she asked.

“They have a whole Resistance operation going over there,” he explained simply. “That’s how a lot of downed airmen get back here from the mainland. There are a couple of French Resistance ops who run it, picking people up and taking them across, with a couple of civvies who live in the mountains who provide shelter overnight.” He shook his head, setting down his empty glass but staring into the depths of it. There was something haunted in his eyes, in spite of his air of joviality. “It’s fucking mental, what they do. Living like that, with the Nazis breathing down their necks all day every day, and they’re still putting themselves on the line to help the likes of us when we go down. Slip of a girl and an older woman who took me and my Joe across and they didn’t complain at all, said they do the trip multiple times a month so they’re used to it. And you’re fucking frozen, walking for days on end, dehydrated and starving and it’s all uneven terrain and the first few days are uphill. And if they got caught they’d be dead in an instant and they owe us fucking nothing but they do it anyway, and all they ask in return is that we win the war.” He shook his head again, whistling lowly. “We’d better win this fucking war, if not for us then for them.”

Stella’s heart was racing. It was so easy to forget the reality of what they were doing, ferrying spies and Resistance supplies in and out of occupied territories. When they went down they were as good as spies themselves.

She couldn’t help but think back to the conversation she’d had with Lucky, Donny, and Houds when they’d first found out Guy had gone down, how Donny and Houds had insisted he would have been better off giving himself up as a POW but how they’d have no such luck as women. If she ever got stranded in France then she would have to try to do what he did, trek across the country and then across the Pyrenees, try to make it all the way to the bottom of Spain, to Gibraltar.

It seemed inconceivable, impossible, that anyone could be capable of that, and yet they clearly were.

The things this war was making people do. If nothing else, it was forcing people to test what they were made of.

“Anyway,” Guy went on, “naturally, I’m being fucking demoted because of the silly Frog bastard who couldn’t stay sober long enough to light my flare path properly. Back flying for 138.” He scoffed a laugh. “Haven’t flown for them since before 161 even existed, but since I know the route the Resistance are using to get people across the Pyrenees and because I know their faces Mouse is worried about the risk I’d pose if I went down again.”

Goose instantly sat forward in his seat. His eyes were glinting. “So someone’s getting promoted,” he deduced.

Guy shot him a sly grin. “Not you.”

Immediately, Goose slumped back in his seat and flung his head back, groaning and whining and complaining loudly about the unfairness of it all.

Guy just went on grinning. “One of our ladies is getting the call up, in fact.”

All four women - Stella, Lucky, Donny, and Houds - sat bolt upright in their chairs. They looked between each other, wide-eyed and flush-cheeked, all both equally desperate for it to be them and terrified that it was.

Stella was the first to break, sitting back in her chair with a quiet, self-conscious laugh. She was the newest pilot here, there was no way it was going to be her. Donny had been here the longest. She deserved it the most.

“Bambi,” Guy said next.

Stella sat up again, eyebrows furrowed. “Yes?”

Guy rolled his eyes, heaving a laugh. “No, it’s you. You’re getting the call up.” He leaned across the table and held out his hand to her, inviting a handshake. “Congratulations. You’re gonna love 161.”

Stella’s heart gave an almighty lurch before tumbling down into her feet. Shaking her head dumbly, her mouth opened and closed as she willed words to the forefront of her mouth and yet couldn’t seem to find them. “What?” she finally managed to croak after a while of flailing.

Eventually, Lucky reached down for her wrist and wrenched it up, then placed Stella’s hand in Guy’s outstretched one for her.

Stella shook his hand but she was still bewildered, blinking hard and shaking her head. “What?” she said again.

Once he’d released her hand, Guy reclined back in his seat and tipped the brim of an imaginary hat at her. “Mouse said he told you when you joined that he wanted you for 161.”

“He told all of us that,” Donny objected.

Guy shrugged. “Well, with Bambi he meant it. He’s been hard at work since she first got here trying to get the paperwork to go through, apparently, and he’s been sending her out on double the missions of anyone else to test her. Apparently, Bambi, you passed, because everything’s come up roses. You’re 161 Squadron’s newest pilot. You’re getting the official nod tomorrow.”

No one said anything for a moment. Stella was too stunned to speak. But then, from the opposite end of the table, Houds let out a bitter laugh and slumped down in her seat. “That’s fucking mental on Mouse’s part.”

“You’ve got to be mental to run this circus,” Daisy pointed out.

Lucky leaned over and planted a loud, smacking kiss on Stella’s cheek. “Congratulations, Babs,” she whispered. “I’m so excited for you.” She wrapped her arms around Stella’s waist and squeezed, then peered up into her face and asked, “Are you happy?”

Glancing down at her, Stella offered an unsteady smile. She didn’t want to let on that she was frightened because there were three other women here, Lucky among them, who would have killed to be in her position. So instead she said, “Thrilled,” and tucked her arm around Lucky’s shoulders, giving her a squeeze in turn, because she could have been jealous and resentful, could have protested about how Stella had only been here for two months and was already being promoted, but instead she was supportive. Stella wasn’t sure how else to thank her.

The atmosphere in Hut 6 that night was frosty. Donny and Houds were not especially happy that they had been passed over for the promotion when they had been there for two years, in Donny’s case, and a year and a half in Houds’. Donny offered a tight smile to Stella when she passed her on her way to the showers but couldn’t quite meet her eyes. Houds wouldn’t even look at her.

Lucky was still firmly on her side, at least, and Stella found great comfort in that.

The next morning, Stella was summoned to Mouse’s office early, right after breakfast.

“Bambi,” he greeted as he opened the door for her without her having to knock. “Congratulations on your promotion.”

Stella laughed softly under her breath as he stepped aside and allowed her in, taking a seat in one of the armchairs opposite his desk while he shut the door behind her. “Thank you for giving it to me, sir.”

Mouse was smiling at her when he finally came to sit behind his desk. He leaned his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together, resting his chin atop them. “I hope it didn’t give you any trouble with the other lovely ladies of Hut 6.”

Stella smiled ruefully, setting her eyes on the patterns in the wood of his desk. She shrugged one shoulder as she replied, “They’re a bit put out, understandably, but I’m trying not to take it personally.” Her smile turned fond momentarily. “Lucky, though, is pleased for me. I think they all are, secretly, they’re just disappointed it wasn’t them.”

Mouse hummed thoughtfully, lowering his hands and settling back into his chair. “Understandable,” he acknowledged. “But only one space opened up in 161 and I’ve been getting you ready ever since you started. You’ve done the most blind drops of all of you and you have the most flying experience, both with the ATA and in civilian life. You’re reliable and efficient and you hold up well under pressure. You were the obvious choice, you understand.”

Stella couldn’t help but object. “But I’ve been here for the shortest amount of time,” she pointed out.

“Yes,” Mouse conceded. “But I’ve been priming you for the call up ever since you started. Women being allowed to land in occupied territory was little more than a pipe dream when the others started here so I didn’t ready them the way I’ve readied you. Last minute flights and flying in the pitch dark, precarious drop locations and bad weather, flying over AA guns and sending you out without practising the course first were all ways to get you ready. I didn’t have the luxury of doing the same for them. They aren’t ready the way you’re ready.”

“That’s not their fault,” Stella reasoned.

Mouse smiled. “No. It’s mine. But you were the obvious choice and I won’t apologise for making it.”

Stella stared him down for a moment, this man who had made her new friends resent her, even if only a little bit, but she couldn’t argue with his reasoning. And, as much as her new position frightened her, she couldn’t help but be thrilled by it, too. How long had she been dreaming of flying combat? And now she was getting as close to it as a woman was ever likely to get - in this war, at least.

John would have believed she could do it, whatever her misgivings. He would have been proud and excited and there would have been no doubts in his mind that she was ready. And if he would have believed in her, she had to believe in her, too.

“I’m grateful for the promotion,” Stella relented at length. “Really. Thank you. I just - the other girls, I hope you’ll consider them when another position opens up. They’re all excellent pilots, and you may know from my ATA file that I’m not known to praise pilots I don’t think are worth their weight in gold.”

Mouse cracked a smile at this. “I did notice some notes that you don’t tend to play well with others, yes,” he confessed. “Can’t say I’ve paid witness to it much here.”

Stella shrugged. She had no explanation for this that she was at liberty to give. Really, though, she knew it was John who had made her play nice, who had softened her, who had made her more willing to get to know people and more willing to let people get to know her, too. She had had friends in the ATA but they had been surface level. John had been the first person she’d truly let in. And he’d been a safe place for her, had never shied away from her ugly parts; he’d primed her for the acceptance she’d found here. She just wished he could have seen it.

“So,” Mouse said, clapping his hands suddenly. He had an excellent talent, Stella thought, for knowing when to leave things alone. “Have you ever flown a Lysander before?”

Stella grinned, sitting up straighter. “No, sir. It’s a liaison plane. I ferried combat planes for the ATA, fighters and bombers.”

Mouse grinned right back at her. “Today, you’ll fly your first Lizzie. Just across England, to get a feel for it. A bit of a joyride, if you will.”

Stella laughed. The thought made her giddy.

“When you land in occupied territory, you’ll be landing in fields. They’re chosen by Resistance operatives who sometimes have no aviation knowledge at all, so sometimes they’re tiny or waterlogged or muddy or anything else that may make landing and taking off difficult. We’ll have you training for that. Today you’ll practise a short take off and a short landing, tomorrow we’ll work on mud and ice.”

Stella nodded along, wondering whether she should be taking notes.

“We’ll teach you to land in haphazard flare paths and how to communicate in morse code with the Resistance ops on the ground. We’ll also teach you how to stake out a flare path with pocket torches or bicycle lamps, because you’ll have to teach this to the Joes you ferry before they go out. Many of them will be on their first deployment with the rate we’re losing spies these days, and they’ll need to know how to light your flare path in case something happens to their Resistance operative in the event they require an extraction.”

“Or the Resistance operative is drunk,” Stella added, remembering Guy’s story.

Mouse laughed, short and surprised, but he recovered quickly. “Yes, or in case they’re drunk.” He snorted to himself once more before going on, “The long and the short of it is: as you approach the flare path, an agent on the ground will flash you an agreed-upon letter in morse code and you will acknowledge the signal by flashing back a different, also pre-agreed-upon, letter. Then the rest of the lights on the flare path will be illuminated, allowing you to come in for the landing.”

Stella hummed to indicate she was following. She should definitely have brought a notebook with her.

“After you land and turn your Lizzie around, your load has to be changed in under three minutes. Whether this is simply you dropping off a spy and some equipment or whether you’re taking something or someone back with you, it’s a mighty quick turnaround.” He smiled warmly at her. “We’ll prepare you for this, too, of course.”

“Right,” Stella agreed. She wondered if she’d gone pale.

“A BBC broadcast will inform the agents and Resistance on the ground when you’re coming. Highly codified, naturally, but you needn’t worry too much about this. Many of the pilots like to amuse themselves with noting them down is all. And, as you know, 161 pilots don’t take off and land here. You’ll be taken to a much smaller airfield a hundred miles south of here, our forward base, named Tangmere, in advance of your flight. Taking off from there allows you to fly deeper into occupied territory, into the south of France or Belgium or the Netherlands, sometimes deeper into Europe, even, than there. But it’s very nice over there. Our pilots are especially fond of Tangmere. Much like here, breakfast is served at all hours of the night, and there’s a lovely cottage there where you’ll stay overnight. Everyone gets their own bedroom.”

Stella cracked a smile at this. She hadn’t had her own bedroom since she was a teenager.

“But that’s quite enough information for now,” Mouse decided, clapping his hands together with finality before laying them on the desk. “You have a lesson scheduled in flare paths, morse code, and general Resistance communication an hour from now. After that we’ll discuss your joyride. Do you have any questions?”

She had only one but she wasn’t sure whether to ask it. She didn’t want to tempt fate, nor did she want to make Mouse doubt her courage.

But he sat there smiling quite amiably at her, eyebrows raised expectantly, and she knew this would be her only opportunity.

“What happens if my plane goes down?” she asked at last. “Or if I can’t take off again? What happens if I get stuck over there?”

Mouse considered her questions carefully, tilting his head to one side and setting his eyes on the clock on the wall behind her, tapping his fingers briefly on the desk.

“You’ll hide with the Resistance,” he replied at last. “And when you don’t return we’ll work to get into contact with someone on the ground to make sure we get you back. Either that or it’s the Pyrenees, as Guy informed you, I’m sure.”

Stella nodded. Her stomach was all tied up in knots.

Mouse nodded back. He smiled warmly one last time. “But, as I’m sure you’re aware, being stranded in occupied territory means one thing for a man. It is something entirely different for a woman. So,” he said, tapping his desk with finality, “my very best advice would be: don’t.”

#ata #my writing #mota #mota oc #masters of the air #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction #hbo war #hbo war x oc #john egan #bucky egan #john bucky egan #john egan x oc #john egan fanfic #john egan fanfiction #bucky egan x oc #bucky egan fanfic #bucky egan fanfiction

12 notes · View notes