#but with the gift of flight instead of fire

[brainrotisseriechicken]

..

extra:

(it was a spring morning)

(he was a frail boy with no friends)

(he ran into you from across the wall)

(you said hello to him, and asked him to play along)

(at that very moment, he received his lifelong—)

extra 2: oscar boogaloo

yeahhhh....iykyk

[florencemtrash]

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. 

Koschei.

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.

Koschei.

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

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[deadhands69]

Something More [than this]

Katsuki Bakugo x gn reader

MDNI

Setting: mid-time skip, Senior Year of College. Reader did not attend UA high, just joined for university. Enemies to lovers (with a lot in between.)

part 1  -  part 2  -  part 3  -  part 4 -  part 5 -  part 6  -  part 7 - this is part 8

Half your class still looks hungover, cursing whoever decided to throw a massive party the Saturday before a busy school week. One explosive blonde looking worse than the rest of them.

Katsuki had a dumpster fire of a weekend, leading to this shitty morning. 

After being away on a trip for his side-kick work, he returned Saturday afternoon. Despite working crazy hours, he considered texting you when he had the time. He wanted to tell you about his day and ask how your day went. To get your opinion on some of the villains he'd been dealing with. Honestly, it had been so stressful he'd just be happy to hear your familiar voice. But he didn’t want to be needy. And there wasn’t anything he could offer you at a distance so he skipped it. Plus, you didn’t text him either so he figured you were busy with your own life. He could just tell you about everything later. 

This doesn’t mean he didn’t spend the whole week thinking about you.

While he didn’t usually think of anyone that much, he reasoned that it was coincidental. What are the odds of ending up somewhere where everything there reminded him of you? Must have been the location. He wondered if you’d ever been to the area, he thinks you’d like it. The villains reminded him of you too, your quirk would have worked great with his against them. Additionally, he rationalized, his body had become used to being with you every night. Not having that release was hard, especially when the last time he saw you was the best sex he's ever had. Maybe he could ask you for pictures while he was away. No, he thought, that's too big of an ask and he didn't have time or energy to touch himself anyways.

Finally, the last day arrived and he felt hopeful. It was a long one but he'd be home soon. At a small shop he patrolled by, he got you a gift. Sure, everything reminded him of you, but this especially so. And it’s something friends do while visiting other places, right? He still wasn’t sure of that but when he saw it, he knew you needed to have it. Yeah, he decided, it is what friends do.

Coming back was rough. The little sleep he got on the flight did nothing to counteract how massively wrecked his body felt. Cursing every step, he dragged himself back to his dorm -  throwing his oversized bag near the closet before stripping his clothes straight into the laundry basket and jumping in the shower. Without time to clean up before traveling, he felt disgusting all day. The water ran dark, tainted with the ash and blood he was covered in. Every cut on his body stung but it’s the closest to human he’d felt in a few days so he’ll take it. 

His friends were going to a party. They said you’d be there too. Normally, he’d pass but after a week away, it would be good to see friends (you). For a moment, he considered inviting you over to watch a movie instead and have a more low-key night but thought better of it. This was already unofficially deemed the biggest blowout of the year (on a fucking random week in February??) and he couldn’t take that away from you. Also, a bit more insecurely, what could he offer you in comparison to that? It's not like you were dating.

So, it was decided. He’d have a big dinner, change into something decent, and go. Maybe he could convince you to leave early with him.

He showed up to the lobby a minute too late to see you with your friends. That’s okay though. You would find him when he got there, the two of you would catch up, and everything would be fine. He was happy enough to walk with his own friends, sharing stories of their weeks too.

Immediately after he showed up, some extra cornered him. Spewing the same old shit everyone does when they’re trying to be flirty. Something something so brave something. His eyes glazed over while she talked; all he could think about was you. She kept leaning into him so much he had to keep his hand on her shoulder to hold her back. Feeling stuck, he wanted to blast her away from him but he was just so. Fucking. Tired. He barely entertained the conversation, saying whatever terse comments he thought would get him out of there the fastest. This exchange served no purpose. It's not like he’d take her home with him anyways. Without ever consciously acknowledging it, he has no interest in random girls anymore.

On top of being known for his explosive personality, there are other reasons it isn’t hard for him to turn someone down. Up until a few years ago, he’d never slept with (or even kissed) anyone. Seeing all of his classmates pass him in that aspect made him feel left behind. So, he fixed that. It wasn’t just about numbers either. He always wanted to be the best at everything, sex included. And how could he be the best without lots of practice? Even he knows it's arbitrary, but he still had to try. And he got good, some might even say, great at it. Regardless of that progress, there have been times he questioned what the point was in any of this. 

That is, until it was with you. 

All of his hard work finally paid off the first night he got you in his room. He loves the sounds and faces you make when he touches you. The way your fucked out face looks as soon as his dick goes in. Or how loud you are for him when you’re close. He loves the way he can have you cumming on his hand in less than a minute. Or how it feels to hold you up, your whole body falling into him when he fucks one of the smartest people he knows until they're too stupid to stand. Suddenly, it all felt worth it. Shit, he had to stop thinking about this or he was going to give himself a boner.

Back to the party.

It took him a few minutes to rid himself of her and he set off to find you. He could have sworn he saw you out of the corner of his eye earlier. When he asked your friends if they knew where you went, Raccoon Eyes said something about meeting up with Aizawa.

“Right now?” he asked, he thought you had a little crush on Eraserhead but having you over at 10pm seems weird on the professor’s part. He’s not a creep though and you're his student, maybe it was an emergency?

“Nooooo,” the pink girl slurred, trying to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder but missing completely. “Tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry Bakugo, she’s fine,” added Ears, “she left with Shinso like ten minutes ago.”

Neither of them see the flash of hurt on his face. Sure, both of your friends (and some of his) know about your arrangement but Mina is the only one holding out hope he has any amount of emotional investment in it. And even she's not so sure. So there wouldn't be reason for them to specify if they don't assume he cares.

“Oh, that freak? And you let this happen? You've gotta be fucking kidding me,” he says, before walking away from the conversation.

He knows you’re just friends. 

Of course he knows that. Neither of you want more than that, right? But he still thought he was your first option. That you’d never leave the party with someone else if he was there. His contact pic in your phone is the two of you cuddled up on the kitchen floor, he figured he has to mean something to you. Besides, it’s rude to ditch your friends after they leave for a week. That has to be the pain he’s feeling, you left him there without saying anything. Why else would everything hurt so bad?

He bailed on the party after that. In retrospect, he knows your friends would probably tell you about how he yelled at them about you leaving with another guy and it wouldn't be a good look, but he couldn't be bothered to care. With any luck, they're used to it and it would never come up again. And he'd never have to explain himself. That wasn't the concern right now though. 

Katsuki slept like shit that night, tossing and turning. He couldn’t get the image of you with that purple haired freak out of his mind. His hands all over your body. His mouth. His -

Fuck. 

Theoretically, he could go over there. You all live in the same building, he vaguely knows the which room it is. While you probably wouldn't be as loud with that asshole as you are with him, surly he'd still hear something. Katsuki fantasizes about kicking his door down and smashing his face in. It would be easy, he'd just have to keep his mouth shut. And then...you'd thank him for being so amazing and coming to your rescue? No, you'd call him a cockblock, get him expelled, and never talk to him again.

So, sitting with his feelings it is.

He tells himself it’s a platonic thing. That he’s worried about you, his friend who went home with someone he doesn’t trust. And he’s upset because you, his friend, left before saying hi after you hadn’t seen him for a week. That’s a valid reason to be upset, to want to check on you. But rationalizing doesn't help. And the nagging feeling in his gut chases him into the next day.

All day Sunday, he doesn’t leave his room. Playing video games, trying as hard as possible to not think about anything but farming runes and annihilating bosses. 

But he can’t.

And you don’t text.

One more sleepless night while he lays confused as to how friendship problems can hurt so much when he's never felt like this before. Was it unreasonable to assume it would always be the two of you continuing like that forever? He doesn't think so. Before he knew it, the alarm clock over his bed read 6:45 - he might as well get up at this point. 

He makes breakfast (that he barely eats) and throws his hero costume on to head over to Ground Beta. 

Today’s the day your project ends. The written portion having been turned in a while ago, now it’s a competition between all of the teams to see who’s the last to get eliminated. It’s bittersweet, he thinks. What if your friendship was only for the duration of the project? No, he can't let that happen. Even if you have been ignoring him all weekend.

Seeing you in the training area, he doesn't miss the nods between you and purple hair as he joins you to walk to your designated start point. A surge of anger shoots through him. Deep breath, he reminds himself. Time to play it cool.

“Hey, you didn’t talk to me Saturday and you left with him,” he nearly yells, gesturing vaguely towards Shinso who is glaring at him.

“Oh,” you look slightly confused, “he walked me home when you- when I didn’t wanna be there.”

“So you didn’t…” he trails off, feeling like an idiot for asking.

“What would it matter to you? You don’t do relationship shit, right?” your voice is venomous, but the content of what you're saying shouldn't be unexpected. 

Katsuki stepped back, unsure of why your words make him feel like you just punched him in the chest.

/\/\/\/\| “READY? GO!” Present Mic’s voice echoes through the building. |\/\/\/\/\

Your turn now.

The competition starts and you’re at a loss of what to do. The boy you’d been working with all term, now standing listlessly in front of you. Earlier, you thought you said what he’d want to hear but now, seeing the tears welling in his big red eyes, you’re not so sure.

He looks rough. Beautiful as ever, but a bit more pale with his apparent lack of sleep etched into the bags under his eyes. You'd probably look the same if Shinso hadn't used his quirk to make you sleep the past two nights (still nothing going on there, he just uncomfortable seeing you cry then hearing what happened from Jiro. He felt bad, wanting to help more, but it was the most anyone could do for you all weekend.)

Bakugo is still frozen in front of you, swaying slightly.

“Katsuki, are you-”

Okay? 

You meant to say ‘okay’, but instead find yourself jumping forward to block him with your quirk while Tsuyu and Kaminari came in to attack. The latter, expelling a bit too much electricity that was all quickly reflected back at them both, rendering Tsuyu unconscious and Kaminari dazed by the overuse of his quirk. Neither you nor your teammate take any damage. Looks like the one training session with Aizawa yesterday went a long way.

“FROPPY AND CHARGEBOLT ARE BOTH ELIMINATED!” Present Mic announces. ("yayyyy," yells Kaminari.)

Your attention turns back to Bakugo, who you’d knocked onto the ground with you in the scuffle. After the weekend you had, you want nothing more than to leave him alone but you can’t help but care a little when he looks like he’s about to cry or pass out from exhaustion.

The moment Bakugo raises his head and sees that you had blocked him from the attack, his tired eyes widen and his jaw drops. Realization hits him like a dump truck. Every oddly stacked excuse in his brain slides into the right place and everything makes sense now. 

“Oh, fuck,” he mumbles, pulling his hands to his face while continuing to stare at you.

What is happening? You don't have time to think about it, more of your classmates are approaching.

By some miracle, the competition went okay considering the circumstances. Somehow, you scrambled into third place, after your teammate snapped out of his coma. He never did explain himself though, instead grabbing you by the arm and pulling you out of Ground Beta as soon as you were both eliminated. 

“Where are we going?” you ask. He remains silent.

He must be pissed at you for something, you think as he marches you up the stairs towards his room. Honestly, you’re not in the mood to deal with it - he lost that courtesy over the weekend. Considering pulling away, you tug your wrist from his grasp causing him to turn towards you for the first time since dragging you out of Ground Beta. Much to your surprise, he’s not angry -  he looks terrified.

“Did you get hit by a quirk or something?” his tongue-tied state becoming concerning.

He simply shakes his head, pulling you into his dorm and pushing you onto the bed. This is the last place you want to be after everything that's happened.

“Sit here for a sec,” he finally speaks, rummaging through his still fully packed bag. 

“Here,” he tosses something small at you before moving to sit on the floor by your legs.

An Eraserhead keychain, it's nearly impossible to find merchandise for him. This would be a really amazing gift if you didn’t think the man giving it was just doing so to tease you.

“How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t have a crush on our teacher-”

“No, it’s not that,” he continues, ”the hero you wanted to be doesn’t usually do merch so it- it reminded me of you,” he looks up at you, his flushed cheeks finally adding some color to his face. Seeing that you’re still listening, he tries to keep his voice even, “then everything reminded me of you. I thought it was just the place or the villains but the more I think about it, everything always reminds me of you. I think about you constantly.”

Now you’re the one left speechless. 

No response isn't a rejection so he continues, “I don't think I can just be your friend anymore. I need - I need something more than this.”

You ponder for a moment, this conversation doesn't seem possible. Maybe it's a dream? No, hitting your ass falling on the floor earlier hurt too much for you to be asleep. This is definitely happening.

“Are you sure you can do that?" you ask, "what about the girl from the other night-”

“There is no other girl," he sounds exasperated. "There hasn’t been for a while. You see me every fucking night, you know that,” his eyes plead for you to believe him.

Weirdly, you do.

“Oh. at the party I saw you with someone. I thought-”

“You thought I was with someone else and you left with purple hair?”

“He walked me home. That’s it. I was-” he’s been honest with you so you take a deep breath before sharing your side of the story, “I was really fucked up when I thought you were hitting on someone else. I know I shouldn’t have felt that way in our situation. But I did. I like you a lot more than I was supposed to. And I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

“Me too,” he adds, "does this mean...?"

"Yeah."

The two of you sit in silence, taking time to process everything that's happened. Your now boyfriend smirks, still looking awkward (in the most adorable way.) Pressing-up from the floor, he moves to the bed next to you and wraps an arm around your back.

“We’re really bad at this,” you joke (it’s not a joke.)

“We’ll get better,” he smiles, moving in to kiss you like he's wanted to all week.

For the first time in a month, the kiss doesn’t lead to anything sexual. The two of you are both exhausted and don't need any excuse to be close, you can just be now. He draws the blackout curtains in his room and you both change into some of his old All Might shirts before crawling into bed. Running your hands through his soft hair, you kiss him slowly.

"I think about you all the time too, you know," you whisper. He smiles and pecks your forehead, holding you as you doze off. Everything about him feels safe and warm. You've never been so comfortable.

Katsuki lets his mind wander while he drifts off to sleep.

It’ll be hard learning how to be the best boyfriend. He’s excited for the challenge though. He’ll get good at it because it’s what you deserve. 

You stir and he pulls you closer. He's never seen anything as beautiful as you in his shirt, dreaming as you snuggle into his chest.

Yeah, he’ll definitely be great at this. And he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to be better and better for you.

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading this!! It got pretty angsty there for a bit so here's some extra fluff smut:

Bonus Epilogue

m.list

Taglist: @anonymity-222 @k1tk4tkatsuki @arsonfrogger @dragonscribble @kalulakunundrum

@screaming-dough @rikislove @gold24fish @ita606 @arc6021

@pikachuzhc @jeanbabygirl @nemisimp

[leandra-kinard]

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.

[verspia]

—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

[seventeenpins]

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."

[elizabethrobertajones]

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.

[avonne-writes]

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.

[gretavanfleetposts]

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

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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

[gumnut-logic]

Cethair (intro)

Óen | Cethair

Okay, so about a third of you who voted requested some more Thunderdragons. I don't have much, and I need to write more, but here is the intro to the fic about Gordon's dragon.

This is a standalone fic that happens a few years before Óen. There are no HTTYD characters in this one. I needed to write it to sort out their history so I could write Óen. This AU/Crossover is hard work :D

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight and @idontknowreallywhy for all their support on this project. And many thanks to those of you who answered my poll today. It gives me an idea of what you guys would prefer. As always, I can't guarantee anything (stupid brain won't even do what I prefer), but you never know.

Oh, and this is apparently my 12,008th post on this blog. Go me :D

I hope you enjoy this bit.

-o-o-o-

Virgil O’Treasaigh hurried between the tents careful not to trip on the pitch lines, but moving as fast as possible nonetheless.

The Flaithri’s tent was not far, the stamp of the Thunderbird was lit up by the torches clearly in the night, but it felt like leagues into the distance.

Perhaps because the title of Flaithri had shifted so recently and so painfully. Because behind that stamp he would no longer find his father, but instead his eldest brother.

And he feared his mood.

His flight leathers rubbed in places sore from travel and he let out a breath.

Casey had placed guards at the tent, the soldiers eyes sharp as he passed between them without question, striding through the tightly woven flax as it was whipped up by the wind off the black ocean to the west.

“Flaithri, I must speak with you.”

His brother was pacing, of a sort, the injury to his leg forcing a limp that had Virgil biting back protest. Considering the slice to his thigh, it was a sign of his agitation that he could pace at all.

Kyrano stood to one side, his eagle eyes watching everything. His daughter,  Tan, may as well have been a statue in his honour, her stance so mirrored her father’s.

“Scott!”

His brother stopped. His stance lopsided as he turned to face Virgil. “News?”

Virgil swallowed. “Mathair Chriona fears he will not see the light of morning.”

He watched his brother absorb the information. Ever the king he was born to be, there were no tears, only hurt in the depths of his eyes. “Nothing can be done?”

“We have tried everything. He has lost too much and his heart is beginning to falter.” Virgil’s voice cracked on the last word and his head dipped, his own calm strained beyond exhaustion and grief.

A hand landed on his shoulder, fingers tightening almost enough to cause pain. “John has spoken to Cóic.”

Virgil’s head shot up. “No!”

“Virgil, I will lose no more family today.”

And the blue of his brother’s eyes was terrible. Because today they had seen their father taken from them, the fire of Gaat’s beast scorching him from the earth.

The attack had been sudden and unexpected. Cóic had been unable to give warning, still too young to have the reach of an adult matriarch.

They had thought they were safe, hidden in the mountains in the land of the Picts, far from their homeland and the decimation the Scourge had wrought. They thought that Gaat could not find them.

His attack had targeted John and Cóic as it always did. Cóic was what he wanted, of course. The power of the Matriarch and the offence of John receiving the gift and not him had maddened the man.

But John had family and their father had intervened to protect and given his life. It was Gordon, seamaster at arms, who had leapt up onto the worm, stabbed the man, and ended the fight.

But despite his victory, Gaat’s beast had shaken him off and Gordon had fallen. If that was not enough, the cursed worm had then raked Virgil’s little brother with fire.

Gaat had been desperate and had withdrawn to lick his wounds.

But Gordon, dear Gordon…

A single tear tracked down Virgil’s cheek.

“Cóic will save him.”

“She can’t. We don’t know what creatures might be willing. What is the price?!”

But there was blue fire in those eyes. “His life.”

-o-o-o-

Next

[lantanasmuttyfanfics]

Hello, you're probably tired of having being asked this, but can we get dexter x raven honeymoon smut, please?

Sorry for posting late but you know at least I uploaded

Anyway for any mh fans you should enjoy the fact the next fic is a monster high ship.

Hope you enjoy and have a great dayy!!

————————

Dexter swept Raven of her feet as they exited the carriage. The sign of ‘just married’ blowing in the wind as they walked towards their honeymoon castle.

It was a gift by the good king to Raven and Dexter in celebration of their marriage. And privately the hood king had admitted to Raven that he had actually consulted the evil queen in how to design it.

Something that -oddly- made Raven teary eyed. She’d never thought her mother would care about her marriage, let alone a wedding gift this grand.

But none of that mattered now, not when Dexter was kissing and sucking along her neck already leaving dark spots before they had even set foot in their new home.

Raven bit her lip as she tipped her head back when he found that particular spot that made her dizzy.

The heavy oak doors slammed shut and Dexter only took a second to look around before he went back to littering hickeys on his wife’s neck while bringing them up flights of stairs.

Their bedroom door was decorated in dark ribbons and full bouquets of flowers, something that neither noticed in their haste to finally be privacy.

To their luck an enchanted fire of amethyst flames engulfed the room in a pleasurable warmth as Dexter set his wife down on the four poster bed.

His breath caught for a moment as he gazed down at Raven, with her hair splayed out and her intricately embroidered dress covering the bed like a blanket.

If their was one word to describe her Dexter would chose unbelievably.

He found it unbelievably how Raven Queen was his wife, how she chose him, how they were here right now even against all odds. And of course how unbelievably gorgeous she looked.

“Shy are we?” Raven tilted her head to the side in a teasing manner as she gazed at Dexter through her lashes.

He licked his lips leaning over her as he breathed against her mouth “me? Never sweetheart.”

Before she could retort back his lips were on her, biting and sucking at her lower lip as his hand traveled up thigh, pushing her dress up.

Her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck and her legs around his waist, pulling him down against her.

Dexter made quick work of removing her dress as carefully as he could in this moment while she also unbuttoned his shirt.

They were both bare within minutes, their lips connecting in her another passionate, lustful kiss.

As he moved down her neck and shoulders, Raven tangled her fingers in his hair effectively making his crown fall with a thump to the floor.

Neither cared as the next second , his hands were brushing her inner thigh and tugging at her panties that were already wet from arousal.

Raven placed a hand over her mouth as if to stifle her moans but he was quick to pin her hands down as he threw her panties somewhere across the room.

His warm breath tickled her thighs while also sending pleasurable shivers down her spine. He smirked against her before he made contact with the place she most wanted.

She pulled his head against her, only slightly panicking that she was suffocating him before the pleasure erased all coherent thoughts from her mind.

His tongue prodded at her entrance, something which seemed to drive both crazy. She felt as if he could feel every inch of her and even places she thought didn’t exist.

Soon enough she was gripping his hair for dear life, her breath caught in a silent moan as she came hard enough that her legs were shaking.

Dexter didn’t seem to mind, instead holding her still as he removed their last item of clothing.

She couldn’t catch a break, as the next second he was back on her his fingers gripping her leg so tightly she was sure bruises would mark her skin.

He coated his tip with her release before slowly pushing in, wanting to enjoy that first sensation for as long as possible.

The room erupted in moans and groans from the pair. Dexter from above shaking as he gripped the sheets behind her head.

In the spur of the moment, Raven used all her strength to flip them over, a surprised yelp escaping her lips as he suddenly bottomed out in her.

Dexter didn’t object, instead laying against the pillows as his hands found home on her hips as she started to rock back and forth.

Raven panted while biting her lip, the feeling somewhat foreign as they had done it only a handful of times with her on top.

Nonetheless they were both soon lost in the euphoria of each other. Each saving the moment in their mind.

Dexter bucked up while simultaneously pulling Ravens hips down, smirking as she grabbed onto the headboard behind.

With both her rocking and his upwards thrusts, Raven and Dexter felt their high coming down slowly. The sensation building up rapidly.

With a final, thrust up Dexter held his wife still as they tipped over the edge. Yet even with that he found that he was still hard and ready for an other round.

But as he looked at Ravens drooping eyes, he kissed her on the forehead and snuggled against her.

It didn’t matter they had their entire honeymoon for elicit activity’s.

—————————

Like I said Saturday is a mh fic

Anyway ngl when I started my account o fully intended for it to be a mh account buuuut clearly not anymore

Hope you enjoyed and have a great dayy!!

[florencemtrash]

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 ->

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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.

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[cetaitlaverite]

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.”

[vex-bittys]

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.

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[mynameismckenziemae]

She’s a Fire-Chapter VII

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OFC/Reader (no use of y/n)

Light me up

(previous chapter here, next chapter here)

Warnings: smut, p in v, ass play, Christmas kink, spanking, etc.

2 months pass in the blink of an eye and it’s December before you know it.

Thanksgiving was celebrated with Bradley at Penny and Pete’s as your dad went with your step-mom, Laura, to her side of the family. You had been invited but declined, only having a few days off work, but you promised you’d make it for Christmas.

You haven’t said it yet, but you were in love with Bradley. He was everything; kind, selfless, affectionate, goofy…and the sex. The sex was incredible. Bradley was insatiable, you two couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Though you dabbled some, you recently discussed your kinks, the things you two want to try, and the things you two don’t. Thankfully your lists are very compatible and you’re excited to do new things together.

“What are you doing for Christmas this year?” You ask as you place ornaments on the little tree you picked out with Bradley for your apartment.

“Not sure yet. There’s always a standing invitation to go home with Sunny, but she’s bringing Bob to meet her parents, and I don’t want to impose on that. Pete said I can come over too. You?” He says, kneeling to dig into your Christmas decor tote.

“I was wondering if you’d want to go to Colorado with me. My dad and Laura have been dying to meet you, and I’d like to spend it with you…if you want?”

“Yeah, I’d love to,” he smiles, “when are you planning on leaving?”

“The 22nd, our flight leaves at 7 AM.”

He laughs, “And what if I would’ve said no?”

“I had a hunch you’d say yes, but I got refundable tickets just in case.” You say with a wink.

“How much? There’s no way I’m letting you pay for mine.”

“I’m not telling you. You never let me pay for anything. Consider it your Christmas present if you must.”

“I can’t do that, Row. Please let me—what is this?”

You snort as he pulls out a red box with the words ‘Naughty or Nice’ printed in cursive on it. “I forgot about that. I had a white elephant gift exchange with my book club girls last year. It was inappropriate gifts only.”

He opens the box and his eyes widen at its contents. A candy cane striped dildo, red satin cuffs, a green vibrating butt plug, a Christmas tree-shaped riding crop, a remote-controlled white cock ring, and lube among other items.

A naughty idea comes to mind.

You tsk at him as you saunter over to him. “Bradley, did I tell you to open the box? Why do you think it’s okay to go through my things?”

He looks up at you, puzzled. You wink and he catches on. “No…I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” you raise his chin with two fingers to look at you. “Go to my bedroom, get undressed, then wait on the bed and think about what you’ve done until I get there.”

He nods, getting up to walk to the bedroom as asked, a red flush creeping up his neck.

You smile to yourself as you finish placing the last ornaments on the tree and pick up the box before following him.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You don’t look at him as you enter the bedroom. You set down the box and strip down to your bra and lacy underwear before you address him. “Do you know why you’re in trouble?”

“I went through your things without asking?”

“Yes, that and?”

“Uhh…I’m not sure?”

“You argued with me about paying for your plane ticket instead of saying, ‘Thank you, Rowan.” You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing as you watch him struggle to not fight you further. “So what do you need to say, Bradley?”

He sighs. “I’m sorry for going through your things without asking.”

“And…?” You prompt.

“Thank you, Rowan”. He finally concedes.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He flushes further and shakes his head.

“Now, stand up and turn around. I think you need to be reminded of your manners.”

He shudders but does as he’s told. His cock is hard and leaking precum through his boxer briefs.

You press yourself to his back. “Color?” you whisper.

“Green” he whispers back.

You pull his boxers off and he steps out of them. “Hands on the bed. Make sure you keep them there.”

He does so and you admire the view before you slap him hard on his right cheek. He inhales sharply and exhales slowly when you spank the other side.

You give him a few more swats to each side, his ass tinted a nice pink. “Have you learned your lesson yet?”

“Why? Is your hand sore?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. Brat.

“Hmm, guess you haven’t.” You say as you pick the crop, enjoying the way he flinches when you crack it on your palm.

You land a harsh smack to his right cheek and he fails to stifle his gasp before you hit the left equally hard.

You give him a few more lower, right on his sit spots. His ass is bright red and blotchy, you throb at the sight and the thought of him remembering this every time he sits down tomorrow.

You lower the crop and press up to his back again. “Still green?” You ask as you reach around to stroke him. He groans out a ‘Yes’ and his hands grip the comforter.

“Good. A few more should do it.”

You don’t hold back as you land the last few blows.

“Fuck!” He cries as the last one catches both cheeks. You place the crop back in the box and take out the lube and plug next, squeezing a dollop on your finger before setting both on the bed.

You reach for Bradley’s cock again, stroking it while you run your finger down his crack to circle his hole before pressing in gently.

Bradley whimpers and his hand leaves the bed to halt the movement on his cock. “Sorr-ah, fuck. I’m too close.”

“Did I say you could move your hand from the bed yet?” You say lowly, pushing your finger in farther.

“No, I’m sorry. You’re right. Shitshitshit, I don’t-I just don’t want to cum yet, please Row.”

You sigh heavily and release the hold on his cock, but push a second finger into his ass.

Bradley whines when you pull your fingers out to replace them with the plug. “It’s not much bigger than my fingers, but tell me if this is too much, okay?

He nods, a choked-off gasp ripping from his throat as the toy breaches him. “Almost in, you’re taking it so well. There. That’s a good boy.” He whines, arms shaking as he waits for your next instructions.

“I’ll be back in a second, lay on your back okay?”

You quickly wash your hands and return to the bedroom, picking up the cuffs as you walk to the bed.

“I don’t need those, I’ll be good.” He begs, a fucked out expression on his face.

“Hands up. Should’ve thought of that before, huh?”

He lifts his arms for you. “Color?” You ask as you loop the cuffs through the wrought-iron frame.

“Green.”

You break character, by giving him a small kiss.

You scoot back down his body and sink down on him with ease and a satisfied sigh, your arousal coating halfway down your thighs.

You circle your clit with your fingers as you ride him slowly, listening to him beg for you to go faster. You get yourself off twice before you turn around, reverse cowgirl style. You reach between his legs; one hand rolling his balls and the other moving the plug, angling it at his prostate. You turn the vibrations on without warning him.

Bradley’s back arches and he keens, absolutely wrecked as the vibrations stimulate his prostate. He plants his feet and he fucks up into you, the new angle hitting your g-spot.

“Get there Row, please. I’m gonna cum” he grits out, arms straining against the cuffs.

You resume the circling on your clit and cry out, the orgasm taking your breath away as it pulses through you. Bradley cums too with breathy whines. You clench involuntarily at the sounds you’ve never heard him make before.

You reach down to turn the vibrations off and pull it out gently.

You roll off next to him, needing to catch your breath before you clean up.

You reach up to untie the cuffs, rubbing his wrists and arms before taking them down. Next, you clean him up and then yourself, and return to the bedroom with some aloe. He’s half asleep.

“Hey baby, turn over. I want to put some aloe on your tush”.

He laughs sleepily but turns onto his stomach, hissing when you squirt it on his skin. “It’s cold!”

There are a few raised Christmas tree prints, but it would probably be mostly gone by tomorrow You’re a little sad about that.

He groans as you rub the excess aloe into his lower back. “That feels amazing.”

“Yeah? Want me to keep going up your back?”

“Sure, if you want.”

And you do want to. You want to do everything in your power to give him some of the happiness he so deserves. You watch as he turns to mush under your hands, his whole body fully relaxed as he succumbs to sleep.

You pull the sheets and comforter over him before climbing under yourself and planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “I love you,” you whisper to his sleeping form.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Soft humming and the smell of something delicious cooking wakes you up.

“Breakfast and coffee for my beautiful woman,” he says, coming into the room wearing your apron and handing you a plate with a cup of coffee, made just how you like it.

“Thank you, so I need to spank your ass to get breakfast in bed?” You ask with a grin, knowing he makes you breakfast every chance he gets.

“Guess so,” he grins back, turning to get his plate from the kitchen. You choke on your coffee when you see he’s not wearing anything under the apron, faint red Christmas tree marks still present on his ass.

“You okay in there?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Have you looked at your butt this morning?” You laugh.

“No, why?” He steps in front of your mirror, “Oh. Well, that explains the soreness when I got outta bed.” He chuckles, wincing slightly as he sits on your bed. You notice a tent forming in the front of the apron though.

“So…was last night okay?”

“It was amazing, you’re amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard before. I barely remember you rubbing my back.”

You smile, “Good. I liked it too. A lot.”

You finish eating, discussing the details of your upcoming trip, and take his plate to clean up.

You smile as you walk out of your bedroom. Bradley put the finishing touches on the tree and hung the icicle lights in the windows.

“It looks so nice in here, thank you. How long have you been up?” You say as you start washing the dishes.

“A little over an hour,” he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.

“You’re the best.” You turn your head for a kiss. “Got anything going today on before the Dagger party tonight?”

“Nah, not really. Was thinking about decorating my place. Wanna help?”

“Sure! Then we can make snow angels for two hours, then we'll go ice skating, then we'll eat a whole roll of Toll House cookie dough as fast as we can, and then we'll snuggle.” You laugh, quoting your favorite Christmas movie, Elf.

He laughs too, “We’ll have to save the snow angels and ice skating for Colorado but cookie dough and snuggling? I think I can make that happen.”

You pack an overnight bag with your outfit for the party tonight, sneaking a few of the toys from the ‘Nice or Nice’ box in too, and meet Bradley waiting by the Bronco for you.

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A/N: I just love Christmas. What do you think Rowan packed from the box? 😏

Taglist/tagging people who might be interested (let me know if you want to be added or taken off):

@its-the-pilot

@dizzybee03

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

@lexixstewart

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@mrsrobertfloyd

@charmedkingdom

@k-k0129

@bellaireland1981

[lostinwildflowers]

Romantic Flight

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Katsuki is the Chieftain's son, and a lot of pressure is on his shoulders to be the best. He finds comfort in you; as you do in him. He can't bring himself to tell you his feelings until a threat imposes itself on your friendship.

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: Swearing(it's Bakugou), mutual pining, harsh language, best friends to lovers, also kind of idiots to lovers, angst to fluff, also slightly hurt/comfort, happy ending!!!

A/N: HI GUYS!!! I'm so excited to share this fic with y'all! This is the first of 5 HTTYD x MHA fics that I'll be writing over the next while! Please let me know how you liked it! I don't really write for Bakugou that much, so any feedback is appreciated. Much love! -Birch<3

Useful Info:

Naugost - pronounced Nuh-gaw-st (not like August)

Tyr - Named after the Norse God of War

Romantic Flight - by John Powell - The inspiration for this piece!

Part ii. Dragon Island- Eijiro Kirishima x Reader

Part iii. To Befriend a Dragon - Shoto Todoroki x Reader

This is Naugost. Most of the year, it’s warmer than the fire from an angry Nadder, with winds that will knock most people off of their feet, minus Mrs. Hoster, she’s sturdier than a Gronkle.

This island is so far off the maps that not even migrating dragons could find us. That’s how our village likes it, secluded and safe up in the mountains of Naugost, where we thrive off of the deep valley set in the middle of our island.

At the edge of the valley, set next to the waterfall that nourishes our farmland, is the house of the Chieftain, and his son, Katsuki. The chief is hardly ever around, always leading patrols to protect the edges of our territory, and making sure there is no contact with the outside world.

And his son? Well, Katsuki doesn’t always agree with him. He wants to expand our tribe, so he often sneaks out to explore. His desire to leave and escape made him competitive, and that’s where our story begins.

“Tyr, what the hell are you doing?!” the shout comes, the blonde-haired man’s voice deep and angry. The Monstrous Nightmare he was sitting upon, Tyr, was glaring up at him, smoke drifting from his nostrils in anger with his rider.

“Y/n’s getting away, she’s gonna beat us in this damn race if you don’t get your ass in gear!” Katsuki yells at the dragon, pointing to your disappearing figure over the small hill. The deep ruby-colored dragon growled at Katsuki, but lunged after your Deadly Nadder regardless, rushing forward so fast Katsuki yelped as he flew backward.

He managed to stay on, though, and clung to Tyr’s horns as he glared down at his dragon. Katsuki could hear your whoop and holler as your dragon threw the last sheep into your net, securing your win. Bakugou groans as he flies over the finish line, where you had landed your dragon, Gretta, and was smiling mischievously up at him.

“Shut your damn mouth,” Katsuki grumbles as he lands next to you, “This damn dragon won’t listen to me one damn bit.” A laugh falls from your lips as you pet Gretta on the neck, and you take in the appearance of your someday chieftain-to-be.

His golden locks were long and shaggy, with just a few braids at the base of his neck, one with a charm you had gifted him last year. He wore his flight suit, the deep red tones of his armor and padding matching the deep red set to his eyes, and the under colors of Tyr’s wings.

You blink once to stop your ogling, but a smile regains your lips as you snap back, “Maybe you should actually train your dragon instead of just ordering him around.” There was no malice behind your words, just a twinkle in your eye that you knew would just push Katsuki over the edge.

“You want to fight me?! I’ll whoop your ass right now,” he yelled as he slid down Tyr’s wing and to the ground, but as he marched up to Gretta, Tyr knocked him to the side with his head, the dragon heading straight for your outreached hand.

A soft chuff falls from the dragon’s mouth, and Katsuki frowns at the sight of his dragon being so affectionate toward you. You slide onto the ground as well, petting Tyr on the nose before glancing over at your best friend, who was picking himself up off the ground.

“Doesn’t look like I need to, Katsuki,” you giggle as you offer him your hand, which he rolls his eyes at, but begrudgingly takes your hand, knowing the crowd was watching you two.

You two were the perfect pair- the chieftain’s son and a council woman’s daughter. It was almost like the two of you were made to lead your island, but you both were set on being friends.

Katsuki grunts as you haul him to his feet, giving him a firm clap on the back as you smile and wave at the crowd, who was cheering for the both of you. The blonde was quiet next to you, and at first, you think he was sulking, but when you turn to look at him, he was already looking at you.

He’s looking at the way your (colored) eyes take in the members of your tribe. He’s noticing the way your hair is windswept from the intensity of the race. He sees the kindness in your body language as you wave to your family and friends in the crowd. He sees how beautiful you look.

He knew you were an amazing person, he wouldn’t be friends with anyone less than extraordinary. But he liked the fire to your soul, the sparks that seemed to fly when he was around you. In every way you were electricity and fire, everything he could ever dream of in a woman.

And that’s why he couldn’t tell you his feelings. You were too perfect for him, and he was already lucky enough to have you as a best friend.

“Kats? You okay?” you ask gently as you wave your hand in front of him, his frame freezing when he realized he was caught. He shakes his head back and forth to clear his mind before he nods at you with a frown.

“I can’t believe you beat me. Again,” is all he says as he stalks off, and you roll your eyes at him but follow his figure as he walks off. You give two short whistles over your shoulder, and the two dragons fly off, released from the pressures of the race.

“You’ll get me next time,” you say softer, a gentle smile resting on your lips as you playfully bump your hip into his own, his body not even flinching at your assault.

Then, fast as lightning, he moves.

His right hand comes up to pin both of your wrists above your head, trapping your body flat against a beacon tower. Katsuki’s knee lands between your thighs, parting them open as he leans in close to you.

Your heart slams against the walls of your ribcage, suddenly silent at the close proximity. You can feel heat rushing over your face, and you knew it wasn’t because of the Naugost winds.

“Gotcha,” is all he whispers, his voice deepening a few tones as his eyes drop to your lips and then back. Your mouth is parted open, your (colored) orbs dancing back and forth with his own red ones, panic and nerves running through you.

“Ehm, excuse me?” a soft voice cuts in, and Katsuki releases you slowly, holding your gaze as he takes a step back and spins around.

“What do you want?” his voice is harsh, not soft like how it was with you a few moments ago. You see red hair over Katsuki’s shoulder, and recognition runs through you.

“Kirishima!” you yelp as you slide around Katsuki, lunging toward the tall redhead in a makeshift hug. Kirishima laughs as you jump into his arms, swinging you around once before setting you on the ground.

“Great job out there, Racing Queen,” Kirishima jokes, and Katsuki frowns at the simple nickname. When did you start talking to Kirishima? Katsuki thinks, taking a step back and watching the two of you chat for a moment.

The blonde sees the way your eyes light up when you talk to the burly blacksmith, how excitedly you talk with your hands as you explain how you won. It pissed him off. He hated how at ease you seemed with this other guy, this guy that he didn’t know that well, but knew couldn’t treat you as well as he could.

“Oi, Y/n, I’m leaving,” is all he says, turning on foot before walking away from you. You can see the dejected slope to his shoulders, and you assume he’s upset from his second loss to you at the sheep contest.

Kirishima also watches him go and mumbles, “Kinda feel bad for him, you know? You’ve been him twice in a row now, that’s hard on the chief’s son.” You sigh and shrug, “Yeah, but he’s my best friend, he’ll pout for a bit and then get over it.”

But would he? What was that moment against the beacon tower? He was… different. 

You can’t stop the swirl of thoughts in your head, but you are interrupted when Kirishima rubs at the back of his neck and bashfully starts, “So, I was thinking, we’ve been hanging out for a while now, and I think you’re pretty cool. Would you maybe want to go on a date with me?”

Your body stills at the question. A date? With Kirishima? You blink up at the burly man. Once. Twice, and then it clicks in your head that you need to answer him.

“Sorry!” you blurt out, rubbing at your eyes before glancing in the direction Katsuki left. You put on a bit of a fake smile but reply, “Sorry, I’m a bit tired from my race. I’d say that sounds nice, but I really need to go check on Katsuki right now. I’ll chat with you later? At the Great Hall?”

You don’t miss the way Kirishima’s face drops, and you feel your chest tighten at the crestfallen look on his handsome features. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him- there wasn’t anything you disliked about Kirishima.

He was tall, handsome, and had a great job. He worked hard to provide for himself and his mother and even helped out the other farmers when he had time. Kirishima had one of the best personalities in your tribe, and there were plenty of women lined up to talk to him.

He was sweet, kind, and overall a gentleman. But there was something missing, and you didn’t quite know what it was.

Kirishima wasn’t anything like Katsuki, you reasoned. Katsuki was your best friend, and strong in so many other aspects. He was an incredible fighter, he was very strong, and always protective over the weak. He had empathy but only showed it to those who deserved to see it.

As the chieftain’s son, you knew he bore a pressure on his shoulders, but he did it so well you hardly could notice. Katsuki would make an excellent leader and father someday.

Father? Where’d that come from? You wonder, a soft warmth rushing over your cheeks and a wave of butterflies flooding your belly. You’re brought back to Kirishima in front of you when he shuffles on his feet and nods, “Sounds good, Y/n, I’ll catch up with you later. Great job on your race today!”

You thank him as he turns away, his shoulders also slumping down in defeat. You watch him walk away but glance back to where Katsuki disappeared too.

Little did you know, Katsuki had stopped around the corner, listening to Kirishima ask you out. After the word “date” came out of the redhead’s mouth, Katsuki left. He didn’t want to hear you accept another man’s courtship with him present.

You were his best friend. You were the one he had axe-throwing competitions with. You were the one he raced against to catch the most sheep. Hell, you were even the one to challenge him to see who could catch the biggest fish bare-handed.

You did everything together, so why did you want to choose Kirishima? Katsuki couldn’t help the thoughts from flooding his brain, so he set out to where he knew no one would find him.

—

Three long whistles fell from his lips as he settled into his saddle on Tyr’s back, the Monstrous Nightmare seemingly having calmed down from the race. The sun was setting over the central ravine of Naugost, and Katsuki knew most people would be setting out for the Great Hall for dinner after the race.

He didn’t really feel like having his loss shoved in his face, so he set out for Brokeback Point, the furthest edge north of the island, where the cliffs were steep and no one dared to rest. Waves crashed against the steep red crags, the roar of the water helping to quiet the racing thoughts in his head.

His thoughts of you. He knew he needed to tell you eventually, but with how happy you seemed with Kirishima, he didn’t think he could ruin it. A sigh falls from his mouth as he rubs at his eyes, and Tyr lays down next to the chieftain’s son, resting his head on Katsuki’s lap.

Katsuki huffs once, but keeps his mouth shut, instead rubbing the dragon on his snout and watching the sunset to his west. It was peaceful, being out here alone. It was half the reason why Katsuki didn’t want to become chief.

He enjoyed his freedom, being able to fly off to other islands, and mark all the different kinds of dragons around, and what habitats they liked. He wanted to know if there were people around, and if they were going to be a threat to his home. To you.

It was so much, sometimes, being the chief’s son, and that’s why he found so much solace in you. You understood him better than anyone, you were there for him when he needed a shoulder to lean on.

That’s why he-

No. Katsuki’s crimson eyes flutter shut at the thought, his brow creasing into a frown. He couldn’t think those words about you, not yet at least. Not when you were wrapped up in the arms of another man.

The sound of wings flapping a moment later has his eyes snapping back open. It was the figure of a dragon that was headed straight for him, the sun setting behind the beast, only leaving the figure outlined by its silhouette.

Tyr raises his head but takes a deep breath to smell the air before relaxing his neck back to the ground and shutting his eyes to rest. Katsuki glances at the relaxed state of his dragon at the approaching shape in front of him.

A Nadder. Not just any Nadder. Gretta.

The purple-tinged dragon lands further inland than Katsuki and Tyr, and you slide off of her silently as you walk toward the pair. Katsuki sends a silent prayer to the gods to help him stay calm and normal as you walk up to him, a silent air about you.

“How did you find me,” is all he says. It’s not even worded as a question, it’s more an open-ended statement. Your face is stoic, but you take a step toward him, shrugging your shoulders once.

“I have a Deadly Nadder, remember? One of the best trackers out there. And,” you glance off toward the sunset, where you see a Thunderdrum jump up out of the water and fly off toward a distant island. But you continue, looking him straight in the eye, “You weren’t at dinner, and you didn’t seem okay when Kirishima showed up.”

Katsuki groans and turns away from you before muttering, “I don’t want to hear about that damn redhead.” You’re quiet, calculating a response. You don’t get the chance to say anything, because he pipes back up, “Listen, I know you’re here to tell me about how you accepted his courtship invitation. I’m happy for you.”

Katsuki’s voice was anything but happy though. It was strained, a tension to his voice you’d never heard, and you place a hand on his shoulder to try to get him to face you.

You try, “Kats-” “Just leave it,” he cuts you off and knocks your hand off of his shoulder, “I want you to be happy, even if that means you marry that big dumb blacksmith.” “Katsuki!” you yell, your eyes closing in frustration.

The blonde turns toward you then, shock evident on his features at the heightened sound of your voice. You sigh and take a step forward, facing him shoulder to shoulder.

You grab his right hand with your own, his palm rough and calloused from his training. Katsuki is silent as he watches you, his eyes sharp and waiting, not so different from Tyr’s fiery gaze.

“I didn’t,” you whisper. Katsuki’s red gaze bores into your own (colored) one, but no recognition flashes over his features, so you insist, “I didn’t, you know, accept his offer. I couldn’t.”

“Stop joking,” is all he replies with, moving to tug his hand out of your own, even though it's the last thing he wants to do. “Katsuki Bakugou, shut the hell up and listen to me,” you state firmly, your grip tightening on his large palm.

-Start music-

He freezes at the use of his full name and the curse words, something you never say, and you take the opportunity to thread your fingers through his own. You can feel the intensity of his gaze on you, and you know how tense the moment is just by how still he is.

“I didn’t accept his offer,” you say again, and you shuffle on your feet as you squeeze his hand, “But I didn’t deny it either.” You can see the hope in his eyes start to fade out, the idea of you still wanting Kirishima lingering in his mind.

“Kirishima is nice,” you murmur, “He’s kind, and handsome.” You can feel Katsuki’s body harden at your praise of the redhead, but you continue, “He’s always nice to the dragons when fitting them at the smithery, and he even picks flowers with the village’s little girls.”

Katsuki shuts his eyes and whispers, “Please, Y/n, don’t tell me how much you like another man to my face,” and then they reopen and he finishes, “I don’t think my heart can take it.”

You just give him a smile and bring your intertwined hands up to rest over your heart. You hold his gaze evenly and you push, “Kirishima is great. But he’s not amazing.”

The blonde-haired man swallows thickly, but stays quiet as you mumble, “He’s not the chieftain’s son. He’s not a hardened viking that knows every in and out of our island.”

This catches Katsuki’s attention, and his eyes widen as your voice and words overtake his brain, “He’s not my best friend, he’s not the one who whoops my ass in axe-throwing competitions, and he’s not the one who takes me fishing in the summer.”

The smile is growing on your face, and you suddenly get shy and look down at your boots as you mumble out, “He’s not you, Katsuki.”

You hear your name fall off Katsuki’s lips, but you don’t look up. He says your name louder this time, using his free hand to cup your cheek and tilt your face up to meet his crimson gaze.

“What are you trying to say?” is what he says. He needed to know if you were saying what he thought you were trying to say.

You lean into his touch, somehow both familiar and foreign, there was a softness to this touch you’d never felt, and you gaze into his eyes as you utter, “It’s you, Kats. It’s always been me and you.”

You see his gaze soften, and the weight of you being with another lover is lifted off of his shoulders. He leans into you, his nose brushing against your own as his forehead rests against your own. You can feel a new, intense wave of butterflies rush through your stomach at the intimacy of this touch, one you’d never experienced before with anyone.

Katsuki’s voice comes out deep and gravelly when he asks, “Y/n, how will you have me? Will you have me as your own? Or just as-” “Shut up and kiss me already,” you rush out, pulling him closer to you by his shoulder.

A groan falls from his lips at your demand, but he’s not one to argue as he leans forward, capturing your lips for himself. It’s everything he’d ever imagined and more. It's different. Your mouth was sweet, the tang of apple cider hanging onto the edges of your lips.

You were warm against him, soft and pliable in his hands. Katsuki slides his hand from cupping your face to the back of your head, grabbing your neck, and pulling you flush against him. You gasp at the movement, and he takes that opportunity to deepen the kiss, his teeth coming to bite down on your lower lip before swiping his tongue across it as an apology.

The growls and rumbles of your dragons behind you make the two of you pull away, and while you swivel your head to look at the two peeping flying reptiles, Katsuki is left watching you.

When you turn back toward him, you see an intensity to his gaze that makes you lower your eyes, but he tuts and gains your attention before whispering, “Lady Y/n L/n of Island Naugost, will you do me the honors and go on a flight with me?”

You giggle at the cheesiness of his ask, something so out of character for him, but you nod with a wide grin and respond, “Chieftain-to-be Katsuki Bakugou of Island Naugost, I would love to go on a flight with you.”

He smirks down at you, leaning in slowly to press a chaste kiss to your lips before pulling away, throwing out three short whistles, and bringing Tyr to your sides. He rubs your neck softly before releasing his grip on you, climbing up to sit in Tyr’s saddle before offering you his hand.

“Milady?” he asks, his fingers reaching for your own. You glance toward Gretta before looking back at the blonde waiting for you and you give her two short whistles, and she immediately heads back towards the mainland.

You clasp onto Kastsuki’s hand, and he pulls you up into the saddle behind him, giving you the chance to wrap your arms around his waist. Tyr reaches back to nuzzle your foot, and you smile down at the moody Monstrous Nightmare as you settle into your seat.

“Are you ready?” Katsuki checks in, glancing over his shoulder only to find you resting your chin on the pad of his armor. He feels his heart flutter in his chest at the distant look in your eyes, and turns back straight to hide the pink dusting his cheeks. And it wasn’t from the sunset.

Tyr shuffles to the edge of the cliff, the deep oranges from the sunset glinting in harmony with the deep red of his scales, and in a few large flaps of his wings, the three of you are airborne. Katsuki lets Tyr fly smoothly around several small islands and rocky outposts on the outskirts of the island, the only sound being the pull of air on your clothes, the flapping of wings, and crashing from the water below you.

While flying wasn’t new to you in any sense, there was something so intimate and caring about the way Katsuki flew Tyr around. You could feel the connection between the two of them, and while they disagreed occasionally, like earlier in the day at the race, you knew they had a deep and intricate bond.

You lean forward from where your chin was resting on Katsuki’s shoulder and gently press them against his cheek in a soft kiss. His cheek is warm under your touch, and he turns toward you as you pull away, his eyes catching the shyness in your own (colored) gaze.

“C'mere,” he mumbles, turning so that you could slide up and into his lap. He made sure Tyr was flying smoothly before pulling you around to sit in front of him, with your back to Tyr’s head.

You were facing Katsuki, and with the sun setting behind him, he was gorgeously backlit. His features were hardened, yes, but the soft light helped smooth out his usual frown and scowl. 

He looked down at you and brushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear before whispering, “I’m not sure where we go from here, but we go together, alright?” You nod and offer him your hand, “When we get back to the Great Hall, I want us to be together.”

Katsuki cracks a smirk and taking your hand, mutters, “Hell, you can’t get rid of me now, Y/n/n, you’re stuck with me.” You giggle, which quickly becomes a playful scream as Katsuki grabs back onto Tyr’s horns and you are whisked off into the light of the dying sun.

A lifetime of memories of just being friends with Katsuki would remain at the front of your mind, but you were excited to see where this flight would take you. And while your future was uncertain with the tough blonde-haired viking, you knew that he was going to protect you until his last breath.