#I’ve been doing this instead of painting

[quietstormxr]

Broken

Part 1

Xaden POV - Companion to 'Home'

A/N: FW, IF, and OS Spoilers (They're small, but you've been warned.), grief, loss, panic attacks, violence

Word Count: >23k

Follows Xaden's POV prior to and through 'Home', prior to the reunion in Cordyn.

Forgotten - Tomorrow, Always Tomorrow - Home

For all those that were looking for different formats, here ya go!

Ao3 - Features the whole story, from beginning to current release.

Tumblr - More digestible chunks of this beast of a post.

As the winking stars begin to dim and the orange hues of dawn take to the sky, emptiness finally begins to fill me. Every single emotion pulled as far from me as they could be. Taking the largest breath I can, I let my lungs fill and wipe the residual tears from my face. 

This is war and I know this won’t be the last time I feel the anguish and fear of losing someone important to me. Those in Navarre will do anything they can to dull the spark of revolution. But I refuse to let that spark die, not today, not as long as I’m breathing.

The only emotion I know that will cover the emptiness is anger. 

Rage. 

Fury. 

I’ve picked up the pieces from nothing before, and I will do it again. I will never let them break me. I can’t. If nothing else can motivate me, the anger will. Anger at myself. The cadre of Basgiath. The venin. The insurmountable grief and responsibility given to me at such a young age. The many ways that people throughout my life have failed me.

But I won’t be able to beat them without a plan. I rise from the roof, shaking out the feeling of stagnation and walk back inside heading towards the assembly chamber.

I can only imagine the image I paint. Hair mussed from battle, dried blood and sweat encompassing every expanse of skin and leathers that clearly need to be cleaned. But none of that matters, I don’t care about the state of my appearance. The only concern is that this unexpected stop in Aretia becomes something worth the pain.

“Maybe you should take some time to bathe, brother.” The deep timbre of Garrick’s voice greets my ears as I push down the final stairs.

“He’s right, you know.” Bodhi chimes in from behind him. “You smell like rotting dragon shit.”

I snort in derision and roll my eyes. Leave it to my little cousin to be the one to joke after the hell that we’ve been through. 

“Please. Do shower.” Another voice rises from past the frame of the assembly door. “We can definitely wait until that happens before we begin.”

My boots stop as I glare at the entryway to the door. “The venin aren’t waiting on me to smell like daisies and neither is trying to find Y/N.”

“No.” Garrick interjects again. “But stopping for a minute and taking care of yourself is what is going to make the difference between starting a wild goose chase and approaching this with a plan.”

I stop to look at Bodhi and Garrick then, and it finally hits me. Though Bodhi is still smiling, there’s a tiredness behind his eyes, a sorrow that he doesn’t normally show weighing down his ordinarily easy smile, a sling holding one arm tight. On the other hand, Garrick stands tall and strong, but there’s a slight droop to his shoulders, the pride in his stance ever so slightly hunched, normally sharp eyes sunken slightly and an angry scar now marring his face.

The truth slaps me in the face. I’m not the only one that lost a brother. Not the only one looking for someone they love that’s now seemingly lost to us. Looking them both in the eyes, I give them a curt nod before heading back up the stairs to my room. 

Entering into my chamber, the air lands heavy like a weight, the shadows of the room stretch long and thick. Both a sense of calm at the familiarity and the ache of what I always hoped to be settle in my chest. So many times, I dreamed of waking in the bed in front of me, limbs tangled, hair mussed, and the laze of sleep still settled in the bones of my Blaze and I. 

Instead, I’m alone. 

I may be home at Riorson House, but my true home has vanished, torn from me, destroyed by my own hand. 

Shaking the haze of my thoughts, I close the door behind me and lock it, actions becoming mechanical. Shedding the layers of my weapons, flight leathers, and shoes feels robotic, nothing intentional in the movements.

It isn’t until the shock of cold-water washes over me that I take a deep breath at the sudden bite of the frigid temperature. The sting of the water causes me to breathe, but my mind turns destructive once again as I watch the blood that drenched my body washing down the drain. The crimson color acting like my aching heart slipping through my fingers. 

Thoughts begin filtering through my mind of Y/N bloodied, wounded, just barely clinging to life. The knife twisting in my chest at the thought of her alone and truly believing she wasn’t nearly as important as she is. 

‘Focusing on her demise will not pull you forward. These thoughts can only lie in your past if you expect to find her.’ Sgaeyl’s words break through the deepening chasm, and I shudder trying to discard all the terrible thoughts in my mind. 

‘But what if they’re true. What if I left her to die?’ A wave of comfort washes through our bond, but there’s no sugar coating Sgaeyl’s push.

‘Do you not think her own dragon would know of her rider’s death? I know you always need control but sometimes giving it up is the only way forward.’ Her words land like a punch to the gut. If there is one thing I haven’t excelled at since the Apostasy it’s giving up control in any form. 

Those parting thoughts from Sgaeyl are the thing that makes me finally step out of the shower. Walking to the mirror, I look back and it’s as if I’m staring at a stranger. My eyes seem hollow, the spark of a contained storm that usually dances in them muted, the gold tones turned sallow. Instead of a commanding presence borne of an air of danger, I feel like a husk, all the allure of menace pulled from the marrow of my bones.

No matter the void I feel, Sgaeyl is correct, and I must let go of some of my control. Especially when it comes to finding the woman I love. I need help. I will never be able to find her alone. Even with Garrick and Bodhi, we will need to utilize every resource we have to try and find where she has gone. 

Walking out of my room once again, the hollow resolve of moving forward settles. I must push on, not only for Blaze, but for all of the people that depend on me. For all the responsibility I shoulder. 

Crossing the doors of the Assembly room, I don’t deign to look at the ones gathered, instead I place my typical mask on and hold my head high. Illusion of control holding my every sense together as I push forward to the dais in the room and place my arm upon the throne of Tyrrendor. Taking a deep breath, I turn and face everyone, eyes roaming the faces and emotions around me.

“Violet’s awake.” Brennan announces as he paces into the chamber.

I raise an eyebrow at the news, asking the question of how she took the news of her brother’s condition without words. Brennan scoffs at me before he goes and takes his seat at the table. A small knowing smirk lilts on my lips, if I thought she was insufferable about finding out about the gryphons, I can only imagine what Brennan had to deal with.

“I think you are more than aware that we can’t send you all back to Basgiath. At this point, the girl is a liability. She’s a first year, gave up vital information, and what’s to stop her from going straight to her mother.” I roll my eyes as Ulices come slicing in with his barrage of typical hotheadedness.

There’s no missing the way that Kylynn shakes her head in agreement. Experienced riders they may be, but their brashness in trusting anyone outside of the rebellion’s small circle is questionable at best.

“That may be true; however, we can’t just leave him sidelined here. You can’t tell me that Navarre would believe that he didn’t make it, but the rest of them did.” Trissa interrupts as she points towards me. The rumbles in agreement are louder than they should be, the knife of grief twisting thinking of those I couldn’t save. I would’ve willingly died to have Liam still standing. To protect Soleil. Death isn’t something I’ve come to fear, not after watching my father burn in front of my eyes. It’s an inevitability that I’d come to delay once I’d met Y/N. My desire to live and burn with her stronger than my nonchalance of life.

“We can’t keep any of them here. Their signets are too important, and Navarre won’t accept that they went down that easily, not if any of the rest of them return.” Brennan reasons as he points towards the open door where Bodhi, Imogen, and now Violet stand. 

“They shouldn’t be listening into an Assembly meeting.” Suri scoffs in disgust, her sneer directed towards Violet. 

“Whether or not they heard the words from your mouths or not is irrelevant. I would’ve shared what was discussed with them anyway.” I spit derisively towards Suri, patience riding a fine line. “Besides, as you all dictated, I took responsibility for Violet. I can show you the new scar on my back if you’re unsure if I was serious.”

My eyes sharpened, the accusation sitting heavy in the air as they all look back at me. “Otherwise, feel free to go into the valley and ask Tairn if he believes his rider will hold up her end of the bargain and aid our cause.” I let the threat sit, knowing none of them would dare approach the grisly black morningstar tail. 

“While that decision may be questionable from our angle.” Felix begins, the voice of reason always trying to diffuse the timebomb of the Assembly. “The rapport that she has built between the group and the fact that his life is tied to hers makes this entire discussion moot. They all need to return and keep their heads down.”

His words finally seem to reverberate through the room with clarity that didn’t seem to be there before. Everyone agrees to the fact that there is no way to escape Navarre and their punishment for those whose parents participated in the Apostasy. 

“Either way, we need to keep our heads low until we can come up with a new plan.” Brennan says, his tone dismissive, even with the grumbles that can be heard throughout the room. Person by person, everyone files out, until it’s only Brennan, Violet, Bodhi, Imogen, and me.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better Violet.” My tone isn’t cold, but there’s a definitive lack in warmth. It isn’t that I’m not glad that she was able to recover, but I’m still trying to move past the events of the last four days.

“Thanks.” I can’t help but lift my eyebrow when a flush begins to creep up her neck. “So, my not-so-dead brother tells me this is Riorson House. How is this still standing?”

Her eyes are filled with curiosity, a clear interest in roaming over the entirety of the fortress around her, trying to take in and process everything that has been revealed.

“Stone.” I state matter-of-factly. “Stone doesn’t burn, so we were able to keep the central operations of the rebellion here.”

We watch as she runs her hand down the length of the long table that is in front of us. Looking back and forth between her and Brennan, I decide it’s time to let them have a conversation of their own without our intrusion. Besides, I want to find Garrick so we can make a plan to look for Y/N. 

My mind may be occupied with the business of the Assembly while I’m here during waking hours, but I know the minute I close my eyes, she’s the only thing my mind will focus on. 

“We’re going down to the valley. Meet us down there once you’re done talking to your brother.” Taking on an authoritative tone brooking no argument from the small silver-haired girl in front of me. “He can fill you in on some of the information on the rebellion and the venin.”

Without waiting on her response, I turn and head towards the valley. Leaving the sanctum of Riorson House, my eyes try to take in the city around me, to see where we are in rebuilding, but the only thing that registers in my mind is the need to get to the dragons and come up with a plan with Garrick.

Getting closer to the valley, my brows knit in confusion as I see Sgaeyl’s form hovering over that of another dragon. Upon closer inspection, my brows shoot up when I see the color of the scales. 

‘Is that Andarna?’ I question Sgaeyl as we come closer. 

Her head swings to me and I watch as her gaze looks over those that are coming up behind me. 

‘Yes. She needs to get back to the Vale as quickly as possible. She needs to complete the dreamless sleep with as little interruption as possible.’ Sgaeyl’s stern voice carries the weight of every additional issue we are going to be facing.

Taking a deep breath, my focus is turned as I hear heavy footfalls coming up next to me. 

“I’ve been back to Resson - twice.” Garrick confirms as both our gazes land on the adolescent dragon in front of us. “I spoke with the fliers and survivors and…”

His pause causes my gaze to swing, my heart beginning to gallop with the hope that he found out something. “Nothing.”

With one word, my heart cracks open in my chest, the organ bleeding into a mess of a million pieces. The only thing stopping me from drowning in my own misery, is the anger and frustration weaving through every nerve in my body.

“How?” The word comes out both breathless and furious. “How the fuck did no one see anything? She didn’t just disappear into thin air!”

The words erupt from me, anger and shadows tearing from me unwillingly. I try to rein in my breath, my fear, my feelings, but the way she disappeared is haunting me. Her ability to just slip through our fingers unnoticed a haunting reminder of the disconnect between all of us. 

“I know, Xaden, and I let my frustration known to those there. But none of our usual flier contacts were present, only Syrena and her sister made it out alive, and to the civilians everything was a blur.” Garrick tries to reason as I tear my hands through my still damp hair, pacing away.

I hear his reasoning and in my own rational mind, I know he’s right but the tumult of emotions from the past few days have left me agitated. Thinking of returning to Basgiath without my Blaze slices me open, yet I know we have no choice. I can’t let Soleil and Liam’s deaths be in vain. I will not let the cadre win at their twisted game. 

‘Tairn’s rider approaches.’ I snort at Sgaeyl. 

It never escaped my notice the quiet derision she holds for Violet. I’m unsure if she only finds her lacking as a rider for her mate or just a general distaste, but I won’t ask. The marked difference in the way she refers to Blaze as the ‘Devoted One’ and Violet as ‘Tairn’s rider’ only shows the chasm of difference in respect from my ruthless blue daggertail. 

I stand back as Violet and Brennan crest the hill, Violet’s face going slack once finally landing on Andarna’s larger form. The rest of us stay back as she has a conversation with Tairn and Andarna. Everyone knows better than to get between a rider and their dragon. 

‘Even worse when the dragon happens to be an adolescent.’ Sgaeyl’s voice slides through my mind and I can’t help the small snort that leaves me. 

We all watch as Andarna begins to unfurl to her true height, shadows lash out as I realize she’s about to topple and they dissipate as soon as she is standing. Soon enough, Violet is whipping around, conviction clear on her face.

“We have to go back.” Her voice is firm, convinced she is going to make the decision. 

I don’t speak, as I let the arguments around me fester. I’m more than aware we will be going back to Basgiath, but its something that everyone else needs to arrive at on their own. Once everyone seems to agree, Violet turns to face me, the look she gives seems like she’s expecting me to argue against her. The defiant tilt to her head making me either want to roll my eyes or smirk.

“We will need to be back in 48 hours in order for everything to work.” My voice is firm, assurity at what we are about to do settling. The risk of going this route are high, but there’s truly no other option. 

‘They will not touch you or the lives who depend on you. This will work.’ Sgaeyl’s confirmation steels my resolve.

“The harness needs some modifications, but we should be able to leave in a few hours.” Bodhi confirms as he moves towards the blacksmith. 

I nod and turn to make my own plans for the search for my Blaze from Aretia. Walking through the halls of Riorson House, I find the one person with a level head on the Assembly.

“Felix, I need to discuss something that isn’t Assembly related.” The tone of my voice must be persuasive, because he follows me back into the Assembly chamber with no other details.

“I’m in need of your skills in order to find another rider.” Felix’s bushy grey eyebrow quirks up in intrigue. “When we went into battle in Resson we had eleven riders.”

I let myself take a breath as a wave of grief tightens my throat. “As you know Liam and Soliel weren’t fortunate enough to make it through, but there was someone else that has seemed to slip away.”

The constriction of my throat has continued to get worse, and I try desperately to clear it before continuing. “I lost the woman I love.” The words tumble out, each one like sandpaper against my own throat. 

I can feel the tears that begin to pool behind my eyes, and I look up to the wooden beams of the chambers ceiling to try and bring myself back together.

“We were locked in battle, and sometime during the melee, she vanished.” I choke out the words. “Her dragon is with us, and Sgaeyl has all but confirmed that she’s still alive, but we have no idea where she is.”

Felix’s eyebrows continue to pull in as he takes in my words. After several minutes of silence, I close my eyes and take a shuddering breath. My mind pulling me into my own dark thoughts, before Felix shifts in his seat, breaking me from my trance. 

“I’ll speak with Nuirlach and see if we can do some scouting.” Felix replies, his voice gruff but understanding. “Though you must stay focused. I’ll do what I can, but you’ll need to remain composed and in control.”

I nod in understanding as I watch him rise and move towards the doors. But before he leaves the chamber, he turns. “You need to continue to hold out hope, but you also need to hold your feelings close to your heart. If the cadre learn that you have a weakness like love, they will hunt her too.”

A tingle runs down my spine at Felix’s warning. With my second signet, I’m constantly cognizant of the need to hide my secrets, to guard the most vulnerable parts of myself, I know better than anyone that I can’t let my shields slip. 

Sinking into the throne on the dais, I let my head fall into my hands. The reality of everything from the past few days crashing around me. Trying to breathe through it seems almost impossible, but there is no way to avoid the need to move forward. 

I’ll be no help wallowing, but I let myself have this. Let myself have the few minutes of reprieve, to grieve the brother and friend that I lost, and to hold onto the slice of hope that I will find the woman I love. 

_____________________

Standing on the dais and facing off with Colonel Aetos I let the wrath build, but don’t let any emotion leak from my eyes. I refuse to let this small man take away the meaning of the death and loss we’ve suffered at the hands of too many in the cadre of Navarre. 

“Get back to formation.” Aetos Sr. snarls as he tries and fails to stand taller than my large frame. 

“Happily, sir.” I let myself take one breath before I stalk away and back up to Garrick, Violet falling in line behind me. 

“Everyone back into formation.” My words are curt, a command instantly heeded by the squad still standing tall against the narrowed gazes of command. 

There’s no way to disregard the whispers and glances that are directed our way from every cadet. I tighten my shields even further and close my mind to the thoughts that mill around me. There is every chance that one wrong comment or thought will melt every single ounce of hold I have on my emotions. 

As I take my place at the front of Fourth Wing’s formation, I brace for the inevitability of what’s to come. Though there is no way to truly stop myself from the crash of emotions, a constant wave of agony. 

Finally, Captain Fitzgibbons takes his place back in front of the entirety of formation and begins to read the names that will get nothing more than this brief footnote. The instant he opens his mouth, my entire body tenses waiting for the few words that will wreck me. 

“Soleil Telery. Liam Mairi.” The breath between the names feels like oblivion, every single nerve ending is taught, my body bracing for impact, emotion roiling in a way that I can barely contain. 

“Y/N L/N.” My lungs cease, my entire body rigid, except my heart. At the thought of her death being a possibility, I can feel each piece of my heart shattering beyond repair. I can feel each rip, each cut, as my heart threatens to fragment with my body not far behind.

‘She is alive, Xaden.’ Sgaeyl’s words are firm, tearing through the blinding pain that has gripped me. 

It feels as if absolutely everything is crumbling, but I force myself to take a small breath. I will prove nothing if I break here and I will damn her, instead of saving her like I want. 

After her name my focus is gone, my mind a swirling mess of barely contained emotion, but my face is a mask of boredom. I won’t let those who seek only to annihilate me the satisfaction of falling at their feet, even though it’s what my body truly wants to do. 

“We checked her room and only found a few standard issue weapons and uniforms.” Garrick informs me as we walk towards the rotunda and our fate. “It seems like she knew what she was going to do, even before we left.” 

I feel my pulse spike at the knowledge. I want to punch the wall, to send shadows to choke every single thing that has come between us, but I just close my eyes and try to push a breath through my lungs as we wait for everyone to gather. 

The memory of only an hour earlier hits like one of Violet’s lightning bolts through my heart as I try to keep myself contained. Try to keep all the questions, emotions, and swarming anger at bay.

“Garrick Tavis.” The name finally draws me back to the present. The names of the graduating Section Leaders being called to receive their orders. As I turn, I realize that they are handwriting Garrick’s directives, and I know that whatever lies ahead is going to be just another test in my resolve to continue this farce that I’ve had to play for the Navarrian government. 

“Lamani Zohar.” I tune back in as I await my name.

“Xaden Riorson.” I turn, my movements sharp and my boots clicking the stone with a finality. 

I should be basking in the fact that I survived this test. Survived three damn years of torture, fighting for my life, for the lives of those I care about, and for the ability of the marked ones to stand a chance through bigotry and hate. But my stomach is still leaden as I wait for them to finish handwriting my own orders.

“You must report to your duty station within 72 hours.” The captain handing the missives confirms. I nod in acknowledgment and take confident strides towards the barracks.

As I pass through the rotunda, Garrick steps into stride with me. “That went infinitely better than I was expecting.”

I can’t help the scoff that leaves my lips. “You didn’t really think they would uncover centuries worth of lies just for one marked squad, did you?”

A mirthless chuckle leaves his lips. “Of course not, that would definitely not be conducive to keeping the populace in line.”

A silence stretches over us as we climb the stairs of the dormitories. 

“Plan on leaving tonight, correct?” Garrick asks as we walk down the third-year leadership floor. 

“Of course.” I say without breaking my strides. “I have 71 hours to spend looking for Y/N and I intend on utilizing every, single one.”

“So, I assume you aren’t going to stop at the party before leaving.” The glare I give him is icy and his hands lift as if in surrender.

“After I receive the missive regarding Tairn and Sgaeyl, I am leaving immediately.” I turn back before walking across the threshold of my last residence at Basgiath and Garrick gives me a quick nod before passing through his own door.

Turning about my room, I do my best to busy myself. I promptly drag the boxes I had brought up days ago for my extra weapons and a few books that will be shipped. Placing each item methodically into the boxes, I try to push away any lingering reactions, focusing solely on packing as quickly as possible.

As I make a final sweep of the room, I see a small piece of parchment peaking out from underneath the desk. As the familiar script comes into view, my breathing comes to a quick halt.

‘Xaden- I know this day is hard, but I hope that a little slice of cake will bring you a little comfort and happiness, even if you don’t need me to. – Blaze’

I take a deep breath as a water spot hits the edge of the parchment. Gods, what I wouldn’t do to feel her arms wrapped around me. To melt into the safety of her and bury my head in the crook of her neck. But instead, I’m without her. Without my brother, my friend. One day and everything in my life imploded as if it was just a dandelion blowing in the wind. 

I fold the note with unnecessary force and stick it in the breast pocket of my coat. The words may taunt me now, the fact that my actions brought my own pain to fruition, but I won’t let go of the sentiment and care laced in her every word. 

“We lost Soliel Telery, Liam Mairi, and Y/N L/N.” I repeat as I’ve practiced in my head, but it takes everything for my voice not to crack. “And Sorrengail wouldn’t know where the bodies are as she was delirious with poison.”

The words pour from me, the only thing I can do is repeat ‘its not true, it’s not real, she’s fine’ in my head over and over so I don’t do something I’ll regret. 

Closing the door, an odd sense of finality washes over me as the memory of earlier fades. Not one borne of fear, but a sense of determination begins to settle into my bones. Marching down the stairs of the dormitories, I’m suddenly reminded that as much as I’m leaving Basgiath behind, I’ll be dragged back repeatedly for the next two years. 

The sense of freedom from the confines of the citadel ropes wash away and instead seem to tighten around my ankles, the feeling solidifying as I watch a small girl with silver-tipped hair gliding towards me, a spark of mischief in her eyes.

“Leaving so soon, Lieutenant?” Violet’s words hold a heady sense of bravado and sultry challenge, but the note that is pressed against my heart makes my façade impenetrable. 

“Yes, I have someone to find before heading to Samara.” At the news her face falls, a sense of dismay clouding her vision.

“You’re headed to the front? That’s what you chose?” I let out a light huff as she vocalizes her dismay but chooses to discount my other words.

“Didn’t have much choice seeing as we arrived after every other third year was assigned.” The words roll off my tongue, no surprise hidden in them. There’s no upset in the cadre at sending Garrick and I to one of the most brutal outposts we have, I would dare to say it was planned anyway.

Bootsteps begin to fall down the hall and my gaze narrows on the two uniformed figures heading our way.

“Lieutenant Riorson. Violet. Just the two we were hoping to see.” My eyes roam over the two figures. Aetos Sr. holding a glint in his eye that makes me want to desperately punch the smugness off his face. But it’s the one standing next to him that has my shadows sharpening and twisting just a bit more violently around my boots. 

“Thought you’d be interested in these missives before your flight to the front. Wouldn’t want to leave you unprepared for when you’ll inevitably be returning to Basgiath.” The words are nondescript but the threat hiding underneath them is evident. 

“I would say I’ll see you soon enough, but from what I’ve heard, General Sorrengail has re-evaluated her choice in aids.” An angry huff leaves his mouth, the indignance painting the lines in his face.

“Yes, well, that may be, but I’m not the one that’s keeping secrets, am I?” Aetos’ words seem sure, but the sneer on my lips leaves him questioning as usual.

“Aren’t you though?” My accusation hits exactly where I was hoping to aim, and I watch his eyes darken in response. 

“I’d watch your back Lieutenant, it seems that the more secrets one has, the less likely they are to return to their loved ones.” I don’t miss the oily way the bastard looks between Violet and I, as I analyze the rank on his collar.

“And Violet, I thought you’d like to be introduced to your new Vice Commandant, Major Varrish. He’s here to keep you all in line the coming year.” The peak of curiosity that sparks in Varrish’s eyes causes my shadows to respond, darkness trailing up Violet’s legs in a protective wave. 

“I’m sure I will be seeing lots of you over the coming months, Cadet Sorrengail. Though hopefully the company you keep will improve.” The barbed comment is directed to hit, but it misses its intended target.

As they both retreat, we simultaneously crack the seals to the missives. The minute my eyes hit the paper, I can hear Sgaeyl’s roar in my head. Every seven days is considerably less than their normal stint and I have no doubt we are going to be in for a little extra misery.

“Tairn isn’t happy about the new arrangement.” Violet muses as she begins walking with me towards the flight field.

“Neither is Sgaeyl. And it doesn’t seem as if the new Vice Commandant is going to make this year particularly easy for you.” We both stop in the rotunda facing each other. 

The spark of mischief in Violet’s eyes is still there, but it’s muted from the encounter we both just experienced. 

“Work on your shields, Violet. Keep out of the business of the other Marked Ones and keep on your guard.” I instruct, turning back to the commanding tone of a wingleader.

“The Wingleader voice doesn’t work on me anymore. Besides, shouldn’t we be past the whole kill her because she’s a Sorrengail?” Her voice rises with a hint of indignance. 

“You may think that, but not all the Marked Ones give a damn about my life, especially since I sentenced them to this fate. You should be just as on guard as you were last year, if not more so with the new Vice Commandant who just showcased his disdain.” Violet only rolls her eyes at me before taking a step forward, closing into the distance between us.

“Well, aren’t you going to give me a proper goodbye?” I can’t stop the incredulous look that crawls across my face. 

“Proper goodbye?” My brows continue to furrow as she steps even closer. “I’m not sure what you think has changed between us in the last six days Sorrengail, but this is about as proper of a goodbye as you’re going to get.”

As I finish my statement, I take two full steps away and watch as the playful glint in her eyes dies. I thought I’d been consistent enough with her to keep her from forming any such attachment, but it’s becoming more and more apparent that at some point this will most likely come to a head. How many times do I need to make my feelings clear before she finally relents her pursuit?

‘For Tairn’s rider, it may take until you make the Devoted One yours in your human mating ritual.’ Sgaeyl supplies, ever the unhelpful one. 

My lips thin at the comment and my attention focuses back on Violet.

“I will see you again in seven days, Violet. Keep your shields up and yourself out of trouble.” At the close of my statement, I sling my pack on my back and stride forward towards Sgaeyl. I refuse to turn my head back, I will not look behind me, I cannot dwell on the happiness I found in that hellhole when the entire reason for my smile is somewhere in the distance.

Stars twinkle above me as Sgaeyl sets a hard pace back towards the battlefield of Resson. I know Garrick already checked there, but I refuse to relinquish any hope until I interrogate the people there myself.

_____________

Almost seventy-two grueling hours later and a countless number of times I’ve raked my hands through my hair and nothing has been gained. It’s like her ghost is mocking me, the entirety of her current existence erased from the continent – at least that’s what it seems. She’s faded into oblivion with greater skill than my shadows in a dimly lit hallway.

As Garrick and I enter the gates of Samara, I blink against the brightness of the morning light. The tension in my shoulders has left me aching, the constant battle of holding everything together over the last few days giving me no relief. 

“Just another damn test in the road to death, right brother?” Garrick says as he claps his hand firmly on my shoulder.

I grunt in reply, my ability to form words halting after the tumult of days searching for any scrap of information, lying in the faces of the cadre and navigating the ever-changing relationship with Sorrengail. 

Reporting to Lieutenant Colonel Degrensi leaves us both with our assigned rooms. If there is one thing I can be thankful for with the last name that I have, it is that no one wants to sleep in the same room as the Great Betrayer’s son. I almost scoffed at my delegation to a private room, until I realized it will do nothing but be a boon to everything we are already trying to accomplish. 

Garrick, on the other hand, gave me a look of such jealousy, I couldn’t help the smirk that crawled across my face. The constant taunts we trade a small slice of normalcy that I’ve been craving desperately. It’s with that same smirk that I sit down in the mess hall with him, tray in hand. 

“How are you enjoying your private quarters, Your Grace?” Garrick’s drawl rises to my ears as I sit down.

“Enjoying it immensely, especially since that includes a private bathing chamber.” Garrick’s scoff greets my ears and has me grinning, all teeth.

“Too bad you won’t be dragging anyone back there to enjoy the privacy.” I know that Garrick didn’t think before the words came out of his mouth, but that doesn’t stop my face from falling, betrayal and sadness crossing my eyes in equal measure. 

“Damn, Xaden. I’m sorry.” The sincerity in his voice is welcome, but I can only give him a sad quirk of my lips in return. 

“I wouldn’t have been able to use it anyway.” I say reservedly. “She wouldn’t have been assigned to this outpost.”

I let the words settle between us as we eat. Everything since that day has felt like ash on my tongue, the sustenance taken just so I can continue my search. The weight hanging as a noose tightening ever so slightly the longer we go without any information. 

As if the words sparked something in Garrick’s brain, he looks back at me, thoughtfulness clouding his eyes. “What are you going to do with Sorrengail?”

My eyes narrow. “What do you mean what am I going to do with her?” The question makes my hackles rise, as if I’m going to get myself even more entangled with the General’s daughter than I already am. 

“I don’t mean like that.” Garrick deadpans, a look of annoyance flashing. “I meant what information are you going to give her? You know, as well as I do, that she isn’t going to just sit back idly now that she has a taste of the information.”

I give a tired sigh. This isn’t the first time the thought has crossed my own mind, I know better than to think that Violet will go back to the way things were last year and only focus on keeping herself alive. It’s just another weighted issue that tugs at my mind waiting to be solved.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” I say flatly because there’s no reason to sugar coat it, not with Garrick. “I’d love for her to just focus on keeping herself alive. She’s got RSC this year, plus now the looming issue of Varrish and whatever he’s going to bring, along with Aetos’ threats, so it isn’t like she needs any more information until her shields are impeccable.”

“She already has more than enough information to have all of our heads on the chopping block multiple times over.” Garrick’s answering nod shows me that I’m not the only one leaning on not giving her any other information than what she’s already seen. 

“I’ll trust your judgment with Sorrengail.” Garrick concedes. “But more importantly, what is your plan on how we find out where Y/N is?”

Hearing her name brings a fresh flash of pain to my chest. I rub at the ache, trying to will away some of the sting. 

“I’ve written a letter to Syrena. I’m meeting with Aisereigh tomorrow and he’ll deliver it directly. Otherwise, I’ll need your help.” The look I give Garrick can’t be considered anything but pleading, the only thing that I haven’t done is get on my knees and beg. If there’s any hope of being able to accomplish what I want, I need help from him and his signet, on top of whatever scouting Felix is able to do.

“I want to start at all of the border villages near Resson and see if there’s anyone that has seen her.” I speak, hoping that Garrick understands what I’m asking him to do. 

“How do you expect to find her when these people won’t even know who we’re talking about. Describing her is only going to get us so far.” The thing I’m leaving out is how I thoroughly intend on utilizing my second signet to march through the minds of everyone we encounter. My only hope is that my description can catch something in their minds. 

“I think we shouldn’t have too much trouble since she was wearing black riding leathers. That should draw enough attention to get people to remember. Besides, she’s probably one of the most beautiful women around, I have a hard time believing that anyone would forget her face.” Garrick hums back in acknowledgment. 

“On top of all that, I have Felix working with the riders in the service of the rebellion checking with their contacts that are plotted throughout Poromiel. Without her dragon though, she may be able to meld into one of the villages seamlessly.” The thought of her melting into the shadows of a small town in Poromiel has me the most concerned. It has been months since we’ve talked at length, especially about the war effort. After everything she saw in the last week and all the ways I’ve failed her, it wouldn’t surprise me if she could evade me by just moving on to a traditional civilian life. The thought brings an unease I don’t know how to stomach. What if she finds someone to take her in and treat her like I should have been the entire year? What if she finds a man better than me?

‘Stop spiraling. She won’t give up fighting for the forgotten just because she was.’ Sgaeyl’s words cut through me, her frankness both a balm and blade.

“After tomorrow’s drop, lets plan on what cities we will visit first so we can begin to tick off options. I want to make sure we hit as many places as possible, maybe if we get the townsfolk to start talking, she’ll hear that we’re looking for her.” I can only hope the rumor mill of small towns will eventually grace her ears and get her back to me as soon as possible.

“Riorson.” A sharp female voice greets my ears, and I turn to see Cornelia Sahalie striding towards me. 

“You’ll be on duty next weekend.” She reveals and I curse under my breath. It doesn’t escape me that they aren’t going to make this easy. “To welcome you properly to Samara, thought I’d acquaint you with some of Degrensi’s rules around here. There’s a pass for new Lieutenant’s for the weekend and you can challenge whoever currently holds it.”

As I look back at her, I try to find any ounce of malice, but unusually, she seems completely sincere. “If you’re interested, Jarrett currently has it. Consider this some help with settling into Samara.”

Without any additional niceties, she walks away without further fanfare. Looking back at Garrick I roll my eyes. As if having to earn my place by taking responsibility for 107 children, then prove my worth by rising to Wingleader at Basgiath, just to start all over again in Samara is exhausting. 

“Looks like it’s back to the rookie card.” Garrick muses as his eyes trail to the place Sahalie was just standing. I huff a sardonic scoff and shake my head, the constant need to prove myself a tiring endeavor. 

“I suppose it’s always better than dead.” Conversation dies as we both tuck into our meal and let our new reality settle around us.

__________

Weeks later, I find myself climbing the stairs to the second-year floor at Basgiath. The constant back and forth between duty stations wearing on my already thin patience as weeks have ticked by without any single scrap of information. Scouting from Felix and pushing for information from the border towns of Poromiel proving fruitless.

Though now I’m here to deal with the other thorn in my side.

Bodhi had informed me of the latest attempt on Violet’s life, and I have a few choice words for her lack of transparency. I knock on the familiar door and am not surprised to see her in a typical scribe’s pose with books strewn about the floor.

“Xaden –“ She says, surprise coloring her tone. 

“Violet.” I give her an exacerbated look, that I hope conveys my very real annoyance at her inability to disclose another threat on her life. 

“I – I didn’t expect to see you.” She hurriedly gets up from the floor, the sudden fluster of her entire demeanor causing my eyes to narrow in challenge. 

“Whether or not you intended me to see you, Sorrengail, I expect you to inform me when an attempt is made on your life.” My words come out clipped and clearly restrained. If I die due to this damn bond before I can find Blaze, I’ll tear Malek’s realm to the ground. 

“There’s nothing you can do.” Violet replies in a tone so nonchalant; it makes my blood boil. 

“I may not be able to do anything, but it doesn’t change the fact that my damn existence is tied to yours. So yes, I believe that I should be made aware of each and every time you are in a life-threatening situations.” I impart enough force into my voice that I hope it finally clicks that no matter what we need to communicate the basics with each other.

“Careful shadow wielder, it sounds an awful lot like you care about what happens to me.” Violet’s voice dips in its tone and I know this is the precarious line she loves to teeter on. 

“Unfortunately for me, between our dragons and your mother, I’ve had no choice but to care about your well-being. To the detriment of my entire life.” The words are muttered, a silent curse that leaves my lips. 

“Come on Xaden.” Violet complains, her hand running down my marked arm, a bravado she doesn’t normally show running down our godsforsaken bond. Her eyes trailing across my skin that still glistens with sweat from my sparring session with Bodhi. “She left. She chose herself and walked away from you, from her dragon. Don’t you think it’s time to move on.”

I can’t help it, my vision turns red, fury that I’ve never known directed at the entire reason my Blaze thought she wasn’t good enough to stand by me, to be by my side, taunting me at her absence. 

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand Sorrengail.” My words are calm, lethal, but instead of dropping the subject, Violet takes it as a reason to push farther.

“I understand perfectly. I was around more often than she’s been in the last year. I know that you’re hurting and it’s all because of her, because she couldn’t take what it meant to be around you – in your orbit.” Violet’s words are silky, a push to grasp something that was never hers and won’t ever be.

“She left and is making everyone pick up your pieces, while you tear your hair out and lose sleep looking for her. That isn’t fair to you.” The comment cracks a fissure in my mind I thought I closed years ago. The vision of Y/N as my mother, leaving me behind, tearing through the shreds of closure I thought were secure. 

‘Do not let Tairn’s rider speak to the actions of others, especially if she was part of the cause.’ Sgaeyl’s voice cracks through my mind like a whip, the force of it making me blink.

My eyes narrow, the fury from before melting to indignance. How dare someone who knows nothing about me push me into a chasm I’d pulled myself from by the fragile claws of my existence. One that the girl she is bashing moved mountains to prove that it was never me, never because I wasn’t good enough. 

I can’t take it anymore; I turn abruptly and march out of Violet’s door. The civil relationship and communication I thought we’d finally developed fracturing again. This time not from the things I chose to keep from her, but because of her incessant need to dig into something that doesn’t involve her. 

Before getting too far down the hall, I turn back and see Violet’s expectant face in the doorway. The look she gives is one that makes it seem she is expecting me to turn around, to run to her as my sanctuary, but my parting words are anything but sweet. 

“Never mistake, Sorrengail, that your entire family has taken more from me than just my father.” I begin stalking back towards her as I let the menace of my words gather. “Your mother may have murdered my father and scarred me, but the need to complete your mother’s favor and save my own life and those I’m responsible for has driven the one damn light in my life away. Because between the favor I owed your mother to save children from the same fate of their parents and the bond of our dragons, I didn’t get a choice. But, from this point on, I will never choose you over her, even if it ends in my death.”

I don’t wait for a response or even an emotion, I turn on my heels and exit the second-year floor. No longer will I try to cultivate any type of relationship with a woman who is hell bent on destroying the one I hold most dear.

‘You should have considered that before you lost the Loyal One.’ The feminine voice of Dhioch slides through my mind. She has become the living embodiment of all the ways I have failed, though it’s the hope that my love is still alive that makes me thankful for the brown dragon’s verbal assaults. I doubt she would be deigning to speak with me if her rider wasn’t still with us. 

‘She made sure to let the Empyrean know about her issues with their rules.’ Sgaeyl’s voice comes back through my mind, the familiar cadence calming my nerves, though my brows furrow at her words.

‘Dhioch set half of the Threshing field on fire after they said she wouldn’t be allowed to reinforce the bond with the Devoted One.’ My brows rise at the information. 

This is the first time Sgaeyl has even hinted at information discussed within the Empyrean, let alone described the fallout. I’m almost surprised that Dhioch hasn’t faced any punishments for daring to defy the Empyrean. 

‘I do not do this lightly Xaden.’ Sgaeyl’s tone comes out in slight admonishment. ‘Dhioch and I firmly believe that the Devoted One will have a large part to play in this coming war. We cannot let a bond like theirs fail. If we do, there is no hope.’

I stop walking as Sgaeyl’s words slice through my mind, every gear working to try and figure out what exactly she means. But as I try to focus on her words, another thought sparks in my mind. 

The books. 

The ones strew about Violet’s room, the titles that she worked so hard to cover up begin to come up clearly in my mind. 

“Shit.” The word passes in an unbidden hiss when it hits me what the constant thorn in my side is thinking. Since I won’t let her get involved in the weapons drops, she had decided to get involved the only way she knows how. 

“Why can’t anything with her ever be easy?” I mutter under my breath while stomping back towards her room. A frustrated growl rumbles from me as I march back to her door. My anger has done nothing but gather as I knock on her door again.

She cracks open the door and a suggestive smile crosses her face. “Changed your mind?” The words ring and I don’t bother with niceties, I swing the door wide and march in and close the door firmly behind me. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” My words are clipped and tone sharper than before. 

“I – I’m sorry.” She stammers as she brings her hand up in indignation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Xaden.”

I give her a deadpanned look and pick up one of the tomes that had caught my eye. The Journey of the First Six, a Secondhand Account.

“Explain. Now.” My words brook no room for argument from the small and entirely too infuriating for her own good girl in front of me. 

“You said I couldn’t get involved with the Marked Ones and what Bodhi was doing. So –“ She stops, biting her lip like a child who is about to be scolded for their life choices.

“So…” I gesture for her to continue, my patience beginning to fray at the edges.

“So, I’ve been researching to see if there is any information on the wards in the Archives.” I can’t help myself. Fury explodes behind my eyes and both of my hands fly up to my head in an effort to keep from shaking the girl in front of me.

“You decided that since you can’t go on weapons drops or to the forge that you needed to go into the brains of the operation and try and solve a puzzle? Gods Sorrengail. Do you have any sense of self-preservation?” I close my eyes and begin counting, hoping this will help to bring my ever-increasing blood pressure down. 

“I want to help.” She says obstinately. “Besides, Jesinia could get in just as much trouble for not recording requests and the tomes she’s researched for me.”

I can’t help the sardonic scoff that comes from me at her reasoning. “I hope you are sure about that, because if you aren’t, we are all dead.”

My eyes find hers and I can see the fear and determination waring in equal measure behind the hazel orbs. 

“You are too trusting Violet. Even the closest friend or ally can turn on you when your back is turned.” With those parting words I walk back out of her room. A whole new tumult of trouble to deal with and nothing even close to remotely solved.

“Amari, give me strength.” I mutter under my breath. I may not ask the gods for intervention often, but as the days wear on, I’m not sure I’ll be able to survive without some type of divine help. As more and more things pile up, I’m certain that at some point something will come tumbling down. 

_____________

Sleep. The place that most people see as their escape is nothing but torture. Night after night I try to get myself to rest, but the minute I close my eyes the weight of my failures falls heavy on my chest. The names of all those I wasn’t able to save. Their faces contorted in pain, fury, disappointment, and agony. But one face haunts both my dreams and nightmares. 

Hers.

In my dreams, her eyes burn with a fire that pulls me closer and closer, until I’m forced to realize that I can’t grasp her. I can’t have her. In my nightmares, her eyes are vacant, a dead look that haunts every part of my being, and then she runs faster than anyone I’ve ever seen, my feet planted and unable to move, unable to wrap her in my arms.

I’m unsure of how little sleep one can exist on, but every part of me feels a shell of a man. A hollowed-out soul that is missing its eternal flame. But I have no one to blame but myself, my Blaze was that flame, and I only extinguished her light little by little, until it was gone completely. And now she’s truly vanished, and it takes every ounce of will I have left to breathe with the weight of realization sitting on my chest.

Rage and anguish push me forward, day after day. And a sliver of hope. A sliver so small, I don’t think a fraction of light could possibly pierce through. 

“You look like you’ve seen better days.” Garrick teases as he sits down in front of me at breakfast. 

Exhaustion hits my body full force as I grunt in response to Garrick’s comment, a steaming cup of coffee grasped in my hand. 

“Do you want me to do the drop alone?” He inquires, concern painting his brows.

“No, I need to be there. The frequency at which the fliers are attacking needs to stop.” I take a breath and a long pull of the warm beverage. “We won’t be able to continue the process if they keep with the raids.”

Garrick only nods in agreement, our hushed words settling between us. Now that we’ve both seen the threat the venin poses, it’s even harder to tell them no and not provide more weapons. But if anyone involved is found out, there will be no way to continue with the little aid we can provide.

“Are you getting any sleep?” The change in topic causes me to lift my head and cock and eyebrow. 

“Haven’t seen you concerned about my sleeping habits before.” I snark, though the bite in my tone isn’t there. I’m just so tired, exhaustion so bone deep, I’m not sure I’ll ever catch up.

“Well, the last year and a half in Basgiath you seemed to get more sleep than you had in the last four years or so prior.” I can’t stop the wince, but he’s correct. Once I started sleeping with Y/N, the nightmares and constant fears settled in a way I hadn’t felt since my mother used to comfort me as a boy. 

The peace and rest she brought a welcome respite from the constant need to be on guard in every other aspect of my life.

“The minute I find her; I may just drag her into bed and not let her out for a week.” As I take another sip, my eyes fly open at the boom of Garrick’s laughter. It’s the joyous sound that has me cracking my own small smile. The thought of my arms wrapped around my Blaze bringing tranquility to my thoughts, thought I have no doubt Garrick’s mind has taken a trip to more salacious endeavors.

“We’ll see if that little spitfire of yours makes it that easy. For sleep or other activities.” Garrick’s teasing tone continues, and it makes the smile on my face a little larger, my head shaking at his insinuation.

I haven’t even given myself a minute to dwell on what will happen when we find her. The fatigue of every other decision taking place over how she will react to me. It’s those new spiraling thoughts that cause the smile to wipe off my face. 

If she doesn’t want me to find her, how will she react if I do? Does she still love me? Will I be able to convince her that things will be different? Will she believe I really do need her?

Garrick must sense the turn of my thoughts. “Hey. It’s going to take time Xaden. But, if you’re honest and open with her, I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

A sad breath leaves my lungs. “Maybe it isn’t if she will, but if she should.”

Our conversation drifts as we both sink into our own thoughts. We don’t linger long though as we head back to our rooms and grab our weapons for the drop. 

Walking out of the confines of the fortress, we exchange a wordless glance, eyes conversing when listening ears are ever-present. Mounting and flying, I let the chill of the whipping wind wake me and clear my head. There’s no reason to have anything running riot in my head that any of the fliers could use against me. Allies or not, the thread of trust between us is a delicate balance constantly teetering on the edge.

‘Seems your contacts have brought an additional human.’ Sgaeyl confirms as I dismount and begin the trek slightly closer to the gryphons and fliers. Her words strike me as odd though when I realize there are only two gryphons on the field.

‘Maybe Drake finally picked up a stray that was interested in him.’ I quip back to my dragon, and she chuffs in response, causing a smirk to cross my face. 

I let my features settle back into a stern look before we finally come face to face with Drake and Syrena. Though that doesn’t stop me from reaching out with my second signet to see the intentions of the newcomer. As Garrick and I finally settle in front of them, it takes every ounce of concentration not to furrow my brows in confusion. There are three people here, but I can only reach two minds, those of the Cordella family. I have no idea how, but its as if the third fliers mind is protected somehow and not by typical shields.

‘Now isn’t the time to worry about an additional flier. Focus.’ Sgaeyl’s words are sharp, a command to bring be from my own thoughts.

“If you don’t stop with the attacks, we won’t have any choice but to stop the drops. Not only are the cadre already suspicious, but the higher rates in attack are making this harder to accomplish.” My tone is sharp. There is no reason to mince words. Allies or not, we cannot tolerate the unnecessary loss of riders. 

There’s no missing the disgruntled look both Cordellas send my way. 

“We are aware Riorson, but there is movement you are unaware of that we are currently on our way to try and contain.” The words shock me as Syrena is never usually this blunt, each word holding a force that she doesn’t normally broach with me, eyes narrowing at the news. “Actually, there’s plenty you don’t know, and frankly I’m unsure why the Assembly hasn’t been forth coming with what they know.”

Drake and Syrena continue to shift their weight, clearly on high alert. A severe unease sweeping across the small amount of field between us. 

“Look, we’ll do what we can.” Drake takes up in a calmer tone, breaking the tension that has begun to mount. “Just know that the threat is getting increasingly worse. Besides, in two weeks’ time, we may not even be around to collect anything from you.”

Shock at Drake’s words registers in my mind, but I don’t let it show on my face. “What do you mean?” I ask, hoping they will elaborate on the threat that clearly has them both rattled. 

“I mean that we are trying to stave off an organized attack of a large city that will have more than devastating consequences. I’m sorry to be vague, but it’s your assembly’s job to inform you, not ours.” Drake’s words are final as he turns his back and heads towards his mount. 

As I watch him walk, I begin to fully register the additional figure that has joined them on this drop. My gaze flicking to the brown leather clad figure. My brows furrow slightly as I notice her face is covered and hood pulled down so far, I can barely make out the whites of her eyes, let alone the color. The only thing I can tell is the lithe female figure showcases a quiet power, curves fanning out in all the right places.

Tilting my head to the side, I try to go over the mental catalog of all the female fliers I’ve met during my time in Cordyn, and I can’t seem to pin the figure on anyone in particular. Though there is something familiar in the way the clothes cling to the form of the woman hiding her identity.  

Even more suspicious is the fact that a third gryphon isn’t present. The thought piques my curiosity at this new member of their group, neither Drake nor Syrena are ones to take someone into their confidence lightly. My head leans slightly to the side as I continue to comb my memories for the remaining female. 

Fingers dropping to my sides, I let them twitch slightly and the shadows of the trees begin to mold seamlessly to my command easing closer and closer to the remaining flier. They must not have prepared her as she doesn’t even flinch as the shadows begin to creep closer. Though before they can get near her, Drake steps up next to the figure and motions her to mount his gryphon. Its then she finally looks up.

The minute the figure’s eyes meet mine, the world stops, familiar eyes that are imprinted in every single one of my memories stare back at me. 

Every thought is gone. My mind a blank slate of surprise. 

My entire body has shut down, locked in the pure agony that is her eyes. My brain can’t process, words are lodged in my throat, hands and legs weighed down with disbelief. 

The shock at seeing her finally slapping me across the face has everything rushing back. Terror climbing up my throat as Drake’s gryphon’s wings beat away from me entirely too fast. 

“Xaden!” Garrick’s voice greats me, but even in its intensity, it doesn’t stop my legs as they try to pump faster to get to her. 

I have to know.

Was she real? Was it a trick of the light? Was it only my own hopes that I’d finally found her? Why was she with the fliers? Why was she dressed in brown, as if she had joined their ranks?

My lungs begin to burn, my thighs on fire at the pace my body has sent trying to chase after her. It’s the unrelenting change of terrain that expends the little bit of energy that I’ve been existing off. My body may be tiring, but my mind is on fire. Thoughts exploding at an untenable rate trying to reconcile what I think I just saw. 

“Xaden!” Garrick’s panicked voice greets my ears again, closer now, as I fall on my knees. 

“What the fuck is going on?” He demands, though there’s deep concern laced in his brows. I can only stare back as my chest heaves trying to regain my breath. 

My eyes are wild, just like my emotions that are straining like a caged beast against my breast. My gaze swings skyward, left and right, searching for another glimpse. Something, anything, that will tell me that it was real. That it wasn’t a ruse. 

“Her.” The word leaves my lips on a winded pant, still trying to regain my breath. “I saw her.”

Garrick continues to look at me as my wild eyes finally come to rest on his. Desperation, devastation, defeat, and desire all swirling in my eyes, my mind. I try to calm my breathing, but the more that I try to focus, the shorter my breaths become, until I can only gasp for air. 

“Shit, brother. You’ve got to breathe.” Garrick kneels in front of me, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. “Come on, breathe in. Hold. And out.”

I try to shut down every thought that isn’t my breathing. Try to hold onto anything, but every thought, every emotion, every inhale feels like its slipping through my fingers.

‘You’ll never get answers if you die here in this forest.’ Sgaeyl’s stern voice cutting through my spiral.

I’ll get nowhere if I can’t get my damn self under control. Closing my eyes, I let myself focus on Garrick’s grip on my shoulders and the rocks that are digging into my knees. Unsure of how long we stay that way, my breath slowly comes back to normal, though my body feels like it has been dragged through battle. Exhaustion and adrenaline crash through my system simultaneously. I let myself fall to the ground, hands digging into the soft earth, the rough patches of grass and dirt keeping my focus as I try to piece myself together.

“You going to tell me what all that was about?” Garrick’s voice cuts through the quiet as he holds out a waterskin.

Taking a deep breath, I lift the waterskin and take a long drag, the water calming the last remnants of my labored breathing. Opening my eyes, I look back at Garrick and I swallow thickly.

“Y/N.” Garrick’s brows furrow as I say her name, not understanding what I’m trying to say, my voice hoarse and filled with emotion. “That was Blaze.”

The next instant Garrick’s eyebrows hit his hairline, surprise dancing in his eyes as they begin to flick back and forth between me and in the direction of the gryphons. 

“You mean – “ His words falter as he hesitates to bring voice to what I’m saying.

I shake my head in confirmation; the words stuck in my throat. 

My Blaze. My Love. She’s alive. She’s whole. And she’s with the fucking fliers.

Awareness begins to sing through the exhaustion. My body wants to give up, to rest, but my mind is starting to unravel at the realization that she has been with the fliers. Months I’ve been looking for her, been searching the ranks of Poromiel, trying to get a morsel of information from Syrena and she’s done nothing but hide the truth. Scouts sent out by Felix uncovering nothing but empty leads.

“I’m going to fucking kill Syrena.” The words are a dark whisper, venom coated and laced with the harshest truth I’ve ever named.

“Xaden. You must be rational about this.” Garrick begins to argue, but as my eyes meet his, something in them causes him to quiet.

“Rationality left the minute my eyes landed on her.” My voice is dangerous, a threat mixed with truth.

“Are you certain that was her?” My gaze swings back to his, a sharp retort on my lips, but I pause. Am I certain? Or was it just a trick of my desperate mind to lay eyes on her once again? 

“I –“ My mind wants to retort, to yell, to tell him that of course, I’m sure. But, for once in my life, I’m uncertain. “If that wasn’t her, it was a ghost with her eyes.”

The words lack the conviction I had only moments ago. The certainty that it was my Blaze standing in front of me bleeding away. My gut tells me that it was her, that there is no other person it could be. My mind, on the other hand, wants to slap me for reacting like that when I’m not even certain, when there’s even a slight chance it wasn’t her. 

Walking to the nearest tree, I let my back hit the bark and slide down. My head tips up as I stare up at the sky, my mind whirring with the possibilities of each scenario. Garrick sits down next to me, and I can feel his eyes boring into my face. 

“We’ll find out if it really was her, Xaden. But, we have to get back to Samara. We both have duty in a few hours and if we leave now, we’ll still be cutting it close.” Garrick’s conviction is the only thing that gets me moving.

Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I will myself to settle. Will a small semblance of control to return and rise to my feet.

‘We will find the Devoted One, but for now we must return to our post.’ Sgaeyl reminds me and I rise beginning the slow walk to where she and Chradh are waiting. 

“Amari, I need sleep.” The words are murmured under my breath as I rub my fingers over my tired eyes, adrenaline compacting on the now ever-present exhaustion.

‘Rest Xaden, we will discover if that was truly her and will plan accordingly.’ Sgaeyl’s voice is a calm solace to my fraying mind. Giving up the control I so desperately hold onto normally, I let my eyes drift as Sgaeyl begins the trip back to Samara. 

Too soon, I can feel as Sgaeyl begins her descent, the air beginning to warm as she gets closer to the ground. I drag my eyes open and take a breath, the small amount of sleep barely enough to pull me forward. We land and I drag my tired body from her form, landing with a harder thud than normal. I don’t miss the worry in Garrick’s face as he turns to me. 

“We’ll figure this out.” His words are soft, though I don’t miss the hardness shining through his voice. “If the fliers know anything, we’ll find out. Write something to Syrena and next day I’m off, I’ll deliver it in person.”

As we reach the gates of the fortress, I clap him hard on the shoulder and squeeze. We may not show open affection to each other often, but this isn’t the first time that I’ve been incredibly grateful to have a best friend that has stuck by me no matter the cost – no matter the effort.

“Thank you, Garrick.” I try to make my tired eyes convey the conviction behind my words. 

___________

A day later, I’m jerked from a nightmare into a real one as I awake to the attack sirens going off and Sgaeyl’s growl in my head. I promptly swing my twin swords to my back and rush out the door having not changed from my flight gear since I only had two hours before my next shift.

‘Thirty fliers headed to Samara. Their mounts reek of desperation.’ Sgaeyl relays as I finally make it outside. 

Looking to my side, I see Garrick running to mount Chradh. A quick nod to each other is all we get before I find myself soaring above the fortress. 

‘Are these friends or foes?’ I question Sgaeyl as we sweep the perimeter, the thought suddenly dawning on me. 

How am I supposed to sit here and fight these fliers when she could be with them. I’ll never be able to make her out in time. My heartrate begins to increase, the sudden realization breaking my already torn heart. If she gets caught in the crossfires, I don’t know what I’ll do.  

‘Battle is no time for these thoughts. If you know the Devoted One, do you really think she would attack her fellow riders?’ Sgaeyl’s words are cutting, testing my own loyalty to the woman I love.

‘Of course she wouldn’t.’ My words are final, but that doesn’t stop the prick in the back of my mind.

‘It’s time to focus. You will not help anyone by being distracted.’ Taking in Sgaeyl’s words, I let my focus sharpen, hands raising to call the shadows around us forward.

My entire being is vibrating with the adrenaline of battle, but the nag in the back of my mind is parting my focus. I let the shadows swirl, the first band covering the front line of the attack, while others charge behind drawing swords and ending lives in fell swoops. 

A snarl leaves my lips as I see a gryphon charging towards Garrick’s open side. 

‘Chradh’s flank!’ I call, but Sgaeyl is already moving that way before I even finish the words. 

We dive underneath and I slam my blade into the underbelly of the gryphon, not deadly but not pleasant, blood splattering my face and googles. That mistake proves to be costlier than I like.  Its with my vision impaired that I feel the slice of the blade across my skin, the cut so deep it sears as if my bones are being separated. 

My shadows respond in turn, gripping the flier and tossing him onto the awaiting treeline below, not sparing the person any mercy. A sharp inhale leaves me as I look at the state of my torn arm. 

“Fuck Xaden.” Garrick’s booming voice calls over the din. “You need to get to the healers, NOW!”

I grit my teeth, holding my right arm as tightly as I can. Between the burning of my thighs trying to stay seated on Sgaeyl and the way my arm now has its own heartbeat its growing infinitely more difficult to hold myself together. 

‘You will not collapse like a child.’ Sgaeyl snipes, but it’s missing her usual signature edge, not surprising when blood is pouring from my arm at an alarming rate. 

Between the power I utilized and the blood rushing from the wound I can feel myself getting sluggish by the minute, a harsh exhaustion pulling on my consciousness. 

‘Get to the Healers.’ It was definitely an order, and I can feel the tight edge of Sgaeyl’s anger bleeding through our bond, a fury so sharp it jolts me awake as I begin to dismount. 

“Healer needed over here!” I hear someone yell as I begin to stumble towards the fortress. Pulling up my flight goggles, I’m met with the familiar chaos of battle.

“Oh, my goodness! Hurry!” The healer says as the familiar light blue robes come into focus. “Get the request for the mender sent, NOW!” 

I drag my feet a few steps forward, the cool air flowing through the gash in my leathers, warm blood coating my fingers. I blink rapidly trying to displace the growing darkness that seems to be creeping in, but the minute I let my body rest on the nearest cot, the pain lances back through my body. 

The next thing I register is light blue robes standing in front of me with a vial of some kind of liquid. “A pain serum. You’re going to want to take this before the mender arrives.” The healer’s tone isn’t sweet, but neither forceful, just a knowing tone most likely learned from hard won years of treating riders in this outpost. 

Lacking the ability to voice my disagreement, I give a quick shake of my head as two other healers apply pressure to the wound. I’ll have to deal with the pain, as the last thing I need is my shields dropping. 

“Your decision my dear, but this will hurt.” She says as another rider in clean black leathers strides in. Her face is tired, but younger than Nolon, a testament to the toll mending takes on a rider.

“If you are sure about the serum, I’ll get started.” She says as she removes her gloves, every movement methodical and practiced. “Do you want a leather strap to bite on?”

“Yes” I hiss through grit teeth. The pain erupting from the movement of the healers around me, settling my arm on a flat surface. Without preamble, I watch as the mender moves her hands to my arm, and I feel the familiar tingle of knitting skin and tissues. The pain begins as a dull ache, compared to the wound, but after a few seconds I begin to feel like I’m in a continual strike of Violet’s lightning. 

The force of the pain is blinding, my teeth clamped over the leather strap so hard I’m unsure how I don’t break my jaw in the process. My breathing comes in short, rapid gasps showcasing the toll it’s taking to knit my arm back together. Time seems to slow to a crawl as tissue, muscle, nerve, and bone are all healed and closed back to their original state. My entire body nothing but a sharp lance of pain. I hear ragged pants of pain that seem to register with my breathing, but I can’t tell if its coming from me or someone else.  

As the mender begins to step back and the pain starts to recede, my mouth slackens, the leather strap falling from my lips. My head begins to lull forward from exhaustion, until my forehead is met with a large calloused palm holding me up. 

“He needs to rest here for at least an hour.” I hear the mender’s voice, but it’s taking every single ounce of focus not to pass out still held up by a large, calloused hand. 

“I’ll make sure he rests and gets back to his room.” The deep familiar voice rumbles and I look down to see booted rider feet. My mind is still slipping in and out of pain, the relief of my arm no longer pulsing taken over by the effort it took to not pass out in the process. 

The hand holding my head begins to push me backwards, another set of hands helping to lay me down in the cot. “I will call for you in an hour, Lieutenant Tavis, right now he just needs some quiet and rest.”

The words float to my ears, but my eyes are closing, the weariness of battle and being wounded searing into my already unsustainable exhaustion. Blissful black oblivion finally finds me, and I drift to a deep sleep. 

 __________________

Blinding white. The only words I can use to describe her smile. The beauty of the picture before me, her smile wide, ear to ear, her happiness contagious even though she sits a dragon’s length away from me on Dhioch’s back. It’s an image I’ll never forget. Her hair down, whipping in the wind, wild and unruly. There’s a freedom for her here, but even though she doesn’t let anything touch her, she still turns, still searches the skies for where I sit on top Sgaeyl. 

I can feel my chest expand. The feeling of warmth coiling softly around my ribcage, enveloping me in a sensation I never want to lose. 

Is this what it feels like to truly be in love? To have someone else possess every part of you, every single piece of your soul?

As I continue to watch her and her infectious happiness, laughter echoing through the breeze at the low level we’re flying, I make a silent vow to myself. 

I will not lose this. I won’t let her ever tear her love from me. Secrets or not, I can’t miss the wonder that lies in her eyes, and I refuse to let it die. The way that she looks back to me with soft eyes filled with every single sweet emotion I’ve been missing in my life makes every crack and tear in my life worth it. 

She continues to dip and weave with the ease of a rider who has an unbreakable bond with their dragon. A subtle power that only shines at its full strength in the skies. My own smile blooms, one unrestrained, one that is true, not harbored by the unending shackles that pull from every angle. It’s here, with her, that I can look past the looming war, past the relic that leads to every judgmental look and watchful eye, past my title and own last name and – just be. 

I can be myself. Just Xaden. Happy. Content. 

In love.

Full of something besides the anger and hurt I’ve carried since I was ten. No longer just a hollow vessel of the person I used to be, but the one I really am – the one I want to be. 

One full of both light and dark, of life and death, of adventure and warning. And she’s the one responsible. She saw me when I was a hollow shell and never shied away, didn’t pull her love or focus on someone else. Never let me fold in on myself. Never turned to those less damaged than I, no matter the harsh words or looks I may have thrown.

I let out a small huff, the thought just a few months ago a foreign concept. The thought that I could be loved, not just the familial love and bonds forged in anguish, but truly, heart stoppingly, in love and loved in return. A feeling I thought was meant for other people, never for me. 

My smile cracks wider as she looks back again, the magnificent smile still painting her face. But my face begins to falter as I feel a tap on my shoulder, a phantom pain beginning to tear through my right shoulder.

As awareness comes back to me, I feel more rested than I have in months, but I can’t place exactly where I am. My eyes begin to flutter open as a hand continues to shake my uninjured shoulder. As I look around and finally come face to face with Garrick, I can’t help the force with which I sit up, memories flooding back in an instant, along with the devastation that it was just a dream. Her warm smile. Her happiness. Just a reminder of everything I’ve lost.  

“Was she out there?” The words come out raspy, my throat dry and hoarse after battle and mending.

“No.” Garrick replies as he walks to the table where there’s a cup of water and comes back with one held out. I drink it down after he gives me a warning look. While he watches me, my throat begins to close at the thought that she could have been one of the ones incinerated by a dragon. 

Garrick gives me a knowing look in return, and I understand that there is clearly more to say, but here is not the place to say it. I can’t let myself panic or spiral, not here. Weakness of any kind will not help.

“Finally awake.” The healer’s voice comes from around the curtain, and I sit up straighter, ready to get out of here and into my own room. “You had a significant injury, but you may want to see about getting some more sleep Lieutenant Riorson. If you’re feeling up to it, you are free to go with Lieutenant Tavis’ help.”

I shake my head in acknowledgement and give my thanks, but every bone in my body needs to get back to my room so Garrick can say what he hasn’t yet. We leave the infirmary and with the sleep I got, I take the stairs two at a time, not slowing down for an instant.

“Slow down jackass. Just almost lost your arm and you’re charging forward like you’re going to tear down the world.” Garrick huffs as he tries to keep pace with my strides.

I walk through my door and hold my arm outstretched. As soon as I feel the familiar hand, I tug, not sparing him the ability to gain his balance. 

“Fuck Xaden. You need to calm down.”

“What else did you mean to say?” I ask, ignoring all his complaints. 

“I don’t think she was with the fliers, at least not the ones who attacked. I checked all the bodies that were recognizable, and she wasn’t among them. Besides, we haven’t had word from Syrena since the drop.” The words leave him in a way that makes it seem like he’s giving me complete information, but it does nothing to quell the tempest in my chest. 

“Then you don’t know for certain.” My voice begins to rise as I pace around my room like a caged animal, all the calm of my dream disintegrating in my hands.

“Stop.” Garrick’s tone is all command, and I turn to him in a whirl with a raise to one eyebrow. “Before you get yourself completely worked up – Listen.”

I stand up to my full height and stare him down, my patience teetering on a thin wire. 

“I can tell you for a fact that the drift that attacked wasn’t Syrena’s or Drake’s.” He pauses as he tries to let the information sink in. “You know well that Tecarus wouldn’t let a bargaining chip like that with just any drift. Besides, I’m sure not every gryphon would allow her to fly with them anyway. She clearly made her way into Poromiel through one of the Cordellas.”

At his continuation, I can’t help the frantic pacing, my legs move without me even acknowledging starting to do so. My mind is encompassed with any and every avenue in which I can figure out if she’s truly joined the ranks of the Poromish or not. Time seems to tick by in an unending torrent until the furious energy is a ball that I need to displace. 

“Grab your twin swords and meet me in the sparring ring.” I tell Garrick as I march into the private bathing chamber not waiting on his response. Thankfully I have no doubt he will acquiesce; he hasn’t been my best friend this long without knowing how my mind works. 

As the taps heat, I peel back the war-torn leathers, dried blood and sweat cracking as they pull from my arm and legs. Making a mental note to get a new jacket, since this one has lost an arm, I toss them to the side and step into the spray. Warm water begins to wash away the blood and gore from a battle hard fought, my own mixing with those of the gryphons who came to sabotage Navarre once again. 

As much as I want to hate them for their actions, it’s impossible not to notice the desperation when they attack. The battling thoughts in my mind between the safety of those I love and being able to beat the true enemy a constant pressure on my soul. 

Even now, my own loyalty is split. If my Blaze is truly in Poromiel, I will do everything I possibly can to double down on what we can collect, but even that may not be enough. The thought does nothing to quell the fury and panic that she’s in danger. She’s allied herself with people that won’t stop to take her life into account, ones that will most likely throw her to the wolves first to save their own skin. 

I step from the shower, a growl working its way up my throat at the thought of Catriona throwing the woman I love into the fire. Of Tecarus taking his anger at my decisions out on her. Of Syrena and Drake sending her into a battle without any power at all, just another dispensable infantry soldier for them to use as they will.

‘You make her seem like a defenseless toddler. Stop undermining the woman you claim to love.’ Sgaeyl may be right, but it doesn’t stop my entire body from singing with controlled malice.

The thoughts continue to raise the inferno in my blood and with that anger I skulk down to the training pits. 

“Come on, Honey Bear. Come take some of that anger out and show me what you’ve got.” Garrick teases as he stands with twin swords pointed towards me. 

I don’t spare a second and draw my own in turn. I know he’s teasing, trying to draw me out, but my focus is lethal. The cyclone of thoughts tossing in my mind too wild to shut off. My eyes narrow, gone is the worry and concern, my concentration is solely on my opponent, and I wouldn’t want to be Garrick. 

I roll my neck as I bring my swords up, the minute I step fully onto the mat, I’m lunging. The first blade comes up to Garrick’s shoulder and he’s quick to block and parry, but the focus there draws him away from my left hand coming up to his leg. It’s with focused control that I turn the blade and slap his thigh with the flat edge, instead of slicing through the muscle.

“Not playing today, are we sunshine?” Garrick’s words are meant to poke, but I’m too furious about the entire situation going on outside to joke.

“It’s never fun. This isn’t about joking and those Poromish bastards are going to pay – with blood.” My words are a low threat, the certainty behind them threading through. 

I continue the familiar dance, turning over my right shoulder and bringing the blade to his left side. His blade coming to the top of my head, my left-hand blocking and the right coming to force him back with a push. The savage choreography we began resembling a dance perfected since we were children trying to be like our fathers. 

With laser focus, we continue our blows, but I can feel Garrick’s exhaustion beginning to seep through. 

“Now isn’t the time to be slow.” I remark as my blade nearly takes his head off. 

“Some of us didn’t get over twelve hours of sleep in the last twenty-four hours.” He quips back as he brings his blade to my abdomen, aiming for my side.

Turning again, my blades clash as they come up blocking his own, my foot hooking behind his knee and bringing him down. 

As I turn, a figure standing off to the side grabs my attention and I can’t help the confusion that bleeds through my focus as I register Violet Sorrengail standing off to the side. I bring both my blades forward and smack Garrick with the flat edge of the blade pulling his attention to my face. From my peripherals, I see as he swings his gaze to where mine hasn’t left. 

“Sorrengail?” My voice comes across slightly breathless, the anger burning through my bones still sweeping through me. 

“What the hell is going on?” I continue as I watch her chest rise and fall in a fast, irregular fashion. 

“I can’t fucking block him out.” She rasps. I let the bond between us open, and I can feel the overwhelm of emotion that is rushing through her mind.

I grab her hand, not trying to delve any deeper while she can’t concentrate and pull her towards the bathing chamber. Leaving the door open, my shadows turn the cold tap, and I force her under the frigid spray. 

Her eyes look at me with a flash of anger at being doused in cold water. “Are you trying to freeze me to death?”

“Shut him out. Now!” I command as she continues to look at me with defiance glinting in her eyes. Though as soon as my words register, she closes her eyes, focusing on closing the bond between her and Tairn. 

Once she opens them back up, I turn on the warm water and step back. The color returning to her face as the trembling from the cold water begins to subside. 

“What the hell are you doing here Violet? You don’t get leave for another day and a half.” My words are clipped, aggravated at her presence when I have more important things on my mind.

“Oh, fuck you.” She says as her eyes narrow at me. “What am I doing here? I’m here because between Sgaeyl’s anger and the indication that Devera gave in Battle Brief, I thought you were on death’s doorstep.”

“So, it was Tairn?” I question as she begins to step out of the spray of the water. 

“Obviously, though from what I see, you look perfectly fine.” Even though her words are short, her temper flaring at my words, there is worry in her eyes. 

I let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You mean to tell me that you left Basgiath because you thought I was injured?”

“Yes!” The word bursts from her lips, her breaths heaving for an entirely different reason. “Gods Xaden, aren’t you the one that came bursting through my door telling me that I needed to convey any times my life was on the line.”

I roll my eyes, of course she would throw my words back at me. “Yes, I said that. I meant when I see you, not fly out of Basgiath on a fucking whim with what you think is information on me being injured. You couldn’t even stop to get your own damn flight jacket.” I raise my eyebrow as I gesture towards the jacket with three silver stars emblazoned on the side. 

She huffs back at me, eyes narrowed. “Of course I didn’t stop, between Tairn’s overwhelming worry that if you were hurt that Sgaeyl could be too, and the thought that you were in mortal danger, I didn’t worry about the consequences.”

In her anger she unbuttons the jacket and with the difficulty of wet leather, pulls the sleeves from her arms, dropping it to the floor. “Either way, from what I just saw, it looks like you’re perfectly fine.”

I roll my eyes again as I pull up the short sleeve on my right arm that covers the jagged scar. A sharp gasp leaves her lips as her eyes soften and she begins to reach out with her hand. I step back, instantly walking out of range. It’s one thing to show her the scar, it’s an entirely different thing for her to touch me. After the past year, I’ve learned my lesson, the hardest way possible. 

I’ll help Violet in any way I can, but any unnecessary closeness is just that – unnecessary. 

“Are you alright?” Her words are softer now, worry showing on her face again.  Sighing, I shake my head in confirmation. “You don’t have to always pull away Xaden. You know that other people care about you, right?”

I turn around, giving myself a moment to gather my thoughts. Of course, I’ve realized before now that Violet cares about me, but with her previous displays I’ve been hesitant to let her in, even as a friend. 

“I know and I’m aware that you do care, but we will never be anything more than friends.” I look back at her and don’t miss the hurt that flashes in her eyes before she nods. 

“Understood. But can you understand that there’s more than just me back at Basgiath that are worried?” She reasons and I blow out a breath at the reminder that my only living relative would be just as worried. 

“Is that Bodhi’s then?” I ask as I point to the jacket that is now resting on the floor. Her face begins to heat as her features fluster, I smirk at her reaction, fully knowing that my cousin and I share very similar features. 

“Yes, it’s Bodhi’s. He stopped me before I was all the way out of the citadel since I clearly wasn’t dressed in flying leathers.” She mutters as she picks up the sodden jacket from the ground. 

I nod and gesture towards the door, seeing Garrick still standing on the mats. “Let’s get you back to your room and you can take a shower and rest. You’re here now so there’s no reason to try and rush back to Basgiath. It won’t change your punishment and I’m certain Tairn isn’t interested in leaving right this moment either.” 

As we walk towards the North Tower, I glance back and can tell that Violet has more that she wants to say.

“Well, are you going to hold whatever you have to say in? Or do I have to drag it out of you?” She raises an eyebrow at the question as though she’s shocked that I could read her that easily. Even without my second signet, it’s easier to read Sorrengail than it is to understand what’s in a book by only looking at its cover.

“I just don’t understand why you continue to hold me at arm’s length. You aren’t in a relationship. You aren’t with anyone anymore and no one knows if you’ll see Y/N again.” Her words make my jaw tick, teeth clenched so tight my jaw may crack under the pressure.

Why do I seem to have the same conversation with her over and over again? Why is she so convinced that she seems to know the entire story behind my relationship? Does she really seem to think she can save me from something that I’d happily drown in?

“Violet, if you want to get closer as friends, fine. I’ll try my best to be more open towards you.” I let myself pause and breathe. “But I’m not giving up on Y/N until Dhioch tells me to.”

Realization begins to dawn on her face that there’s more behind the story of Y/N’s disappearance than she’s been privy to. After moments, reality seems to finally come crashing down on her. “Alright, if nothing else, let me help you with what I can Xaden.”

“We’ll talk in the morning Violet. Besides, we’ll need to inform Degrensi of your arrival and maybe if we’re lucky he can give you something that will lighten your inevitable punishment back as Basgiath.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Good night.” I dip my head in acknowledgment to her and swiftly turn back around. 

A voice splits the air before I turn the corner. “Xaden!”

I turn and Violet is gesturing for me to come back towards her usual room when she is in Samara. As I finally come into the view of the room, she grabs my hand and pulls me through the wards of the room. 

“What Violet? I have some things I need to attend to.” My words are short with the exhaustion that has begun to creep in again.

“Before you go, I wanted to let you know that we heard in Battle Brief that Zolya was attacked.” The minute the words leave her mouth; my eyes are flying wide.

“What do you mean?” I ask, a sense of unease starting to crawl through my body, my shadows rolling at my feet in kind.

“From what it seems, Zolya was demolished, and Cliffsbane Academy was totally overrun. Of course there wasn’t any mention of venin, but its clearly the only thing that would have decimated the whole city and school.” My mind starts to reel. 

Is that the battle that Syrena and Drake were referring to? Is my Blaze alright? Was that truly her and is she hurt?

The questions swirl just like the shadows that are writhing at my feet. I look back up and see the concern on Violet’s face, clearly watching everything that is going through my mind. I shut down the reaction and blink a few times trying to clear my head. 

“I appreciate the update, Violet. Now get some rest. We can continue speaking in the morning.” I turn around again and make my way out of the door. 

My hand rubs up and down my forehead trying to displace some of the tension that has creeped in. Even though I’ve only been awake for a few hours, the reality of the past few days settles as a weight heavier than I intended to bear. The new information that Violet just revealed is doing nothing to settle my nerves. Though with another drop in a few hours, I’ll just have to hold onto the anxious energy until I can get real answers from Syrena.

____________________

‘Hold your temper.’ I scoff at Sgaeyl’s words as she glides towards the clearing where I’ll be meeting Syrena.

‘I’ll keep my temper in check, but I’m not leaving without fucking answers.’ I snark back. My tone isn’t meant for Sgaeyl, but every inch of me is on edge, hours and hours of anxiety pent up to a firestorm of fury. I’m wound so tight I feel like I could snap in half at any moment. 

‘Being combative here isn’t going to give you the answers you seek. You know that even though you’re choosing to ignore reason.’ Another cutting remark from my girl, she’s the only one besides my Blaze that can put me in my place.

‘I’m calm.’ I argue, but we both know that I’m anything but.

‘Well, this will be an exercise in restraint and your time on this gauntlet starts now.’ Sgaeyl comments as her head swivels to the left.

As I watch Syrena emerge from the clearing, my heart begins to beat furiously in my chest. The gryphons chose to stay farther back and from here I can’t tell exactly how many there are. However, the three forms walking towards me aren’t the one that I wanted to see. 

“I’m in need of some explanations Syrena and you aren’t getting these daggers until you give me something.” I say as the three of them come fully into view. I clock Syrena and her usual second, but it’s the third flier that has my jaw ticking and pulse jumping in exasperation. The one flier on this damned continent I could live my entire life without ever seeing again.

Catriona. 

I ignore her in favor of her sister. Besides the fact that she’s only chasing thrones, I couldn’t care less about her presence. Our chapter has been written, and the finale is over and done with.

“What do you mean Riorson?” Syrena’s tone isn’t concerned, by now used to my questions when meeting with them.

“Let’s get the first bit of business taken care of. You order all drifts to stand down on their attacks at Navarrian outposts.” My voice is firm and I stand my ground. I will never cower in their face, even if one of them almost took my arm off yesterday. 

The scoff that releases to my left makes me want to roll my eyes, my patience for Catriona’s petulance already thin and always fraying at the edges. 

“You can’t expect our people not to fight for the one thing they are in desperate need of.” Catriona’s voice booms out before Syrena even has a chance to reply. 

“That’s exactly what I expect.” I say never swinging my gaze her way. “These daggers power our wards and if you continue to disregard this order, we will stop providing any at all.”

I can hear the sigh that Syrena lets out from here, but I don’t let any of them speak before continuing. “You know that if the wards fall and the venin have undisputed access to the Vale and then it won’t matter if you have weapons or not. We will all be dead.”

“If you want the attacks to stop, you need to provide more weaponry. We are already at a disadvantage and that is the only thing keeping us alive.” Syrena reasons. I don’t envy the position she is in as a leader. The way that she’s constantly trying to find access to something that her own Uncle seems to sabotage from every turn. 

“I’m doing what I can. But they stop today. No more raids, no more taking down wards, or raiding supply caravans.” My voice is unwavering, I won’t let the only thing that protects the civilians of Navarre be threatened any longer.

“You’d be able to do better if you’d agree to the offer that your own father negotiated.” Catriona slings back at me, and I don’t miss the bit of longing that bleeds into her voice. “Or if I’m not enough for you, you can always bring your prized Sorrengail to Cordyn for a wielding show.”

With that the tight leash on my temper with Catriona snaps. “You’d have to drag me from Malek for me to be entwined with you again Catriona.” Her name leaves my lips on a sneer, the thought of marrying her souring my mouth. “And Sorrengail is not wielding when your Uncle can never seem to keep his side of the bargain.”

It’s the look on Catriona’s face that makes me pause though. She looks entirely too pleased with herself, and I can’t even imagine why. 

“You may think you won’t find yourself back in Cordyn, Xaden. But you’ll find that my Uncle can be very persuasive, especially where you are concerned.” Her remark does nothing to quell the anxiety at the thought that Tecarus has more to hold over me than just giving Aretia the luminary. 

“That’s enough Catriona.” Syrena’s voice cuts through the quiet that had settled between us, though it does nothing to stop my racing thoughts and I can’t wait anymore.

“Who was the flier that was with Drake on the last drop?” I can’t stop the additional steps that I take towards Syrena. I need to see her more clearly. I need to be able to read every emotion that crawls across her face. 

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that. Drake’s cohort is large.” Syrena’s tone is bored, factual. 

“You know exactly who I’m talking about Syrena. I’ve questioned you and your drift more than once since Resson and I have a feeling you aren’t telling the whole truth.” The words land with the weight I intend as I see Catriona snarl behind her sister. If Syrena won’t give anything away, I know that I can twist the knife with Cat. 

 “We don’t have anyone in Poromiel that isn’t conscripted into our ranks if that’s what you’re wanting to know.” Syrena is deliberately skating the truth and we both know it. 

“For fucks sake Syrena. Stop trying to talk around every single question I ask you.” I tie myself to the floor with shadows, because as the seconds tick by my restraint is fraying. 

Catriona takes this moment to walk in front of her sister, watching me with those calculating eyes her mind working through whatever she can do to have me back in her good graces.

“Maybe you’re asking the wrong sister, Xaden.” I want to dismiss her, but I want answers at the same time.

“And what will those answers cost me?” I’m no fool when it comes to her, not anymore. I’m acutely aware that she doesn’t do anything that won’t serve her in some way. 

“If you enter back into negotiations with my Uncle, I’m sure that I’ll be able to give you the information that you’re looking for. Ask around, get the citizenry to answer the Duke of Aretia.” Cat’s words are planned, cold, and expectant. 

I want to lash out at her, wrap my shadows around her slender throat and let her feel the pain that lances my heart every day. Instead, I snarl at her, baring my teeth and showing her that I will not be played with.

“You had your chance with me Catriona and we both learned that volatility will serve no one.” My words are civil, my tone factual, but my veins are fire with the thought that she thinks she could ever be that important. 

“Oh, it would serve everyone. I have no doubt your citizens would welcome the protection if they knew what they were missing.” She drawls, as if the innocent lives of the people are just part of her game. “Besides, if you were so interested in the rider you seem to be hellbent on looking for, how exactly did she disappear so easily? It seems that a woman you cared for that much would garner more of your attention than being lost in the melee of a battle.” 

Her words are meant to cut and they hit their target. My shadows lash out; the leash I kept them on breaking as soon as she finishes speaking. Black tendrils wrap around her throat and lift, my eyes filled with a combustion of emotions. 

I watch as she begins to float above the forest floor, control lost to my own guilt over the entire situation I find myself in. Her eyes bulge as the shadows slowly constricts, a pained whimper crawling up her throat.

“Don’t you dare challenge me with withholding information that should be given freely. I have been aiding you people for years at the cost of my own life and relationships.” I sneer, even as I can’t make out Syrena’s panicked words behind me. “Test my patience again with the life of someone that will forever be more important than you to me and you may not find me so forgiving.”

I immediately step back, the shadows snapping back to my form in quick command. Catriona drops to the floor, coughing and rubbing her neck as if trying to erase the shadows touch from her mind. I look at her in disgust for one more minute, until I bring my eyes back to meet Syrena’s.

“I suggest you leave your sister at home from now on, because if she draws my ire in future, I may not find myself with the will to not finish what I start.” Syrena’s eyes harden, but she gives me a quick nod. I realize this little encounter has won me no favors, but I refuse to cower.

“If you want another shipment, you are going to come up with more information on exactly what I’ve been asking you about. In two weeks, you’ll get directions from Garrick. In that time, I expect the attacks to stop, and you better come bearing some news. Those are my terms. Accept them or deal with the venin yourselves.” My voice is cold, terms are set, and I can feel my jaw tick in frustration. Everything about this night went about as terribly as it possibly could have and now, I’m no closer to finding my Blaze.

“Understood.” Syrena agrees as she pulls Catriona up. “But also understand this Riorson. You’ve made your own decisions to affect the outcomes. So don’t come to me and play like you didn’t have your own hand in the way things turned out.”

Syrena turns with those words, pulling Catriona along behind her. I stand still, the anger of Catriona’s idea still stinging through me. More than that, it’s hard to reconcile the fact that Syrena’s words hit harder than anything that Catriona could’ve said. 

‘This line of thought is tiring, and it accomplishes nothing.’ Sgaeyl butts in before my thoughts can spiral. ‘You will not continue to live in this spiral, as it is getting you nowhere.’

I blow out a heaving breath and turn my back towards the clearing, there is nothing else I can do tonight. Mounting Sgaeyl and trying to turn off my thoughts, I let the crisp night air hit my face and try to focus on the cold. I need to find a different way to find Y/N, because trying to drag information out of Syrena isn’t working.

______________________

“Hey,” She starts, her voice soft with a vulnerability she doesn’t show anyone else, her fingers gently tracing my jaw. “I never want you to think that you are disposable. You aren’t someone I’d ever just leave behind. But I also need you to know that I expect the same from you.”

Her eyes melt every insecurity, because I can’t possibly imagine ever leaving her behind or forgotten. “As long as you show up for us, you never have to doubt that I will as well. You are the most vital person in my life Xaden. Never, ever forget your importance to me. Don’t let your past dictate our future. I’m not your mother or your father. I’m your equal, as you are mine. We are each others.”

Bringing her forehead to mine, the warmth that suffuses every part of us is something I thought I’d left long ago, but my Blaze has given me a lifeline I never knew I truly needed. My hands fall to her cheeks as I bring her face closer to mine and seal every promise we’ve laid bare with a kiss. 

It isn’t hungry or devouring, but one of pure trust and honest love, a promise sealed. A contract that we both must honor. In this bed, with her warmth and love, I’ve found a purpose to fight for, one greater than I had thought I’d ever have. 

“I love you, Xaden Riorson. You. Not your name, not your station, not your rebellious nature, or soaring ego, but the true man that you hide away from the world. That man is worth every single ounce of my love and more.” I bury my face in the crook of her neck, not wanting to show her how the words are making my throat tight and my eyes sting. All I’ve ever wanted was someone to make me their world and here this incredible woman is offering me it all with nothing expected, except mutual trust and love.

She doesn’t ask questions I can’t answer. Doesn’t push for things I’m scared to give her, but its all the things that I hide away that seem to want to burn holes in the world we’ve built. I’ll do everything I can to keep her, to let her know that no matter what I hide, she means more than the entire world, multiple times over. 

I swallow the lump in my throat, pushing the thoughts of everything I’m not saying to the back of my mind. “Has anyone ever told you how amazing you are?” I breathe, the wonder in my voice present.

“There’s this shadow wielder that may have mentioned it once or twice.” She smirks with mischief in her eyes. I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out. This woman of walking contradictions is mine and I couldn’t be happier. 

She’s the light to my dark, with sharp edged retorts and loving words. Quick with daggers and a sword, but swift to mercy when needed. She’s soft skin and perfect curves with punches that will obliterate an opponent.

And I’ll never take for granted that I get to call her mine. 

The dream ends with a jerk. The memory hitting me harder than any other falsified dream I could imagine. Disoriented and panting, I wipe my hands down my face. Memories like this one have been plaguing my mind in excruciating repetition. 

But this one, this hurts more, a splinter straight to my already broken heart. All she ever asked of me was my respect, my time, and since the General’s request I’ve done nothing but push her aside. It all clicks finally.

The entire reason she left.

It’s not because she really wanted to or because she didn’t love me. But I made her expendable, an unnecessary part of my life, my day. Instead of pulling her in towards me, I shackled her outside and locked the door. 

It isn’t just with the Sorrengail situation, but every single time I couldn’t show up because of the revolution, the assembly, the drifts, every single thing that weighed on my time. Instead of sharing the burden with her, trusting her, and treating her as the equal she always was, the thing she specifically asked me for. 

I did the opposite.

I kept her out of things, closed off, separated from the true heart of our found family. I was selfish. I thought I could fit her in a neat little box and keep her protected, but all that box did was shut her out. And she still waited. Waited for me to share things with her, to confide in her with every piece of me and yet I held her at arm’s length all while I claimed to love her wholly. 

As I walk to the gates of Samara, readied to fly for Basgiath, I can’t help the weight that settles in my stomach. The weeks are passing too fast and the ability to garner no information is an anchor I can’t seem to shake. I feel weighed down more and more each day, fighting through the grief, heartache and turmoil that my life has become. 

As we glide through the sky, there’s a foreboding that seems to settle in every bone. But the minute I’m back in the flight field; a slight smile graces my features as Bodhi steps into view. Dismounting Sgaeyl, we don’t waste time on pleasantries before he’s slipping right into the heart of the matter.

“You’re needed in Sorrengail’s room.” Bodhi says as he walks in step with me. 

I turn my head with a quirked eyebrow. “She’s summoning me now, is she?”

The look he gives back tells me everything I need to know. This isn’t going to be a social call, it’s going to be another one of her reckless ideas that most likely will end up with one of us dead.

“Lead the way then.” I say as we continue towards the barracks and second year floor. 

Once there, I have an immediate headache. Rubbing the bridge of my nose with my fingers, I look back at Violet.

“Has this been your grand plan since I found you with those books? And you didn’t think that you should’ve given me more than you did when I came back to speak with you?” Violet does at least some service with a guilty look painting her face. 

“I didn’t expect needing to raid a royal vault that no one really knows about in the Archives, but here we are. Unless you have a better idea?” The comment is laced with sarcasm, her tone coiled with smugness. 

My eyes narrow at the jab, but there’s no denying that there is something satisfying at the thought of robbing the Tauri’s. Though one damn book will never hold a candle to what they stole from all the children of the Apostasy. 

“And you think a Tauri will help you willingly? The same family that has left it citizens in the dark to the true danger that will haunt their children.” My words are meant to jab as I look back at the third Tauri son that has conveniently seemed to find his place in Sorrengail’s squad. 

“Well, I’m certainly not here to help you.” Aaric snarks back at me, vehemence for my mere existence shining in his eyes.

“We don’t have time for this from either of you.” Violet says as we continue to crowd into her small room. “This must be done tonight and Jesinia will be waiting for us in the next few hours.”

My lips thin and I let out a resigned sigh. Even though every bit of me says that nothing good can truly come of this, I cannot let an opportunity to be able to protect Tyrrish citizens pass by. “Fine, but we go through this plan with a fine-tooth comb and no fucking deviations.”

The smile on Violet’s face tells me that I’m going to regret this decision greatly.

_____________

Hours later I’m mounting Sgaeyl and heading back to Samara eight hours earlier than usual with Warrick’s journal tucked tightly into my breast pocket.

‘There’s something that still doesn’t feel right about this whole endeavor.’ I murmur mostly to myself, but I know Sgaeyl is listening.

‘I agree, but Tairn and his rider were confident, so we continue with our side of the plan. There’s nothing more for us to do at Basgiath.’ Sgaeyl replies as her wings sweep through the clouds. 

I try to let the breaking light of dawn pull me out of this state of unease, but nothing I do seems to settle the feeling. 

A reverberating roar sounds from below me and my head jerks down at Sgaeyl as she suddenly jerks from her position in the sky. 

‘They have Tairn’s rider.’ Her words are clipped, but I can sense the fury and panic through our bond. Sgaeyl may not hold any love to lose for Violet, but if her death triggers Tairn’s, I’m certain Basgiath will burn to the ground. 

‘Fuck! I knew something was going to go wrong.’ My words are obvious, they don’t bear repeating, but I can’t help it. Its always fucking something. 

My mind is flying faster than Sgaeyl with what we could possibly do to extract Violet without all of us losing our lives. 

A devious thought begins to coil in my mind. Why not threaten with the one thing that Navarre would sell its soul to contain?

‘Get to Samara. I need Garrick and then we go hunting.’ I can feel the Sgaeyl’s satisfaction curl around my mind as she examines the plan I have ahead. The fact that Navarre will never see it coming just heightens the satisfaction already coiling in my gut. 

___________________

It’s dark as I pass under the familiar gates of Samara. 

‘Chradh confirms that his rider is still in his room.’ Sgaeyl informs me as I walk with a brisk pace towards the familiar door.

I rap a sharp, familiar knock and Garrick answers, even though he looks ready to pass out in sleep. I don’t miss the body behind him covered by the sheets as an evil smirk crosses my face.

“Get dressed. We have roses to pick.” 

I turn and leave, not waiting for him to comprehend the statement. The phrase is one that rarely leaves our lips, something non-descript, curious if someone else were to hear, but leaving no implications behind. It’s the entire reason we came up with them after we began smuggling out weaponry our first year. 

I head back to my room and pack every single weapon I can and the few important things before stepping back out into the hall. My steps are sure, but my pace is quick. The longer this takes, the longer they have Violet in their grasp.

“What the fuck is going on?” Garrick asks as he catches up to me just past the gates.

“Sorrengail’s plan backfired.” His brow rises in question, but I keep my voice low. “We broke into the royal vault in the Archives with the little prince in tow. Seems the journals of the first six may have the answer to the protection for Aretia. Violet took it upon herself to research since she wasn’t welcome on weapons duty.”

Garrick’s eyebrows hit his hairline as he listens to the explanation. “I suppose the cadre have her then? Somehow, they found out.”

I nod in acknowledgment as we make our way to Chradh and Sgaeyl. 

“I’m going to give you one chance to back out of this plan, because there’s no coming back to Navarre after this.” I turn and look at him, the severity of what we’re about to do etched on my face. “We’re going hunting for wyvern and we’re going to drop them on outposts between here and Basgiath.”

Letting my words sink in, Garrick’s face goes from interest to shock and finally lands on the devious smirk that reminds me of why he’s always been my best friend.

“You should’ve just led with that. I’m always in for committing a little bit of treason.” His eyes sparkle in mischief and I shake my head in return. 

“If that’s the case, mount up. Sgaeyl says there were purportedly a horde of wyvern spotted near Ignisburg.” Garrick’s eyebrows rise at the news.

“They’ve come that close to Navarre?” I know he has questions but now is not the time to address them.

“Yes, and we need to be quick. They can move at any time.” Reiterating the need for urgency.

“I’ll take that as you want me to walk, I’m guessing.” I nod in agreement as he holds his hand out for me to grasp. 

The pulling sensation that I have come to recognize with his signet begins and I take a deep breath trying to stave off the incoming nausea. In mere minutes we’ve crossed the Esben Mountains into Poromiel. Landing in the tree line between the mountains and the town, we are crammed between towering trees and the two dragons that are too large for the small clearing.

Before either of us has the chance to talk a loud screech rends the air and the entire reason we are here splits the sky. We watch as the riderless horde soars the skies and take stock of everything around us.

“So, are we just going for general slaughter? And how many are you looking for?” Garrick asks as we keep our eyes open to the threat in front of us.

“Sgaeyl has informed three other riderless dragons that support our cause, and they are enroute. Plan is to slaughter five and drag their carcasses to Samara, Chakir, and the other three bases until we reach Basgiath.” Explaining the plan, every muscle in my body begins to lock in preparation for war.

This horde may not have any venin riders, but that doesn’t mean the task is without risks. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I refuse to not give Garrick every chance to back out.

“Are you trying to have all the fun without me, brother?” He snarks and it’s the glint in his eye and battle-ready stance that has me nodding in acknowledgment. 

With that confirmation, I nod back at him before running for Sgaeyl’s foreleg. 

‘Time to play, my girl.’ I murmur through our bond and feel the satisfaction of what we are about to do run through her. 

_________________________

The viciousness which Sgaeyl tore through three wyvern is still rattling through my bones as she carries one of the carcasses in her mouth on the way to Samara. Garrick and I both sport the blood and ichor of the wyvern, but the satisfied smirk that I can see from here is more than enough confirmation that he enjoyed himself. 

Watching Chradh and Sgaeyl tear through them so efficiently was a solace to the way they ripped through our own ranks in Resson. The predatory grace that they exuded while tearing through the throats of the godsforsaken creatures was so satisfying to the pieces of my heart that are still torn apart from everything we lost that day. 

But I can’t let myself dwell on those thoughts for too long or I know I will spiral with the frustration of having to pull this off and how it will affect the search for my Blaze.

‘Focus. We have less than 20 miles to Samara.’ Sgaeyl chastises feeling the way my thoughts had begun to change.

I close my eyes and let them drift back to the task at hand. It has already been three days since we learned of Violet’s capture, and it will likely be another two before we are able to get to Basgiath. Dropping the carcasses on the outposts is one thing, but then we must wait for word to get to the cadre. 

Waiting is the worst part. Thoughts of what Violet could possibly be going through run rampant in my mind. It hasn’t escaped me that Varrish must be torturing her past every rule they normally utilize for RSC. 

There will be no mercy for her. Not now. Not after she has aligned herself with us and has defied him repeatedly.

 In the cover of night, we fly over the post of Samara, though no one would ever stop a dragon anyway. Sgaeyl dips lower and without ceremony, opens her maw and lets the carcass drop. I hear the screams of surprise and uncertainty reverberate as she pulls up back to a glide in the sky. 

‘I believe you humans owe me an entire flock of goats to get that disgusting taste out of my mouth.’ She comments offhandedly. 

‘I will get you two flocks once we arrive in Aretia.’ I promise with a smirk as we head for the next outpost and drop point with Chradh and Garrick flanking our left.

_______________________

Two Days later, we finally swoop down towards the familiar outline of Basgiath and shadows begin to swirl in a predatory agitation. 

‘Took you long enough Shadow Wielder.’ The booming male voice slides into my mind, every word edged with irritation.

‘I’m sorry we did not meet your schedule, but we worked as fast as we could.’ My terse reply does nothing to soothe the relations between Tairn and I, but I’m exhausted by the constant need to reassure him about his rider.

‘Most cadre have flown for the borders and affected posts. Dhioch confirms there are about five dragons left for the current administration. Now is the time to move.’ Sgaeyl confirms as she dives towards the flight field. 

I don’t let her land, opting instead for a running landing that sets me gently near the hidden tunnel. Stealth will be our friend for getting Violet out as quickly as possible. My hands unlock the tunnel while my feet carry me quickly to the entrance. I don’t stop to find Garrick, instead opting to just keep the door ajar so he can follow behind. 

Knowing the outline of the hidden tunnels of Basgiath, along with all the interrogation chambers available, I make my way to the one that is never used for classes. One I had the pleasure of being personally acquainted with myself my second year.

‘You choose correctly Shadow Wielder.’ Tairn’s voice rumbles through my mind as I continue towards the farthest tower.

The next few minutes are a blur of steel and blood before I get to the door of the familiar room. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was beaten within an inch of my own life here, I’m not sure I would’ve even known where to go. The scent of damp earth and mold swarms my senses, but I don’t have time for memories, not when the door where I can sense they’re hiding Violet in is so close. 

As my shadows cloak me, I can hear the voices from inside of the room. All is quiet now that the guards have been dealt with. 

“We need to go. They are demanding all leadership, now.” A high female voice confirms as I skulk closer to the door.

There are muffled words, but I can’t hear them clearly. It isn’t until the door is yanked open and the feminine voice calls again. “Varrish!”

Harried footsteps are heard before chains clink to the ground and Aetos’ voice cuts through the melee adding onto the fear that I’m too late.

“Turned traitor did you, well, you won’t leave before Nora has the time to end both of you.” Varrish spits, the venom in his voice stinging.

“The fuck they will.” I say as my sword drags across the female’s throat who is barring the door. 

“Stop!” Violet’s voice calls, trying to step in front of Aetos, clearly not knowing that I’m more than aware of what Dain has just done to protect her. The flare of his intentions bright, even through the bloodlust painting my eyes. 

Shadows explode around the chamber as I pull Varrish’s body towards the bed in the corner of the room. They wrap around his wrists, legs, and arms, binding him to the platform that I have my own intimate memories of. 

A pained cry leaves Violet’s lips as she starts to fall under her own weight. My shadows split and grasp her weight gently, trying as hard as I can not to press on the wounds that I can tell are all over her body. My gaze turns and softens when they meet her eyes, relief that she’s alive sliding over me. 

“You’re really here.” She says a rasp of broken vocal cords and trembling screams. 

“Of course, I am.” I state the thought that I wouldn’t come to save her, making my heart crack a little. 

“So, the general’s daughter, is just another traitor like him. No wonder you ended up bonded together.” Varrish’s voice makes my lip curl up in a sneer. “Though I’m sure it pains you more that you can’t save the woman that truly is your weakness, doesn’t it, Riorson?”

The shadows wrapped around him coil tighter, one beginning to circle his neck as well. 

“I’ve left you alive too long and it’s a mistake I tend to correct right now.” The words are a threat and promise all in one. “Of course, it’s your right to do the honors, Violet.”

I turn my eyes towards her, and I can see the spark that she wants his death. Her intention a fire of conviction with no room for remorse. 

“I’ll take that honor.” She says as I place the runed dagger into her hand.  

I grasp her a little tighter by the waist as I drag the bed forward with another band of shadows, the less I move her, the better. 

“Enjoy meeting Malek.” She rasps as she leans forward with the dagger aimed straight for his heart. I can feel her strength failing as she tries to push the blade forward. 

Wrapping my larger hand firmly around hers, I push forward, and the blade sinks deep into flesh tearing skin, muscle, and tendon. We stay there, hands wrapped around the hilt until his body completely sags, eyes closing in death. 

Then it’s as if the entirety of her body believes it’s safe, her weight settling firmly in my hold.

“Damn Xaden. You couldn’t wait two seconds.” Garrick’s voice calls from the hallway, leaving us both turning to see him round the corner. 

As his eyes land on Violet, I can see the realization strike his face. He knew it was bad, he didn’t dream it was this bad. 

“Garrick.” His name leaves Violet’s lips with a genuine fondness, the bond that she has bridged between all of us shining, though it does eat at the crack of the other woman who is embedded even further into our family. 

“Let’s get this moving. We’re heading out.” I snap us all out of the reverie and focus on the business at hand. 

“We can’t leave. You’ll threaten everything you’ve been working towards, all because of me. Besides, they aren’t ready.” I know that she’s leaving out the details because Aetos is in the room, but she needs to understand what happens now.

“Give us a second.” I demand to the two men still breathing in this room. As soon as they head to the hallway, I look down into Violet’s concerned gaze.

“I need you to understand something.” I begin hoping that she will listen and we can move forward, with life, with this war.  

“You may not have my love romantically, Violet, but you will always have my protection. You’re more than aware I take care of my own, you are now included in that number.” I explain, her eyes are a mixture of sadness and gratefulness. “We can no longer stay here. It isn’t safe for you or those who are marked any longer. This only accelerated something that was in the works long before you decided to steal a journal from the royal vaults.”

“Its time for us to go to Aretia and we will decide with the Assembly how we move forward.” She nods her head in acknowledgment before we begin to move towards the staircase. 

____________________

I scrub my hand down my face as I fly atop Sgaeyl, thankful that Garrick was able to wield Violet to Riorson House ahead of the chaos that is about to envelop Aretia. 

‘I’m going to get a fucking earful.’ I muse to myself, although I know Sgaeyl is listening.

‘Yes, you are. But you are the head of the Assembly by birthright and will follow through with what needs to be done.’ The words are a reminder and a promise. I’m bound by oaths far older than myself, the Riorson name a noose of duty that is clamped tightly around my neck. 

‘You will not fold. You are in a position to change more than just the outcome of this war. In time, it will be for your benefit as well.’ I scoff at Sgaeyl’s words. 

As if I already didn’t hold enough on my shoulders, now I’m bringing a riot of over 200 to a city that has only been rebuilt enough to catch its breath. We could be bringing the weight of Navarre’s wrath to our doorstep and yet the one thing I want to chase remains so far from my grasp I’m not sure if I’ll ever get the chance to change it. 

Beginning our descent to the steps of Riorson House, Sgaeyl directs the majority of the riot to the valley, while I go directly to the courtyard. 

I can tell the dragons have been busy confirming our location as I’m greeted by a sight I never want to see. Brennan stands on the doorstep, scowl on his face and I’m sure more than a few words to hurl at me.  

“Every fucking time, Riorson.” He blurts, his cheeks coloring in frustration. “Why is it that my sister comes to me on Malek’s doorstep every fucking time?”

I take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. Of all the conversations I have to have, this one is the most frustrating. 

“Did you get any information from Violet or Garrick on why she looked that way before you waylay into me about my choices?” I demand while standing up to my full height. I refuse to back down and supplicate when this wasn’t my plan. 

“Didn’t really have time to ask when I was trying to mend every fucking bone in her body.” Brennan seethes at me, clearly past the point of anger. 

“Then before you finish biting my head off, why don’t we have a civil fucking conversation like adults.” I snap back, weary from the past week. “Otherwise, I’ll meet you on the fucking sparing mats and you can fight your way to information.”

His nostrils flare at my words, clearly wanting both a fight and information, but before he can answer Garrick steps out of the doors. 

“The Assembly is waiting.” He explains, clearly displeased at even having to deliver the message. 

“Let them keep fucking waiting.” I murmur turning back to Brennan. “You have a riot full of riders. I suggest you get everyone settled in a room for the night. I’m going to bed.”

Without waiting on a reply, I march past both of them and through the momentarily quiet halls of Riorson House. I try to enjoy the fleeting bliss before the bubble completely burst and the entire fortress is teeming with hotheaded assembly members and cadets. 

Opening the door to my room, I’m met with the familiar smells and signs of home, but the thought still sends a sharp pang through my chest. I glare at the large bed, the furniture mocking me at the fact that it is still missing the only person that has ever truly felt like home. 

Huffing, I take off my boots and begin discarding my blood coated clothing. Letting everything fall to the floor behind me in a haphazard pile, I make my way to the bathing chamber and turn the taps with lesser magic.

Steam begins to fill the room as the water heats and I step into the spray. For a moment, I relish in the water that splashes down every inch, clear water turning black as a combination of blood, sweat, and grime falls from my body. The heat begins to loosen my muscles, tension that has coiled since Tairn sounded the alarm finally falling to the wayside. 

I wish I could say that every inch of my body relaxes, but that’s impossible. I try not to let my mind wander, try to rein in emotions, to let myself calm, but my anger begins to get the best of me. 

Every possible turn another fucking obstacle rises, a tower that I can’t seem to climb, as if Loial is conspiring against me at every turn. And now, the spies that lie in Navarre may be lost. 

‘That road leads to ruin tonight.’ Sgaeyl slices through my spiraling thoughts.

‘That road leads to ruin every fucking night.’ I reply even though I know she’s right. At the end of the day, I am just torturing myself with questions. The thoughts of her eyes from the drop still a clear picture that I will myself to hold onto. 

Even if Syrena won’t give up the information I’m desperate for, I will get it, one way or another. I don’t care if I must burn down all of Poromiel at this point. I will do what I have to in order to have her back. 

_________________

Taglist: @honethatty12@motorsportloverf1@annthepenguin@dragonsandrinks@acourtofsmutandstarlight@minidemont@bookishcait@ilovetomtailor@nevermoresworld @nastylicious@iambored24601@mysticalfuncollectorus@sadpieceofbread@alwayshave-faith@bestillmystuckyheart@luvly-writer@yuelhua@mitziix @idek99cool @jennigson @xxhospital-for-soulsxx

[ludolka]

Not bro giving the adhders such an awful rep

This is just making me angry. I have adhd, I can’t concentrate or focus for shit. I still draw a lot, I still create with my own hands instead of asking a machine to do it for me. And no one is born with this amazing talent. Sure some people get the hang of it quicker, but no one comes out of the womb being able to paint like Leonardo Da Vinci. Art is a skill you have to practice to improve at. I’ve been drawing almost daily (with a couple of smaller or longer breaks) for 12-13 years now. I managed to do that while having adhd, while having shit focus, while being a chronic procrastinator, while having executive dysfunction

Just because you don’t want to put the work into learning a skill (or paying someone with the skill to do it for you) doesn’t mean you get to destroy the environment, contribute to people losing their livelihoods and normalize stealing people’s hard work. Adhd isn’t an excuse

And this might be a controversial take, but what if I say generative ai is actually worsening one’s adhd symptoms, most importantly the attention span? Ai art is instant gratification, you put in a prompt and you get back an image in max 5 minutes. You don’t have to wait or put in any effort. Your brain gets used to this the more you use it and suddenly waiting will be a lot less tolerable. You majorly fuck yourself over if you train your brain to function on and expect instant gratification (tho this doesn’t just apply to adhders)

Also, in the original video the guy talked about how he can’t draw, but he enjoys the process of being creative and creating so much. Being creative and creating where? During those 30 seconds you type in a prompt? Bro bffr 💀

No, generative AI isn’t making art accessible. Art has always been and will always be accessible. Anyone can create art, no matter their background, age, social standing, financial status, skill level or how disabled/non-disabled they are. And art isn’t just drawing or painting, it’s also music and writing and decorating and cooking and DIYs and crocheting and anything that is a creative outlet. The purpose of art (any kind) is some kind of expression, emotional, creative, self, whatever it may be. And having a machine “create” art for you erases everything that makes art art, it erases the soul and the personality of it

A bit off topic, but the tweet the person stitching this is referencing is this one

And like this tweet has unironically altered my brain chemistry when I first read it a while ago and helped me a lot with self improvement

[andy-15-07]

Hi can i request a reader x tommy miller? Reader came into jackson with joel and ellie (tommy isn’t with Maria) and he begins to fall for reader. Joel and ellie notice and tease him for it until tommy finally makes a move after seeing another guy hit on you at the bar? (Smut/no smut after he confesses, it’s up to you) thank you!!

Jealous Kind of Love

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x reader

Word Count:924 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist

A/N: the tommy miller requests have RISEN from the ashes like a phoenix and i’m unwell. i’ve been WAITING to write soft!jealous!tommy again bc i am just a humble fool for this man. this is for the girlies who want a man with work-rough hands and a permanent blush whenever u smile at him 😭 enjoy.

You came to Jackson in the dead of winter, boots caked in snow and heart still raw from the road. Joel and Ellie brought you in,Joel vouching for you with that rare kind of sincerity that meant you mattered. You didn’t ask too many questions about why Tommy flinched when Joel first walked through the gates. You just kept your head down, worked hard, and found yourself… safe.

Tommy Miller was a surprise.

You thought he’d be rougher, like Joel. Instead, he was warm in the way you’d almost forgotten men could be. Polite. Thoughtful. That Southern drawl and those damn dimples didn’t help.

You saw him in the mornings, when the sun crept over the mountains and the town stirred awake. He was always outside the stables, tugging gloves over calloused hands, nodding at you like he was about to say something but always holding back.

You liked that about him,his restraint. His gentleness.

So you smiled every time. And every time, he looked like he was trying not to.

---

It didn’t go unnoticed.

Joel leaned against the porch railing one afternoon, watching Tommy walk away after helping you fix the latch on your garden fence.

“That boy’s got it bad,” Joel muttered, tilting his head toward Tommy’s retreating figure.

You raised a brow. “Who does?”

“Tommy. My baby brother.” He took a sip from his flask. “Can barely finish a sentence around you.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “You’re imagining things.”

“Uh-huh,” Joel drawled. “And I’m the Queen of England.”

Behind you, Ellie snorted. “I think it’s kinda cute. He turns red whenever you talk to him.”

“I do not,” Tommy barked, suddenly appearing behind them. His ears were red.

Joel grinned around the rim of his flask. “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

Tommy didn’t say anything else, just tipped his head in your direction and walked away, boots crunching in the snow.

---

The teasing didn’t stop.

Ellie started leaving little heart-shaped doodles in the snow outside Tommy’s house. Joel would wink obnoxiously anytime Tommy walked past you with tools or firewood. Jackson might’ve been a place of safety, but gossip was as alive here as it ever was.

Still, Tommy didn’t make a move.

You wondered if he was just shy. Or if the apocalypse had beaten romance out of him. You’d almost convinced yourself to stop hoping when the universe decided to shove him into action.

---

It happened at the bar.

You weren’t trying to draw attention,you were only there for the warm fire and the faint buzz of beer. But Jackson’s social circles were small, and apparently being “the woman Joel brought in” was enough to pique interest.

“Didn’t think I’d see you out tonight,” said a man named Dean, sliding into the seat beside you.

You offered a polite smile. “I needed a night off.”

“Same here,” he chuckled, leaning closer. “You know, I’ve seen you around. You work with the horses, right?”

“Sometimes,” you said.

“You’re good with them,” he went on. “You wanna dance?”

Before you could answer, a shadow fell over the table.

“I think she’s fine where she is,” Tommy said, voice low.

You blinked. So did Dean.

Tommy looked calm. That easy Southern charm painted on his face, but his shoulders were set tight, and his hand curled into a fist at his side.

Dean glanced between you two, awkwardly. “Didn’t realize you were together.”

“We are,” Tommy said before you could open your mouth.

Your heart stuttered. Dean held up his hands and backed off. “My bad. Enjoy your night.”

When he was gone, you stared up at Tommy. “That was… direct.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get all,uh, territorial.”

“You kind of did,” you teased.

He met your eyes. “Yeah. Guess I did.”

The tension that had simmered between you for weeks suddenly snapped into something sharp and hot and electric.

Tommy exhaled hard. “I was gonna wait. Thought maybe I was reading it wrong. But then I saw him talking to you, and I just,couldn’t.”

You stood slowly, placing your empty glass on the bar. “And now?”

“Now I think I’d really like to take you out. Somewhere quiet. Just us.” He swallowed, eyes soft. “If you want that.”

You stepped closer. “I do.”

His eyes searched your face like he didn’t quite believe it.

Then you rose onto your toes and kissed his cheek.

---

Later that night, as Tommy walked you home in the cold silence of Jackson’s snow-covered streets, his gloved hand brushed yours. He looked over shyly.

You linked your fingers with his.

He didn’t let go.

---

Back at your front door, you turned to face him. “So… we’re really doing this?”

Tommy nodded. “We are. If you’re sure.”

“I’ve been sure,” you said, stepping close again, “for a while.”

His mouth quirked. “You could’ve fooled me.”

“I thought you were the shy one,” you murmured.

“I was waitin’ for a sign.”

You smiled and reached up to cup his face, brushing your lips against his.

He pulled you closer, wrapping you in his arms like he was afraid to wake up from a dream. And when you finally pulled back, your breath clouding in the air between you, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I’m real glad Joel dragged your ass to Jackson.”

You laughed softly. “Me too.”

He kissed you again,this time slower. Like he meant it.

Like he’d been waiting for this moment since the second you stepped through the gate.

[itzpookiepooh]

Same Difference

Based on this ask <3

You and Rafayel were the same but also polar opposites. He likes classical music, you like rock music. You both like art but he paints on a canvas and you graffiti. You both bond about the sea with him being a siren and you surfing and exploring abandoned ships.

Vastly different but closely similar. Rafayel didn’t know how to feel about you at first. You were so rambunctious and upbeat while he was poised and seemed stuck up. Getting to know each other was the fun part.

“So what do you do for fun?” He asked leaning in to show interest. You tap your chin three times, faux thinking.

“Urbex.” You answered proudly. His eyebrows raise in concern.

“Isn’t that illegal trespassing?” He asked holding up one hand. You roll your eyes.

“Yes but it’s fun!” You exclaimed as he just nodded slowly. Yeah you guys weren’t the same in his eyes but on the outside looking in? Yes you were.

You always kept him on his toes when it came to adventure. Like the time you went to an underground rave with some friends.

“It was where?” He asked with a questionable look.

“A sewer!” You said cheerfully. It was your thing which he couldn’t be mad about.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” You just nodded, “If you stay when they flush out the system then, yes.”

He couldn’t believe you did such dangerous things but so did he when he needed to. Going into a dangerous club for information was his specialty. You thought he was crazy then too so you’re even.

“You’ve been in the N109 zone? I’ve only gone to graffiti.” You pout falling into the sofa.

“You went into the N109 zone to graffiti?” He was more shocked about this than you were about him going.

“Art is art. Graffiti is just on a brick wall instead of a canvas.” You explained as he chuckled. He shook his head with a soft smile on his lips.

“You are something else. Y’know that?” He asked putting his elbows on his knees.

“Yeah but you love me.” You tease causing him to roll his eyes playfully.

“Yeah, yeah. I hear ya.” He said as you playfully hit him.

You guys really are different sides of the same coin.

This took a while because I had to figure out how to go about it but I’m done! <3

[defnotingotham]

Batfamily Incorrect Quotes Pt.1

Steph: Tim won’t wake up, what do I do? 

Damian: Did you try kicking them? 

Steph: Yes. 

Damian: I’m out of ideas.

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Duke: Damn, the power went out. 

Steph: Don’t worry, I got this. 

Steph: *stomps foot* 

Duke: What-? 

Steph: *Sketchers light up*

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Tim: You’re like an oyster. Not appealing on the outside, but your insides are worth a lot of money!

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Cass: Every time I hear someone talking about updog, I’m torn between not wanting to fall for it and wanting to help them complete their joke. 

Duke: Okay, but what is updog? 

Steph: Updog is a long sausage in a bun, often served with ketchup, mustard, onions, and/or relish. 

Damian: No, that’s a hot dog. An updog is when a new version or patch of an application is released. 

Dick: No, that's an update. You’re thinking of the fourth largest city in Sweden. 

Tim: Surely, that’s Uppsala, where’s updog is the giant spider in Harry Potter. 

Cass: That’s Aragog. Updog is a symbol conventionally used for an arbitrarily small number in analysis proofs. 

Damian: You’re thinking of epsilon. Updog is an upward-moving air current. 

Steph: No, that’s an updraft. An updog is the modern version of a henway. 

Duke: What’s a henway?? 

Cass: Oh, about five pounds.

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Jason: So what color are the walls of your room? 

Steph: My walls are white I think. 

Tim: She's lying, I’ve been to their room, it’s pale yellow. 

Steph: No, it’s white. It just looks yellow because of the ceiling light. 

Tim: Your wall looks like someone rubbed butter on them. 

Duke: Your walls look like someone threw dandelions at them. 

Cass: Your walls look like someone put post-it notes on them for 3 hours. 

Damian: Your walls look like you bought a can of yellow paint, and instead of opening it, you just sat there thinking about the possibilities. 

Tim: The color of your walls is the La Croix of yellow.

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Jason: *working in a flower shop and minding their own business* 

Duke, storming into the store and slapping $20 on the counter: HOW DO I PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVELY SAY “FUCK YOU” IN FLOWER???

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Tim: Everyone, calm down! We're grown-ups, let's deal with this like adults! 

Steph: So, we're just going to wing it and hope for the best? 

Tim: Obviously. Now, Damian , pass the shovel

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Duke: PEASANT. I REQUIRE SUSTENANCE. 

Jason: You know there are other ways to say you want McDonalds. 

Duke: FOUL PLEBEIAN. YOU DARE SPEAK AGAINST ME— 

Jason: *sigh* What do you want? 

Duke: Chicken nuggets please.

(duke learned this from damian)

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Cass: Would you take a bullet for me? 

Damian: ...yes? 

*Jason angrily burst into the room* 

Cass: *running away* Great, thanks!

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Tim: Astrology is fun because I can pretend that all of my behaviors are just a result of being a Cancer and not symptoms of mental illness. 

Steph: Being a Cancer is a mental illness. That’s not hate, it's just a fact.

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Steph: Standing next to sunflowers always makes me feel weak like ‘look at this fucking flower. This flower is taller than I am. This flower is winning and I’m losing.’ 

Duke: Wow, you are not ready to hear about trees.

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Damian, throwing their head into Tim's lap: Tell me I'm pretty! 

Tim, lovingly stroking their hair: You're pretty fucking annoying, that's what you are.

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Tim: Guys… the principal just called— 

Steph: It was Cass! 

Cass: It was Duke! 

Duke: It was Damian! 

Damian: It was me!

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Jason: I truly believe that water can solve all your problems. 

Damian: Weight loss? Drink water. 

Tim: Clear skin? Drink water. 

Cass: Want to get rid of someone? Drown them.

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Steph: You know you can die from that, right? 

Dick: *smoking a cigarette* That’s the point. 

Cass: *drinking alcohol* We’re trying to speed this up. 

Tim: *Eating raw cookie dough and nodding*

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Duke, to Dick: How do you tell someone politely you want to hit them with a brick?

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Jason: You are now one day closer to eating your next plate of nachos. 

Duke: That's the most hopeful thing I've ever heard. 

Steph: But what if I die tomorrow and never eat any nachos? 

Tim: Then tomorrow is nacho lucky day.

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Tim: GET BACK HERE YOU DUMB FUCK! 

Jason: LET ME RUN FROM THE CONSEQUENCES OF MY ACTIONS!

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*talking on the phone* 

Duke: Remember how I said that Steph and I were gonna have a calm night out for once? 

Jason: Yeah… 

Duke: Well, we’re in jail. 

Jason: *hangs up*

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Jason: Vegetable oil is made from vegetables, coconut oil is made from coconuts, so BABY OIL- 

Duke: CAN'T WE JUST HAVE A NICE FAMILY DINNER FOR ONCE?!

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Steph: Oh shoot! 

Steph: Excuse my vulgarity. 

Duke: I’ll let it slide.

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Damian: I have so much energy, I want to run a marathon or commit a crime... which should I do? 

Duke: Please don’t get arrested. 

Damian: No promises! :3 

Tim: Why not both? Get creative! 

Damian: Wonderful suggestion, thank you. 

Duke: Please don’t encourage him, Tim.

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Steph: What if we were stranded on a desert island? Who would you eat? 

Duke: Cass. 

Steph: So fast? Wh-what about me? I would eat you! 

Duke: That’s very nice, I guess. 

Steph: Why wouldn’t you eat me? I’m your best friend. 

Duke: Look, if other people are having some, I’ll try you.

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Duke: Do you see yourself as a glass half-full or glass half-empty kind of person? 

Damian: Half-full, definitely. 

Damian: Half-full and constantly rising. 

Damian: Soon the water will escape its container and consume us all.

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Duke: Why does Damian always do the laundry so loudly? 

Cass: So everyone knows that no one helps them out in the house. 

Damian, in the distance: *slams the washing machine shut*

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Jason: Nothing feels better than winning Monopoly. Not love, not sex, not free pizza, nothing! 

Steph: I’m sorry, have you tried pizza? 

Jason: Yes, and it doesn’t compare to owning half the board and watching the light die from your friend’s eyes as you take their money and feel your friendship slowly deteriorate. 

Duke: I like you.

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Jason: Are you ever going to listen to me? 

Damian: Yes. Absolutely. 

Jason: When? 

Damian: When you're right.

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Dick: Jason... 

Jason: I can tell by the tone of your voice that you are disappointed. Alas, I must further disappoint you by affirming how little I give a fuck.

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Damian: Unfortunately, due to several experiences in my youth, I cannot just 'walk up and join a circle of people talking', but it does sound lovely, thank you.

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Dick: What kinds of sounds annoy you? 

Duke: Are we talking real sounds or imaginary ones? 

Dick, now interested: Lets say imaginary. 

Duke: Spiders wearing flip flops.

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Dick: Why are you two always out during rainstorms? 

Cass: It’s so peaceful and refreshing. I love the smell of rain. 

Tim: Duke bet me I couldn’t get struck by lighting, but they’re WRONG.

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Duke: I’m not being weird. Am I being weird? 

Jason: Yes, and that’s coming from me.

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Steph: Remember that time you dared me to lick a swing set? 

Damian: No, I said "Steph, don't lick that swing set" and you said "Don't tell me what to do" and licked the swing set.

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*Dick is in the kitchen and he hears a crash from the living room* 

Dick, running into the living room: WHAT ON EARTH HAPPENED HERE?!?! 

Duke, looking at the broken TV screen and the remote on the floor: I was trying to throw the remote onto the TV stand! 

Dick: And Tim didn’t stop you?! 

Duke, pointing at a sleeping Tim: They’ve been asleep for the past three hours. 

Damian, walking in, oblivious to the situation: Hey guys- 

Damian, realizing: Wait, is the TV broken? Why?! 

Dick, pointing at Duke: They threw the remote onto the TV stand. 

Damian: Come on! That’s the 5th time this week and it’s 2 in the morning on a Tuesday! 

Tim, waking up to see the situation: *yawns* How long was I out? 

Tim, seeing the broken TV: OH GOSH NOT AGAIN! DUKE, I TOLD YOU NOT TO! 

Duke: You were asleep! And I always take a window of opportunity when I see it! 

Dick and Damian, in unison: But you broke the- 

Duke: My work here is done. If anyone asks, I was never. *dashes out of the living room*

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Damian: Come on, you need to go to bed. 

Cass: Mr. Snuffles says that I can stay up as long as I want. And that you need to die! 

Damian: … 

Damian: What the hell, Mr. Snuffles—

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Duke: Well please don’t let Tim do anything stupid… 

Cass: Stupid by my standards or yours? 

Duke: 

Duke: Stupid by my mother’s standards. 

Cass: Smart. Tim will live longer.

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Tim: Cass, keep an eye on Damian today. They're going to say something to the wrong person and get punched. 

Cass: Sure, I'd love to see Damian getting punched. 

Jason: Try again. 

Cass, sighing: I will try to stop Damian from getting punched.

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Duke: Yes, I'm adopting Cass and you cowards can't tell me no!

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Dick: I’m scared that when you become rich and famous you’ll be embarrassed by me. 

Duke: Oh Dick, I’m already embarrassed by you.

[msmk11]

hii, you asked for prompts for nanny!reader and i'm wondering if you'd write something where reader goes to a double date with her friend or something (she doesn't know her date and her friend set them up, she's not really interested and it's not going well), and either james shows up there after work and recognizes her or she comes home and has to explain to james and harry why she's in a low mood?

no worries if not ofc, and sorry if it sounded confusing

ceo!dilf!james potter x nanny!fem!reader (PART FIVE)

WC: 3.3k

CW: age gap (reader is 22 and James is 32); men (ew); allusion to previous toxic relationship; possessive!james; Mary is reader's age instead of James' for the sake of the plot

Summary: your best friend Mary convinces you to go on a date. neither you nor james are happy about it

A/n: omg yes, yes! thanks for the request, I love it so so much!! i altered it a little bit so that james secretly finds out and he can be protective, hope that's okay!

Series Masterlist

--

“Babes,” your best friend, Mary, croons through the phone, “you can’t keep doing this. He’s your boss for god’s sake.”

You groan and flip onto your stomach, kicking your legs back and forth gently to help the nail polish dry faster, “I know, Mary, I know. I’ve been trying. But just when I convince myself that it’s all in my head, he says or does something that completely unravels all my logic.”

Ever since you and James shared a bed a few nights ago, per Harry’s request, thank you very much, you’ve been in a bit of a tizzy. While your boss may not have realized it, you’d heard the few murmured words that slipped past his lips right before he fell asleep- I care about you too. To be frank, it’d sent you into a state of shock and you hadn’t gotten much sleep that night or the nights following. 

You can’t stop thinking about the incident. Did he mean to say it? What way did he mean it? Did it mean he cares about you as a person? As an employee? As a friend? As something…more?

“ARGH!” you screech, burying your face in your pillow.

“You need to get out there. Talk to people that aren’t ten years your senior or nearly twenty years your junior,” Mary announces, as if it were such a simple thing to do. 

“I tried that. Do you not remember the Jackson incident?”

Your curly haired friend sighs loudly into the speaker, “that doesn’t count and we both know it. You need to get out of that house, hun, loosen up.”

“Don’t-”

“You need to go on a date.”

The word sends a shiver down your spine and you scoff, “Over my dead body.”

“Come on! It could be fun! You haven’t dated in, like, ages,” Mary pleads.

“And there’s a good reason for that too. We saw how my last relationship went, and I don’t want to repeat that again. It’s not worth it.” 

You say the last part quietly, less than pleasant memories of your ex resurfacing in your brain.

Your best friend’s voice softens too, “Babes, you know not all guys are like Garrett…nor like Jackson.”

A lump settles in your throat and you blink back tears, “I know, but…”

You trail off, focusing all of your attention on dutifully painting your fingernails a soft, shimmery pink. Mary is kind enough to not immediately fill the silence. 

She sighs gently, though the sound is only filled with concern and love, “Okay, okay, what if we do a double date? I’ll set us both up, make sure they both seem like decent guys, and drive us to and from the restaurant? If at any time you feel like it’s going bad or you’re uncomfortable, just say the word and we’ll leave.”

You swallow thickly, thinking over her proposition. Honestly, it does sound remarkably better than going on a blind date alone or with someone you’ve met on the apps. Anyhow, Mary’s right- you do need to get out there, both because it’s been far too long and also because you have to forget about your boss. Whatever your complicated feelings for James are, they can’t continue. He’s your boss. He’s a decade older than you. He’s rich. He has a kid. For Christ's sake, he’s been married. Anyways, he’s too good for someone like you and would never go for you.

You cap the bottle of polish and blow on your nails gently, “Okay, fine, Mary. I’ll go on one date so long as I’m promised that out.”

She squeals into the phone so shrilly your speaker crackles and you can’t help but giggle in spite of yourself, “alright, that’s enough. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Are you kidding?! It’s a HUGE deal. I’m so excited for you us, babes. I’ll pick you up at six on Saturday and we’ll go to Nando’s, your favorite, mmkay? I love you!”

You sigh fondly, “yeah, okay, okay. I love you too. I’ll see you then.”

The call ends and you bury your face back into your pillow dramatically. What had you gotten yourself into?

-- 

James hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, honest. It just, well, happened. Although you have the night off, and he absolutely respects that, Harry had been begging him to ask you to join them for a movie. He eventually relented, figuring there was no harm in asking. If you said no, you said no. By asking, James could, at least, quiet his son’s incessant badgering and, at best, get a yes from you (which he selfishly, hoped for). Could he really be faulted for wanting to spend every ounce of free time he had with you and Harry? 

As James approached your door he could hear the murmurings of your voice through the thick wood as you talked on the phone. He was content to wait for you to finish your call, assuming it didn’t take too long. Luckily, it hadn’t, but the length of your conversation ceased to matter when he heard its contents. James, sincerely, wasn’t trying to actively listen in on your conversation, but the door wasn’t that sound proof and you weren’t exactly talking quietly. In fact, to him, the words seemed to ring through the walls clear as day-  Okay, fine, Mary. I’ll go on one date so long as I’m promised that out.

His heart dropped into his stomach- a date?

This wasn’t part of the plan. Whatever fantasy-dreamworld plan he’d come up with in his head. The one where you two got together and raised Harry and eventually got married and had more of your own. Sure, it’s just one date, but that’s all it ever is until, suddenly, he’s sitting on the bride’s side at your wedding, your resignation still echoing in his ears. 

James is so befuddled by this new development that he barely picks up on the rest of the conversation besides three key words: 6 o’clock, Saturday, Nando’s.

Somehow, he stumbles his way back downstairs. It’s only when he’s met with Harry’s big, green doe eyes and little pout that he remembers why he’d even gone up to your room in the first place.

Despite the fact that he grew up wealthy and privileged, with the most loving parents in the world and a whole company waiting for him after university, James had always considered himself a fairly kind, thoughtful, well rounded person. Yet, at this moment, all that character goes out the window. He wants what’s his, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you.

You honestly think you might throw up. For the tenth time in the last twenty minutes, you smooth your hands down the sides of your dark blue, satin skirt. If there were any wrinkles left in the fabric, which there weren’t, because you’d meticulously obsessed over the article of clothing all morning, they were certainly gone now. Although you trust Mary with your life, you’re incredibly nervous for this double date. It’s been nearly a year since you’ve been on a date at all, and just over three since you’ve been on a first date. You and Garrett had been together for about three and a half years – almost the entirety of university. You’d been so sure the two of you were going to get married, but, as things tend to do, it all fell apart a few months before graduation when you learned your ex-boyfriend was not at all who you thought he was. It ended so badly that you’d sworn off dating for the time being. You didn’t want to risk putting yourself out there and getting hurt again. Still, you knew Mary was right- you couldn’t avoid it forever.

You sit on the couch in the sitting room, only half paying attention to Harry as he explains to you some game he’s made up for himself. Your phone sits pressed against your thigh as you anxiously await a text from your best friend telling you she’s arrived. Luckily, or maybe not so luckily, James had been free this evening and had assured you that you would without a doubt have the night off to do as you pleased. You hadn’t bothered going into much detail about your plans, not really wanting to share with your crush that you had a date with another man. All he knew was that you were hanging out with Mary and that you were really worried about the wrinkles on your skirt.

Finally, your phone buzzes a few minutes after six. You shoot up, anxiously shoving your phone in your purse and swinging it over your shoulder.

James, who’s sitting on the couch next to you, looks up from where he’s been watching Harry, “is she here?”

You nod, exhaling shakily, “yep! I, uh, don’t know how long I’ll be out tonight, but if you need anything at all, just-”

The brunette cuts you off, standing and coming to your side. He hovers his hand over the small of your back and gently begins to usher you towards the door, “don’t worry about us, sweetheart. Harry and I will get on just fine. You have lots of fun and call me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all, even if it’s late and you think you’ll be bothering me.“

James unlocks the door and opens it for you, squeezing your waist gently before stepping back, “have a good time!”

You murmur a thank you and goodbye quickly before rushing out the door, as if trying to run away from the butterflies he set off in your stomach with a simple touch. You hop into the passenger side of Mary’s little yellow bug and shut the door resoundly. As you buckle your seatbelt, your best friend peers out her window and up at the Potter Manor.

She whistles slowly, “damn, you weren’t lying. Even from here I can tell that Mr. Potter is a smoke show.”

Your face heats and you smack her arm before letting your gaze follow hers. James stands in the doorway, forearms on display in a worn, gray T-shirt, looking absolutely delicious. He waves lazily and Mary returns the gesture, a shit-eating smirk on her face. You groan loudly and wave back embarrassedly, murmuring under your breath for her to drive.

She finally obliges and puts the car in drive, heading off to your destination.

“Maybe I was wrong,” she teases, “maybe we should turn this car back around so that you can go flirt it up with Mr. rich hot guy.”

“Mary!” you whine pitifully.

Your best friend raises her hands in surrender, “Okay, okay. I’ll stop, I’m sorry.”

Her brown eyes glance to you as she drives, “you nervous?”

You glare at her, unamused, “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“Okay, ouch, the claws are out tonight.”

You exhale, apologetically, “I’m sorry, I just am really nervous. What if I’ve forgotten how to date or something?”

Mary reaches over and squeezes your thigh assuredly, “that’s not something you can forget how to do. Plus, you’re a catch- sexy, smart, and witty. You’ll be great and, remember, you have me there as a wing woman. So just relax, enjoy some free food and drinks, and maybe have a good time with this guy.”

You fiddle with the hem of your skirt, “and what if I don’t have a good time with this guy?”

She shrugs, her curls bouncing “then you don’t, and that’s okay. And, like I said, you still get free drinks and food out of it. And quality time with your favorite person.”

“But Harry isn’t here.”

The brunette gasps, “Okay, rude. I can’t believe I’ve been replaced by a four-year-old.”

“To be fair, he’s a really cute four-year-old.”

--

James is only a little ashamed to admit that he’s using his very cute, adorably earnest, four year-old son to ruin your date tonight. So far, everything is going according to plan. You’d asked James for tonight off the same day he’d heard your phone call and, of course, he’d said yes. Although James didn’t want you going on this date with a random guy, he also knew keeping you locked up in his nice home with his sweet kid wasn’t going to ultimately win your affections; he needed you to get out there and see what little all the other men had to offer.

James hadn’t asked about your plans either, and, luckily, you hadn’t offered up any details. It was just as he’d hoped – if he didn’t know about your plans then he had plausible deniability. It would just happen to be a coincidence that he and Harry showed up at the same restaurant you were having your date at. It wouldn’t be suspicious either, because it’s not like it was uncommon for a father to take his son out to dinner at Nando’s on a Saturday night.

He waits thirty minutes after you leave, anxiously fidgeting on the couch the whole time, before suggesting a dinner night out with Harry. The little boy eagerly agrees, zooming off to put on his lightup shoes so they could go. Once they’re both buckled into James’ black Ferrari they head off, only speeding a little. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this revved up to go to a Nando’s. 

By the time they pull up to the restaurant his hands are sweating. Though James wants to ruin your date, he doesn’t want you to hate him either. He knows he has to go about this the exact right way or he might lose you entirely. Harry, at least, distracts him from his nerves a little. The boy’s nearly bouncing off the walls with excitement, tugging James behind him as he runs towards the front doors. 

“Woah, buddy, calm down. Don’t want you tripping and getting hurt,” he corrects gently.

Harry huffs dramatically but obliges his dad, instead walking patiently at his side. Air conditioning blasts them in the face as they step inside and they’re met with the quiet din of people laughing and chatting. To his surprise, Nando’s isn’t too busy this evening, with plenty of tables still available to choose from. 

“Can I choose a table, Daddy?” Harry asks eagerly, bright eyes flitting about the restaurant wildly. 

James hums an assent, only half paying attention as his son guides them through the maze of tables. He wants to find you. No, he needs to find you. What does the guy you’re seeing look like? Is he making you laugh? Are you bored or uncomfortable? 

God, what if he went to the wrong Nando’s?

Suddenly, there’s a childish shout of your name and James’ head snaps down, hazel eyes trailing after Harry as he breaks free. His gaze follows his son, who is running directly towards you. Though the elder Potter saw you less than an hour ago, his breath still catches in his throat. You’re just so beautiful, and he can’t believe that he gets to exist in the same space as you. Somehow, you manage to look like a goddess even in a Nando’s and it leaves him completely and utterly paralyzed. It comforts him that you seem paralyzed too, though more so in surprise than awe. Your pretty eyes, his new favorite color, find his across the restaurant effortlessly and a shiver runs down his spine. 

James, finally, snaps out of his stupor and rushes over to your table, at least having the decency to pretend to be embarrassed. 

“God, I’m so sorry,” he blurts out in a perfectly practiced apologetic tone, “I wanted to take Harry out for dinner as a treat. I didn’t know you were going to be here…you didn’t tell me-”

He trails off, eyes flicking between you and the blonde man sitting across from you. James smugly notes that the bloke is only average looking. 

He crouches down, his voice lowering to maintain privacy even though he wants everyone at the table to hear, “I hope we haven’t interrupted something, sweetheart.”

You fluster prettily which makes James Potter a very happy man. The use of the pet name also seems to irritate your date, the blonde visibly prickling. This makes him even happier. 

Your eyes anxiously dart between your friend Mary, he thinks, and the blonde man, “Uhm-”

“Who’s this, then?” the man interrupts, tone barely polite. 

“Oh, r-right, sorry. Uhm, Kyle, this is my boss, James, and his son, Harry- the one I told you I nanny. James and Harry, this is my- uh- this is Kyle.”

You also gesture to Mary and her date, Issac. When Harry hears Mary’s name his face lights up, “you’re Mary?! I hear about you all the time!”

Your best friend laughs loudly, eyes sparkling with delight, “oh really? Only good things I hope.”

His son nods eagerly, insistently raising his arms to be picked up by you so he can talk more to Mary. With no hesitation you oblige him, settling him on your lap as he yaps to the brunette girl about all the things you’ve told him about her. She’s equally engaged and your face is a picture of contented fondness as you hold Harry. 

Kyle, James notes, looks incredibly displeased. 

“Right, so, why’re you here again?” the blonde interrupts harshly.

Your eyebrows shoot up in shock, barely hidden disgust twisting your features unpleasantly.

“Can’t a dad take his son out for dinner sometimes?” James asks, tone easy, as if this wasn’t all meticulously planned, “it’s just an awful coincidence that our little date has crashed the nanny’s night off. We’re both really sorry about it, right Harry?”

His son nods obediently, though James is pretty sure he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to. Kyle, on the other hand, has the audacity to scoff and murmur something about “yeah, sure, a coincidence.”

Your eyes widen further and your brow furrows in anger. It’s an emotion he’s never seen on you, and it’s kind of hot. 

This time, you’re the one to scoff, “excuse me? You want to say that again?”

The blonde laughs dryly, “Oh come on. You seriously think this was a coincidence? Almost all you’ve done this whole date is talk about Harry, Harry, Harry, James, James, James, and then, suddenly, they show up? Just reject me if you’re not interested.”

Your own laugh matches his bitterness, “you think I’d come up with that convoluted of a plan just to get out of a date with you? Man, girls must really not like you if that sort of trickery on first dates is normal for you. I was willing to give you a chance, but now I’m definitely not interested in you, Kyle.”

You stand up from your seat, Harry perched on your hip, and turn to Mary, “you wanna stay or come with?”

Her gaze flicks to Issac, who just shrugs. So, she rolls her eyes and gets up too.

“Come on,” James offers, eyeing the two men disapprovingly before settling on the both of you, “let’s go sit somewhere else, my treat.”

In a strange flurry of conversation and shuffling, Harry ends up next to Mary, the two engaged in animated storytelling. James is rather pleased to have you nearly tucked into his side on the other side of the booth. Under the table his hand finds your bare knee and he doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry about ruining your date. I didn’t know-”

You quirk a brow and smirk, “didn’t know, hm? It was just a coincidence that Mr. Rich-Guy-Fancypants shows up at Nando’s, a place I’ve never heard him speak of, the same night as my date?”

“W-well,”

Your gaze softens and you squeeze the hand on your knee, “coincidence or not, I’m glad you ruined it, James. This is the only place I want to be- with my three favorite people.”

His heart flips in his chest and he decides he really wants to kiss you right now. But, he doesn’t. Instead, he just interlaces his fingers with yours, barely suppressing a smirk when your breath hitches softly.

Mission accomplished. 

[orellazalonia]

This ended up so much longer than I intended 😭 But hello hi there! I’ve stumbled upon your blog recently and I’m in love with your stories. I’m a fandom blind fic enjoyer and your fics are just absolutely top tier. You write in such a way that makes all your stories so special to enjoy despite being fandom blind

Sooo I’m humbly requesting for the girlies like me who aren’t all that shy in personality for a story with a Confident!Reader who’s aware of how cool they are because they’re genuinely themselves to the fullest and not bothered by what others think. (Thinking vibes along the lines of a person on the train wearing super cool/fun clothes and being captivated by them)

One day they meet (whichever love interest character you want, I’m not picky I just love reading your writing style) who’s used to getting what they want, and they’re thrown for a loop when reader doesn’t fall for their charms immediately. Thinking it a fluke love interest tries again but after getting politely turned down once more it forces love interest to actually have to work hard to get readers affection because reader is so used to being shallowly sought after.

Cue love interest starting to pay attention to little details about reader that no one else bothers to see (I’m gonna be biased and say reader crochets as a hobby) and actually falling in love with them instead of just seeing reader as another conquest. And reader is slowly falling in love to but still dubious until love interest shows reader just how much they’ve actually been paying attention by crocheting reader’s obscure favorite animal. And even tho its horrendously wonky reader loves it so much and finally agrees to a date.

Thank you in advance if you do decide to fulfill this prompt. But of course no pressure, I wish you the best in life and health

Hello!!! I’m so glad to hear you’re enjoying my work!! That makes me happy to hear anyone can read my writing. I also thank you for this thoughtful request! I feel like this reader could also be described as grounded, confident in herself.

Anyways, I think the Bucky in the past would’ve been perfect for her since he’s always used to charming his way out of everything lol. I hope you enjoy and happy reading!!!

Thread by Thread

Summary: You were used to being admired for your confidence, but never truly seen until Bucky Barnes showed up with awkward sincerity and a horrendously lopsided crocheted animal that you couldn’t help but love. Slowly, stitch by stitch, he unraveled your doubts and earned your heart not with charm, but with quiet effort and genuine care. (1940s!Bucky Barnes x confident!reader)

Word Count: 3.1k+

Main Masterlist

New York was its usual blur of steam and bustle, the sound of heels on pavement and taxi horns creating a constant undercurrent beneath the clipped rhythm of passing conversations. The kind of day that invited routine, predictable commutes, and the gray of morning suits and navy wool coats blending together like a painting left out in the rain.

But you? You were a jolt of color in a city that had forgotten how to look up.

Bucky saw you the moment he stepped out of the corner diner. You were sitting alone on a bench nearby, legs crossed in a carefree way that made your bright red socks peek out above sturdy black boots. The hem of your coat swung open just enough to show a patchwork skirt that probably shouldn't have matched your floral scarf, but somehow did, perfectly. Not because it followed any fashion rule he knew, but because you wore it like you’d invented it. Like every thread had been chosen with purpose, not approval.

And there you were, hooking yarn through a crochet needle like it was second nature. So casual and focused like the world didn’t exist around you.

You weren’t trying to be noticed.

But that’s exactly why you were.

Bucky had seen a lot of beautiful people. Dated more than his fair share of women who giggled at his compliments and leaned just a little closer when he smiled. His charm was tried and true, smooth as jazz on a Sunday night. But standing across the street from you, watching as you looped and pulled at lavender yarn with practiced ease, he felt a momentary pause in his step, like someone had nudged a record player.

You looked… content. The kind of content that didn’t beg to be seen or photographed. You just were.

And for once, Bucky wasn’t sure what to do with that.

He lingered longer than he meant to, waiting for a glance, or a flicker of acknowledgement. But you didn’t look up once. You were humming something under your breath, the rhythm of the needle seemed to follow whatever tune you were hearing. You looked completely at peace with yourself.

A guy in uniform wasn’t usually ignored in this part of the city.

But you? You didn’t even blink his way.

He told himself it was just curiosity. That he hadn’t been rejected, exactly. You hadn’t said anything at all. You hadn’t noticed him. That had to be a fluke, right?

So the next day, he tried again.

Stepped into the café across from the post office just as the lunch crowd was thinning out. He spotted you immediately with that same energy and same unapologetic flair at one of the smaller tables. Today you wore mismatched earrings and a jacket embroidered with tiny flowers near the collar. You were crocheting something again, pink this time, puffy and squishy-looking as a cup of tea sat in front of you.

You glanced up when the bell above the café door rang but your gaze passed right over him, like he was just another guy in line. Not Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, beloved by Brooklyn and its entire female population.

His pride took a small hit, not enough to bruise, but just enough to make him grin.

This was his moment.

He adjusted his collar, smoothed the sleeves of his uniform jacket, and crossed the floor with that signature, effortless charm. Women turned to watch him pass. It happened without fail. A nod here, a flirty smile there. He didn’t even have to try.

But you? You were humming, completely unbothered.

The seat across from you was empty, so he rested a hand lightly on the back of it. “Mind if I join you?”

Your eyes flicked up, quick but calm. Not startled or flattered, just curious. You studied him like he was a street performer who’d wandered too close.

“Sure,” You said simply, without warmth or hostility. Like you were just… letting him exist there.

He sat, a little off-balance from how easy you made it seem. Like you were the one granting him an audience.

“I couldn’t help noticing your… project,” He said, nodding toward the mass of pink yarn. “Is that a hat, or am I just lucky enough to be witnessing art in progress?”

Your lips quirked slightly, not a full smile though.

“It’s a frog,” You replied.

He blinked. “A… frog?”

“Yeah, for a friend. She likes them in pastels.” You turned the piece slightly in your hands, inspecting a stitch. “Still needs legs.”

Bucky chuckled. “Well, he’s already got personality. You make all kinds of stuff like that?”

You shrugged. “If it brings someone joy, why not?”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, letting his voice dip into something smooth. “You’ve got a real talent. Haven’t seen anything quite like it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You say that like I’m supposed to be impressed.”

His grin faltered for the briefest second. “No, just… making conversation.”

“I’m not a puzzle to solve,” You stated softly, not unkindly. “Or a riddle to charm your way through.”

The words weren’t sharp, but they cut through the usual rhythm of things. You didn’t need to raise your voice. You just spoke plainly, like truth didn’t need decoration or sugar coating.

Bucky held your gaze, struck by how steady you were. You weren’t trying to knock him off his game. You just weren’t playing.

There was no flustered reactions, no flirting, just quiet confidence.

You returned your focus to your yarn, fingers moving with a rhythm that seemed to have existed long before he arrived and would continue long after he left. The conversation was over. At least, for now.

He sat back, nodding slowly, lips pressing together in thought.

Most people he met were impressed by the uniform, the smile, or the easy charm. It was enough to get him just about anything he wanted.

But you weren’t most people. And for the first time in years, Bucky Barnes wasn’t entirely sure what to do next.

Bucky wasn’t the kind of man who stewed over things. He lived fast, talked smooth, and moved on before things got too complicated. There were dances to attend, friends to meet, war looming in the background, but even with everything spinning around him, you stayed in his head.

It didn’t make sense.

You hadn’t flirted back. You hadn’t blushed. You hadn’t even bothered to finish your tea while he was trying to win you over. And yet, here he was three days later, waiting outside the small park you always passed through after the café.

You weren’t hard to find. Same bench, same yarn, though today it was green, deep and foresty, coiled in your bag like something half-alive.

Bucky approached a little slower this time. No cocky lean or theatrical grin. He simply held a paper cup of tea in one hand, steam curling from the lid.

“You always pick the perfect weather,” He commented, lightly.

You looked up, then down at the cup.

“Chamomile and honey,” He offered. “Figured I owed you for the frog lesson.”

You reached for the drink, examining the label. “Not bad. I usually go lighter on the honey.”

He grinned. “Guess I’ll have to try again sometime.”

“Might not be a next time.”

The words weren’t mean. You even took a sip. But you said them like a boundary drawn in chalk. Clear, quiet, and unmoving.

Bucky sat beside you anyway. Not too close but just close enough to notice the small pouch hanging from your bag, crocheted of course, with what looked like a hand-stitched constellation on the flap.

He tilted his head. “What’re you making now?”

You hooked the yarn without looking up. “A scarf.”

He watched your fingers move. “For someone special?”

“I am someone special.”

That made him laugh, real, warm, and caught off guard. “That you are.”

You gave him a look. It wasn’t a glare or a smirk. It was something in-between, sharp and knowing.

“I don’t usually go out with people who treat me like a curiosity they want to solve,” You spoke, voice even.

He swallowed once, smile dimming to something quieter. “I wasn’t trying to–”

“You were,” You cut in gently. “But I’m not offended. Most people do it without realizing.”

Bucky looked down at his hands. That stung a little. Not because you were wrong, but because you were right. And you weren’t trying to shame him for it. Just… telling the truth.

You sipped your tea, still crocheting.

But, he didn’t leave. And that? That surprised you more than anything else.

Something changed after that second conversation. Bucky didn’t flirt again, not in the usual way. No teasing, no grin meant to melt or distract. No showmanship.

He still showed up, though.

Sometimes at the café, sometimes across the park, once even at the bookshop where you loitered through the mystery aisle. He didn’t always say something. Sometimes he just watched. Respectfully and thoughtfully. And each time, you let him.

Which meant he started noticing things.

You never rushed things. Not your tea, not your words, not even your projects. There was a deliberate steadiness to you, each stitch purposeful and each silence comfortable. You made the world slow down around you without even meaning to.

He also caught on to the little details.

How you carried two extra hooks, how you tapped the table twice before starting a new row, ritual or habit, he didn’t know, how your music taste changed by the day: punk one morning, old soul the next.

Most people, Bucky realized, were so busy trying to be seen that they forgot how to see.

But not you.

And you started noticing him too, albeit subconsciously. Not because he was charming or persistent or wore the hell out of that uniform, but because he didn’t push.

You half-expected him to disappear after the second conversation. Most men did, either offended or bored by the way you didn’t play along. You weren’t rude, just… aware. You’d been flirted with before, complimented, pursued for your looks, confidence, or different personality. It never lasted long though. People wanted the idea of you, not the reality. Not the slow, complex, sometimes silent parts of you.

But Bucky came back and never left.

He sat across from you with a patience that unnerved you more than any come-on ever had. He asked questions, real ones. Not about your appearance, not about where you were from or who you were seeing. He asked about yarn, about patterns, or about what you liked to make when it was just for you.

He remembered things.

Once, when you were talking absentmindedly about your favorite animals, not the usual ones, but the oddballs, the ones no one ever appreciated, you mentioned maned wolves. Called them “awkward foxes on stilts with the energy of a cryptid and the soul of a misunderstood poet.” You figured it would go in one ear and out the other.

But the next time you saw him, he had a crumpled magazine in his bag, folded open to a page with a photo of one.

“They really do look like they know secrets,” He said, holding it out with a sheepish little grin.

And you laughed. Full-out, loud, and genuine.

He looked stunned by it. And from that point on, he didn’t just see you, he kept noticing you piece by piece, thread by thread.

And that?

That scared you a little. Because part of you had started noticing him, too.

Bucky didn’t know what made him do it, exactly. Maybe it was the way you said it. Or maybe it was the slow, surprising realization that he wanted to make something for you. Not buy, not charm, make.

It was a terrible idea.

He knew it the second he walked into the little corner craft shop you always went to. The woman behind the counter smiled too brightly and asked what he was looking for, and Bucky realized he had no idea how to answer.

“Yarn,” He said finally.

“What kind?”

“…The good kind?”

It took forty-five minutes, three confused salespeople, and the emotional energy of a full combat drill before he left the shop with three skeins of brown, one of black, and something labeled “rust.” He had a hook, somehow acquired a pattern, and a printed photo of the weird, spindly creature you liked so much.

He was going to crochet you a maned wolf.

God help him.

The attempt was, in a word, catastrophic.

His fingers fumbled. The loops turned into knots. The legs came out uneven, wildly uneven. The head was lopsided. The tail refused to attach properly. He stabbed himself with the hook more than once and cursed loud enough that Steve poked his head in, saw the pile of yarn and horror on the table, and immediately left.

It looked… cursed, like a feral sock puppet.

But Bucky couldn’t stop.

Because every time he wanted to quit, he thought about how your hands moved when you crocheted. How peaceful you looked, even when things were tangled. How you called the process “a mess, but mine.” How you made strange, beautiful things for people you cared about.

So he kept going. Stitch by awkward stitch.

And when he finished, when he held the final, wonky, too-long-legged mess in his hands, he laughed because it was terrible.

Yet it felt like the most honest thing he’d ever made.

When he finally presented it to you, it was raining that day. it wasn’t a storm. It was more so the kind of soft, misty drizzle that made the city feel quieter than usual. Your usual café was half-empty, the windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside. You had a fresh ball of blue yarn in your lap and a half-finished shawl trailing from your hook. The rhythm of your hands was steady, patient, as the world went on ignoring itself around you.

Bucky stepped in, damp at the shoulders, hair a little windswept from the walk.

You saw him the second he entered because of course you did. His presence had long since become familiar, like a comma in a sentence. Always appearing at the right moment, never asking for more than you were willing to give.

But today?

He looked nervous. Actually nervous. Not his usual fidgeting-for-effect, not the grin that followed. Just real, quiet tension under his collar as he approached your table, one hand behind his back.

You raised an eyebrow.

He sat and didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he pulled something out from behind him, wrapped in paper that looked suspiciously like an old pattern printout.

“I made you something,” He said, voice too casual to be natural. “Don’t laugh.”

You set your yarn aside slowly. “That depends on what it is.”

He handed it over, eyes trained anywhere but your face.

You peeled the paper back.

And blinked.

It was… something. Brownish-rust colored, with long uneven legs, too-large ears, and a wildly misshapen tail. One button eye sat lower than the other, and the stuffing peeked out of a seam near the back.

But you recognized it immediately.

“A maned wolf?” You asked softly, holding it in both hands.

He winced. “I was going for ‘charmingly odd,’ but I think I landed on ‘traumatized woodland cryptid.’”

You stared at the thing: at the yarn, the uneven stitching, and the fact that the legs bent wrong. And yet, somehow, it was perfect.

Your fingers curled around it gently, thumb brushing one of the crooked ears.

“You made this?” You asked.

“Every stitch,” He said, sounding half-proud, half-terrified. “Took me a week. The tail fell off twice. I stabbed myself four times. Steve thinks I’ve joined some kind of yarn cult.”

You looked up.

And there it was, something soft in his eyes. No performance. No smooth delivery. Just a man who remembered something small. Something you loved. And tried, really tried, to make something just for you.

It was awful, but it was yours.

You let out a quiet breath, the kind that broke into something halfway between a laugh and a sigh.

“I love him,” You said.

Bucky blinked. “You do?”

“He’s got character,” You nodded, clutching the wonky wolf to your chest. “Looks like he’s been through something. Probably has opinions on taxes.”

A slow smile spread across Bucky’s face, genuine, lopsided, and beautiful.

You met his eyes.

“So,” You spoke. “About that date.”

He straightened. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m ready.”

He didn’t take you somewhere flashy which honestly surprised you.

You’d expected a swing club, maybe a jazz lounge with polished floors and the kind of place where he’d nod to the staff and slip the host a folded bill. You’d expected a little show because people always liked to show they liked you, never quite willing to just be with you.

But Bucky picked a bookstore.

A quiet, tucked-away shop that smelled like old wood and paperbacks that had lived full lives before ever being sold. He opened the door for you, and when the bell above the frame rang, he looked a little sheepish.

“I figured you might like somewhere that doesn’t talk too loud.”

You blinked at him, then smiled.

He was learning.

There was no pressure in the air. No grand gestures. Just warmth.

He didn’t hover, either. You wandered off for a while, and he let you. No over-the-shoulder glances, no need to fill silence. When you returned with a book about South American wildlife and a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, he raised an eyebrow.

“Let me guess. Maned wolf trivia night?”

“Preparation is everything,” You said, flipping it open.

He laughed.

Afterward, you walked together in the evening light. It was still misting a little and still quiet. He didn’t try to hold your hand or try to read your mind. He just matched your pace, his jacket slung over one arm, the faint sound of passing streetcars humming through the city.

“You know,” You said finally, “You’re not what I expected.”

“Yeah?” He asked. “What were you expecting?”

You thought for a second.

“Someone who wanted to win.”

Bucky looked over. “And now?”

“Now,” You said, softly, “I think you just wanted to understand.”

He nodded once. “You make it easy to want to.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. Just walked together, but your hand brushed his.

This time, he took it and this time, you let him.

And later that night back in your apartment, you set the crooked maned wolf on your nightstand. It leaned a little too far to one side, its tail still threatening to fall off, and one leg almost comically bent.

But it looked like it belonged there, like it had been yours all along.

You smiled, touched the top of its head gently, and turned out the light.

Taglist: @yasmin12312 @herejustforbuckybarnes @eeveedream @wingstoyourdreams @figtreesandmoonlight @happygalaxymilkshake @hits-different-cause-its-you @the-galaxy-fiend @ordelixx @itsmejen

[art-aubstacles]

aubstacles™️ music tunes

🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋

something different then our regularly scheduled broadcast of aubs acrylic paintings™️

[freakinthefridge]

planning some paintings for the winter :)

[sweetcapncakeskissing]

Posting my sillies cus I got nothing else to offer

[himblebo]

In Act 2 of Lempicka when Tamara and Rafaela enter Le Monocle for the first time they look around at all the women together and Rafaela says “a room full of nothing but US” and Tamara says “let’s never leave” and guys I just went to a lesbian bar for the first time (okay it’s actually a deli but they turn it into a lesbian bar at night) and GUYS? That is the safest I have ever felt out drinking and dancing and I felt so natural and I was surrounded by other queer women and that’s. That’s the first actual queer space I’ve been to in YEARS and especially post-pandemic. And I’m feeling such an overwhelming mix of emotions right now because I didn’t realize how isolated I felt from the queer community in my day to day life (ie not online). I just. God.

Dedicated queer spaces are so important. Lesbian bars are so important. This is the only one I’ve been to but I’m VERY aware that these days there are fewer and fewer of them but I just. I didn’t know how badly this kind of place and experience and connection to community was missing from my life until I suddenly had it tonight.

[scottie-draws-sometimes]

I can believe it’s already Friday. Again????

Anyways this week’s art post issssssss

The painting I did for my sketchbook cover!! (Plus a pic w a lil light to show off the metallic paint)

Usually I cover the front with a whole bunch of stickers (which I’m still doing, as you can somewhat see) but I’m already halfway through this one and I barely have any stickers! This was my compromise :3

[teaboot]

I hope you don’t mind that Im only answering this part of your question, but it was a lot to reflect on and unpack.

I think the best way I can describe it is like…. You know how when you do a puzzle, and most people start with the border and work their way inwards?

I think that most people are just the border of a puzzle.

I can look at a crowd and kind of guess whose finished picture is a landscape, or a bunch of balloons, or a classical painting. The colours and shapes give an impression that makes everybody a tiny bit different.

But then like… a LOT of people are puzzles of, say, a field of white flowers. And I can only see the border, so I have to think of like… which borders have more flowers or more grass, more grass or more sky, etc, and whatever is in the middle isn’t even put together yet.

But if someone’s border has, say, something fluorescent yellow in the top left- that makes them easier to differentiate from all the other field-of-white-flowers puzzles. I can remember that. And then later if the bottom half of the puzzle is covered, I can still see the big spot of neon yellow at the top, and remember that no other field-of-white-flowers have that.

And then like…. The more I see them, or the more unique features the have like tattoos or scars or birthmarks or whatever, unique proportions or deformities or injuries or gaits- the more pieces are filled in. So I can retain more parts of the picture in my head

So now instead of just being another border of a puzzle of a field of white flowers, YOU are a windmill in a field of white flowers, or a castle in á valley of white flowers, or a mix of white and red flowers.

And if I see someone often enough for long enough, I get so many pieces in their ten-thousand-piece puzzle that even with a few gaps, I still know exactly who they are, and can still pick them out of a crowd. Because I’ve filled in enough of the picture to know what it is

Like

Like. These aren’t literal. I can SEE your whole face in front of me. I could draw your portrait while I looked at you.

But until I’ve been in consistent contact with you over several years, the first two sketches are how you exist in my head

And from what I’ve heard from other people with face blindness, it’s not even the same for everyone

Does this make sense?

[lily-bisque]

✦ ‎‏‏‎ ‏ toji knows how to hit you where it hurts ﾉ hurt/mild comfort, suggestive content 3k words ﾉ art by @/yikesaiting14 on x

A heavy, black mood settled in your living room, with you standing on one side of the couch, and Toji on the other. A wicked snarl painted his face as he leaned forward, making him nearly unrecognizable from the man you knew, the man you loved, mouth contorting as he spat venom in your direction. 

He’d been coming home wasted after his shifts recently. Kicking his shoes off in the foyer, stumbling and shedding his clothing right in the kitchen, and collapsing in your shared bed without even a word to you.

Worried as you were, you’d asked him about it after the first couple of nights, but you’d only been met with mutters and huffs, asking you to lay off him.

So you did. Allowed him to process whatever it was he needed to. When it came to his occupation, he never let you in much. Never gave you the details of his missions or showed if it affected him. He liked to keep his work and personal life separate.

But now that carefully drawn border was blurring, Toji teetering on the precipice of the straining overload that was beginning to consume his every waking thought.

Even with you, he couldn’t seem to escape it.

Instead, he stopped at the bar for a drink, which turned into a couple, which turned into a concerning amount where the waitstaff kicked him out routinely from how intoxicated he was and causing a scene.

You didn’t have to know about the brutal nature of his job, he preferred it like that.

In spite of that, you began to nag and itch at him for every fucking thing. Asking too many questions for your own good, and lingering with that pitiful expression that made his skin crawl.

He could barely look at you.

And now you were cowering, fingers twitching at your side as tears cascaded down your cheeks. Saying how you couldn’t recognize him anymore.

It made him sick.

But, in truth, deep down, in the grotesque depths of his gut, twisting in shame and contrite, he couldn’t recognize himself either.

He’d wash his hands of sticky, still warm blood in some cheap motel, wringing his compression shirt of any evidence before staring at himself in the mirror for hours. He wasn’t quite sure who was staring back at him.

At some point in his wrath, he’d lost himself.

And he was beginning to lose you, too.

So why delay the inevitable?

“You stick ‘round me ‘cause I’m your new charity case,” he slurred out with malice, eyes red-rimmed as he gripped the headrest of the couch until his knuckles paled. “You pity me. I fuckin’ see it every morning when I wake up, and every night.”

You scowled, a fresh set of tears flowing down your heated cheeks. “So you’re saying all the time I’ve spent loving you was because… because–” You threw your hands into the air, chest heaving as you swallowed a thick lump akin to a rock in your throat, body rigid and shoulders tensed. “That this was all because I felt bad for you?”

Your pinched face and frigid features unlike your soft demeanor made his body run cold despite the rising heat in the room. But Toji was conscientious. He left no ends untied. He always finished what he started, even if it killed him to do so in the act.

“Or to feed that savior complex of yours. You see anything broken, you’d crawl to the depths of hell to mend it,” he asserted, eyes narrowing like slits as he gave you a once-over short of nothing offended, repulsed. 

But he wasn’t done, not yet. He took a sharp inhale, hoping his knees would buckle and the world would swallow him whole before his misplaced anger spoke for him.

“Easy for your consciousness to make you forget just how screwed your life’s always been.”

The nail in the coffin. 

Your body went stiff as cardboard, breath hitching as your blurry eyes went wide.

Fushiguro Toji, the sole person in your life you knew you could rely on after all of these years, used the one thing he knew to hurt you. To slide the knife deeper.

You’d always been fragile when it came to your shaky upbringing, and you’d only opened up to him when you felt vulnerable with him and knew for a fact he wouldn’t judge you for your past.

And he hadn’t. He’d held you in his arms, whispering and muttering endearments and praises of just how strong you’d been despite it all. Initially, he even felt empathy as he could relate. You were one of the few people he could relate to in that sense.

Yet somewhere along the way, his mind had become such a muddled mess of his emotions. He was no longer rational. He couldn’t see straight.

But Toji emanated no regret, no remorse, not a sliver of empathy. He just stood there, his body stock, still save for his heaving chest, a prominent, smug grin on his mouth, like he was fucking proud of himself.

Your breaths quickened, the edges of your vision darkening as a horrible sense of dread washed over you.

You needed to get out of here.

Looking back, you couldn’t remember much, how you scrambled to shove your things into a small duffel bag and the loud sobs that left your lips as you did so.

You didn’t remember to grab your toothbrush or any underwear.

Didn’t grab a single photo to keep with you.

All you could make out of that night was the way Toji didn’t move from where he stood. He was like a statue, feet planted in stone behind the couch, imbued in the very ground below him. Not sparing even a glance in your direction.

He became a ghost in his own home.

You didn’t care that it was freezing outside. Nothing could rival the icy chill in your bones.

Didn’t care that the motel that you checked into probably scammed you in your frantic state.

Didn’t bother changing out of your clothing littered with your tears and snot.

Didn’t bother sliding beneath the blanket, the itchy linen would do nothing of comfort for you now.

You just curled up, a pillow in your arms as your eyes became dry wells, empty and staring blankly ahead.

There were some things with Toji you could forgive, like his spending habits or snarky attitude, but this was too simply too much.

You knew his words had now torn the already frayed edges of your psyche. You were inconsolable, and left to mend the shattered pieces of yourself all on your own.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

You weren’t sure how many days you’d now spent at the motel. In truth, you didn’t care if it drained your savings.

There was nowhere else for you to stay, no second home you could go to to get back on your feet. You’d managed to leave your personal documents back at your place with Toji, but you’d be damned if you took a step inside of there right now, a home haunted by memories with the person you thought you’d be buried beside.

So you went to work. A bleary job at the convenience store around the corner. Selling cheap cigarettes, gum, beer and gas for hours on end. Mind mushed and eyes puffy and blank as you punched something into the screen you weren’t quite registering.

Small talk was stifling, like a vice to your throat. 

You felt like you’d been submerged in ice water–your head just beneath the surface as everything dulled to a murmur, your body settled in a consistent, stabbing chill. You were slowly suffocating, the one thing that made it easy to breathe now wrapped around your ankle and tugging you deeper.

You took on extra shifts, terrified to go back to the motel alone and stare at the wall, nothing to distract you from the ache in your chest.

Your manager asked if you were alright after eyeing your withered state. You gave them feigned reassurance and a smile that hurt your cheeks.

Your appetite was practically nonexistent. You’d pick at the reheated pasta you attempted to shove down your throat the previous night before tossing it out.

Sleep was of no evasion–restless nights spent tossing and turning, sweat like a second skin, as you replayed moments and were unsure if you’d made them up or if they were true.

You began to shuffle through life, enduring one day after another as they blended depressingly into each other, a montage of gloomy moments strung together.

Until something out of the ordinary fizzled into your reality–your detached mind wasn’t quite sure if you were dreaming or not. An issue you’d become familiar with as of late.

You ignored it, walking past it without a second glance and shut the motel door behind you before dragging your heavy limbs towards the shower.

But then there it was again. Same place, but it looked different, new clothing.

You squinted your eyes, clearing your hoarse throat, then stared blankly ahead at your door before stepping in your room and locking the door.

Then, on the third day, they walked towards you and wrapped a firm, familiar hand around your wrist and pulled you towards them. You couldn’t make it out, their voice muffled as you were still in the depths of that lake, before your vision cleared and you deciphered their face.

Your heart rate quickened as your eyes went owly, pulling away from his grip. But he held fast, still speaking but you weren’t hearing a word of it. Like a Chinese finger trap, each wringing movement only made him tighten his grasp.

“Let go,” you coughed out, mouth desert dry as you hadn’t had a lick of water in days. You were too weak to free yourself from his unrelenting grip from days of not taking care of yourself.

His forearms that looked to be cut from marble, flexed when he saw how you trembled in his grasp, bile tasting on his tongue as he made it known to himself exactly whose fault it was that made you like this.

You were unrecognizable, that gleam in your eyes he’d seen when he first met you, the fire in your eyes snuffed out.

You fought against him, strangled shouts of demanding he release you, face coiled in anger with something fractured just simmering beneath the surface, your cries broken and shrill.

He couldn’t meet your eyes, nor could you meet his.

He averted his gaze, his composure faltering by each passing second, his tongue a thick wad of muscle resting in his mouth. He was far too ashamed to utter anything to you.

The sky was now tempestuous, a deep and dark grey that held heavy above your heads, mocking the turmoil coiling between the two of you.

Toji was too ashamed of an admission that if he could take it all back, he would. That he desperately needed you, not the other way around. That he’d been pulverised to something he couldn’t recognize in your absence.

That the one thing that remained true was that you didn’t pity him, but he pitied himself to accept such unconditional love. He was so deeply insecure that he pushed away anything when it got too hard, when it began to puncture the bubble of safety he’d wrapped so carefully around himself over the years.

Your fists pounded into his chest, and he wanted to claw at the ache in his chest that seemed to grow with each passing second.

In your flailing state, a man of such formidable strength could easily have subdued you.

But Toji was weak when it came to you–you’d stripped him bare to his smallest, most repulsive layers and still loved him when you held them in your palm.

His teeth gritted against each other each moment he recalled just how spineless he’d been when you were simply reaching out. Toji couldn’t even reach you halfway, no. He sliced any tether that held the two of you together.

But he’d rather meet an early demise than not have you in his life. He was going to work at it, every single day, until he could hold you in his arms as his again. Until he could pepper kisses against the column of your neck in a way that made you squirm, until he could trace the dips and curves along your form, until he could watch the expressions you made as you unraveled beneath him, whining and exposed to your rawest nature as he pushed into you.

Your body began to tremble as you exhausted your efforts, out of breath and muttering cries to yourself under your breath mixed with curses condemning Toji to hell.

Until your tears worked their way up again, your body weakening as you convulsed in his tight hold of your arms. Until you collapsed against his chest.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his jacket, face digging into his chest like you’d done thousands of times before, pleading to Toji something neither of you could understand.

Did you want him to free you from this hellish torment? Spare you from any more of his hurt? Or for him to hold you like his again?

For the first time Toji could count, his hands trembled. They wavered above your back with reluctance. Your tears stained his shirt, wetting the skin beneath and burning him. Reminders that these were tears he caused.

He felt like he couldn’t breath, his lungs stuffed with cotton. His legs were rendered useless as he could barely take a step forward, or backward.

He needed to move. He knew it, he repeated it over and over in his blank-slated mind until he was able to will himself to do so.

The two of you had yet to notice the drops of water that sprinkled onto the pavement, slicking the ground.

With apprehension, his hand brushed against your back, a warmth suddenly heating his palm, calloused from years of strain. He began to question if he even deserved such an act, rendering him foolish as he started to skim his fingers through your hair.

He had been so catty and abrasive with you, pouring anything good he had with you down the drain with a couple sentences of words to hit you where it hurt. 

He tugged his bruised bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing at the same spot he’d been doing for days. The difference was he tasted copper on his tongue now.

You don’t know how long the two of you stood there, bodies drenched from the rain, hair matted with water, clothing that clung uncomfortably to you.

A hiccup left your lip well after your sobs died down. 

Toji slipped a hand into your pocket, pulling your motel keys from them before lifting you into his arms.

You didn’t fight him this time, resigned to your exhaustion and something else you didn’t want to address.

He kicked the door shut after stepping in, expression sober as he walked straight for the bathroom, not even caring about all of the mud and rainwater he’d tracked in.

He sat you on the counter, then turned the shower faucet on.

You sat limp, nose stuffed and sniffling, skin paled.

He began to undress you carefully, tugging your top over your head and slipping your jeans off along with your panties. He unclasped your soaked bra and tossed it on the pile on the ground, then began to undress himself.

You weren’t entirely focused on all of his movements, something akin to familiarity wrenching in your chest.

He pulled you off of the counter and carried you into the shower before letting you settle on your own two feet.

He grabbed the measly bottle of motel shampoo and began to work it through your hair, the hot temperature he’d always shower with scalding your skin.

You stood there, letting him work the suds off before he began to scrub away at your body.

Toji had always been a rough-handed man, but the way he tended to you so delicately, like you were a prized piece of China he held in his palm, afraid to crack it with his brute, made you nauseous.

You stood there as he cleaned himself off.

The air was steamy and suffocating, a humid temperature billowing before he shut the water off.

The two of you smelled of the same soap.

He wrapped you in an abundance of towels, making sure to wipe away any lingering tears. His feather-light touch made you shiver as he dried you off.

He propped a window open, before making the bed.

Sifting through the cabinets, he found a hairdryer and did his best to figure out how exactly they worked before ruffling it through your hair.

You shut your eyes, for a moment pretending like everything in the world wasn’t wrong when it was starting to feel right.

His meaty fingers attempted to braid your hair back, but it looked disheveled and disarrayed.

You didn’t care.

He lifted you up once again, the both of your bare skins grazing against each other in a matter so intimate you could feel your heart sinking to the depths of your gut.

He lifted the sheets, before laying you down.

Then he laid beside you.

Without a moment of hesitation, like it was second nature, he pulled you against his chest, his bulky arms engulfing you in his large form.

Your breath stilled as his breaths began to pick up, his heartbeat quickening beside your ear.

You felt something wet touch your scalp.

He cradled you like a dove.

And then he began to whisper your name out, heady and abject. His voice was swimming with repentance as it started to crack.

He apologized profusely, in a hushed tone for only you to hear. Swore on you like you were his salvation. In his misery, he beseeched you to curse him, a promise that he’d never forget, whispered in the night.

Nothing was fixed, not right now. You weren’t sure if it ever would be.

You weren’t sure how to describe the gnawing feeling in your gut.

Toji could barely rest without your forgiveness, but for now, this would have to do. Your breaths synced, chests rising and falling in tandem, as slumber took the both of you.

[onlyswan]

summary: in which there is never enough time to be in love but jungkook is a 24/7 lover (part two).

idol!jk x afab!reader / fluffy fluff with a dash of angst / word count: 4.4k

warnings/content: making out (uhm one of my fav making out scenes prolly), allusion to car s^x, mature language, jk missed oc sososomuch >:(, oc is a sunshine as always, new family member 👀, they’re so domestic!! i cried

-> part one (both can be stand alone)

-> in which masterlist!

note: hahah hi? :D art is here. if u remember me i love u. also pls comment down if u want to added to the taglist bc uhm it’s been so long so i need to make a new one :''(

—

the kitchen counter divides you and jungkook. he sits there patiently. hunger is the last thing in his mind. his everything is right here with him, within an arm’s reach. your phone faintly vibrates with soft music. you hum along, feet gliding on the smooth floor as you gather what you need for the preparation of brunch. the sunlight sneaks past the gaps of the curtains, and he cannot help but to admire when it paints your skin a sparkling golden. it dances gracefully with your every move.

every moment spent with you is worth reliving a million lives.

“how have you been, my love?” he goes the extra mile of adding curiosity to the tone of his voice, because it could be that the intensity of his yearning drowns it. it sure does in the depths of his heart.

how is it that he’s closest to you than he’s ever been when going away for work but this is also the farthest he has ever felt from you? it’s a stupid joke. it’s torture.

he could say that it’s almost as if he never left, but there are things that have happened and changed. he doesn’t know where the remote control of the air conditioner in the living room is kept. you rearranged your side of the closet. you bought new books, bottles of alcohol, and ceramics. time passes by excruciatingly slower in the base. he thinks about you all the time. when he can’t sleep, he writes love songs in his head and records them when he finally gets a hold of his phone. and sometimes he catches himself wondering: soon, army will be there to listen to the songs, right?

“great… i got my first paycheck yesterday since i got promoted! this is the first time in my life that i feel rich.” you pop a piece of bacon in your mouth before pointing the tongs at him. “do you know the first thing i did?”

“what?” he asks, now intrigued.

“buy a new laptop— because i broke mine.” you wince, but the ironic amusement is evident. “it still works… uh, how do i even say it without feeling embarrassed?”

“what happened?” he begins to be infected by your positivity, a smile growing on his face. “come on, baby. you can just tell me.”

“you see, i can’t fold it anymore.” you hold up a piece of bacon, ripping it until only a quarter of an inch connects the two halves. “i dropped it on accident and the monitor broke apart from the keyboard! it’s hanging on by a thread, jungkook!”

you make a sound that is between a laugh and a wail. “i almost cried! how did that even happen?!”

he cackles, palms slapping the kitchen counter as he listens to your narration.

“so i’ve been using it like that for over a week now and i think it feels worse than having it completely break because then…” you pause, filling the silence with a giggle, to admire jungkook for a moment. you don’t seem him laugh often these days. “because then i’m thinking ‘guess i’m stuck with this abomination’ instead of ‘guess i’m getting a brand new one.’ you get what i mean?”

he sniffles. “yes, yes-” he reaches for your hand to bring the bacon into his mouth.

“it’s like when you’re holding on to something that is hurting you and makes you angry because it still kind of works and it has sentimental value. and you feel stuck.“

he chews, blinking at you. “now where did that come from?”

“sorry, i’m the friend people go to for relationship advice these days. it’s weird… they ask me ‘how have you been in a healthy relationship for the past six years?’ well, i didn’t stay in relationships that weren’t. maybe that’s how. yeah, it’s easier said than done, but no matter how difficult, you have to get it done!”

you place the final batch of bacon on the napkin covering the plate before setting them aside. you move around the kitchen to gather the ingredients you need, placing them all on the kitchen counter.

“have i told you that i won a waffle maker at the supermarket raffle?”

you expectantly watch jungkook’s expression, but you’re the one bewildered when you’re met with sparkling eyes and a fond smile. he fakes a frown and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “what?! as a matter of fact, you haven’t told me.”

“here it is!“ you reveal the box, raising it to proudly sit on the top of your head. “it was insane. i only had one entry but by some miracle from heaven, i won, jungkook!”

yes, that is actually fucking amazing, yet jungkook doesn’t find the information very surprising. good things naturally gravitate towards you because you are a good person. “oh, it was the same one we had!”

his brother borrowed it and was never returned to your kitchen again.

“it is?” your eyes comically widen, which then become out of sight when you squint at the image on the box.

“yeah,” he confirms. you flip the box and it’s his turn to look. “but this one’s white. oh! wait no- it’s a newer model.”

he takes the box from your hands for a closer inspection. “oing?” he shakes it. “is it empty?”

you bend down, disappearing for a second, and then the next, presenting to him the actual waffle maker. “sorry, the box was just for the element of surprise.”

he scratches his head. you smile at him, sighing, as if to say you also find your own antics ridiculous. and then he laughs, the kind that makes his tummy hurt and forces his eyes closed.

he missed you so dearly.

—

“we’re out of eggs.” you note in the middle of brunch.

he hasn’t been around and yet you still say ‘we.’ he abandons his utensils to wrap his arms around your waist in a bone-crushing hug. he wants nothing but to have your skin against his for the entirety of his stay, but he also craves spending time with you doing simple things.

“let’s go grocery shopping then.”

—

“i can finally shop all i want.” you almost skip out of joy beside jungkook, who is pushing the shopping cart. you hold on to his arm like you always do. “i have my big, strong boyfriend who will carry the bags with me.”

said boyfriend puffs up his chest in pride, even makes sure that you feel him flexing his arms underneath his sweatshirt. “that’s what i do it for.”

as usual, you stay the longest at the produce section. you both complain about the prices. when did it become this expensive? you dig for the best onions; him the garlic. he gasps when he takes a bundle and almost everything comes rolling on the floor. you don’t notice and he pretends it never happened. bell pepper. tomatoes. cabbage. carrots. cucumber. potatoes.

“what do you need that many potatoes for?”

“i’ll figure it out.” you shrug. “it’s cheap so maybe i’ll eat it for like a week.”

“huh? eat what you want, baby.” he insists. you tell him not to buy you too much expensive material things? fine. but god forbid he works himself to the bone for a decade and not be able to spoil his live-in partner with this type of luxury at the very least. “you don’t have to worry about that.”

“i know, babe! but i just ordered a laptop, so…” you kiss his cheek with a giggle. “besides, i do want them. you can cook them in many ways.”

“okay, that’s true.” your hand on his waist makes him a little weak on the knees. he reciprocates the kiss. “i love you.”

—

“anything you want? i’ve been preparing a package to send you.”

you pull out the baby seat of the shopping cart for your one liter of body wash. you like buying the biggest portion of things so you can save money and not have to keep going back for more. on the other hand, you think it’s comforting to be prepared for an apocalypse. it’s silly, but then you remember the pandemic.

jungkook moves your bottle a little to make space for a smaller version of it. you look at him in question and he simply says, “it’s mine.” but you both know he uses a different brand and scent.

“i want chocolates.”

“choccyyy?”

“mhmm…”

he rests his chin on your shoulder as he hugs you from behind, sandwiching you between him and the cart. the usual. a bit heavy, could be more comfortable. but this is the type of inconvenience that makes the trip to the sweets aisle more exciting, or mornings worth waking up to. the extra weight clinging to you is love that lightens the burden of being.

“what’s this?” he points to a fancy looking white chocolate at the top shelf. “have you tried it?”

“my friend gave me one before. tasted like nothing.”

“awww…” he pouts.

“take whatever you want, then let’s check out, baby.”

he grins, deviously rubbing his hands together like a mastermind orchestrating. “well, in that case!”

—

you and jungkook wait at the long grocery line. it’s saturday afternoon. this has become some sort of a peaceful harmony–the chatter of strangers, the speakers blasting the latest pop hits, and the occasional customer service intercom announcements—that supplies you with the patience to stand for an extended period of time. you shift your weight to the other foot. you ask yourself if there’s anything you forgot. you play with the strings of your boyfriend’s hoodie. he smells your hair not so subtly.

“ohh, pop rocks!” you quietly squeal once you become close enough to see the products displayed near the cashier.

he smiles in endearment. “want some?”

“yes, please!”

—

as soon as jungkook opens the car door for you, you attempt to open the bag of pop rocks, but you miserably fail on both corners. tear here? do you actually have to cry before you manage to eat your candy?

“babe, your seatbelt,” jungkook chimes while he fastens his.

“okay, wait-” you mutter, distracted and increasingly annoyed.

he starts the engine and turns up the air conditioner. “babe, come on,”

“wait…”

your phone is immediately connected to the car. he turns off the bluetooth without removing it from your lap so he can connect his phone without a problem. he misses listening to music in the car too. his playlist is already playing and you still don’t have your seatbelt on. damn, you really refuse to ask for help.

“just give it to me,” he chuckles, offering his hand.

“nope!”

you don’t even spare him a glance. you try ripping the plastic open with your teeth once more. it works this time. the force sends a small portion of the rocks falling on your lap; some in the space between your thighs.

“what a waste,” you frown.

while you lament, jungkook undoes his seatbelt so he can finally fasten yours for you. however, he continues to invade your space even after that.

“it’s fine. i’ll eat them.”

with his fingers, he patiently picks up the pop rocks caught by your skirt before putting them on his tongue. you’d be sent straight to hell if you lied and said that didn’t make you a little hot and flustered, but he did take your food without permission.

“i didn’t say i won’t eat them.” you whine. “there’s not a lot of this, you know?”

“oh, sorry, i thought-” his wince borders on a mischievous grin. “there’s still some here.” he lightly pushes your thigh to the side to show.

“ugh, no,” you dust them off the leather seat. “that’s dirty.”

“such a brat,” he mutters as he presses his lips against yours.

six years worth of kisses. six. and your head is still spinning, heart swelling with so much love that your lungs are being crushed. you sigh into the kiss and hold his face tenderly, stroking his cheek with your thumb. in those six years, you’ve spent more time waiting for jungkook than actually being with him. maybe that’s the price you have to pay for being loved by your perfect match. you can’t possibly have something too good. you need to refresh your inbox a million times, memorize time differences, get used to cancelled plans, relearn how to sleep alone, cry on call like a stupid whiny baby because you miss your boyfriend a little too much on some days. you need to be patient. you need to be understanding. you need to console him when he’s also crying because he painfully waits as much as you.

he pulls away for a moment to take more pop rocks straight from the source. you bought this for yourself, but you can’t exactly complain with sweet fireworks going off between your tongues. it’s been too long. this morning barely satiated your yearning for the physical intimacy you only want from jungkook, and only he could give in a way that feels good and right. you squeeze your thighs together. his hand is on your neck, and your collarbone, and the loose sleeve of your blouse. you’re breathing in his perfume and the strawberry flavor all over your mouths. you didn’t know that you waited six years to experience this. how ridiculous is that?

you pause to gasp for air, and then jungkook gives you a look.

“what?”

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. sticky.

“backseat,” he demands, and when he senses your hesitation, he adds. “we’ll just make out.”

“no, we won’t just make out.” you eye his very obvious boner.

“i just kissed the most beautiful person in the world!” he puts his hands up in defense— doe eyes caught in the headlights. “can you really blame me?”

—

“okay, stop!”

jungkook closes the driver’s window and turns off the engine after successfully parking. with your help, of course. he goes straight to the trunk to unload the groceries and you follow suit. did you go overboard…? the most bags you check out on your own is three. how the hell did you end up with eight? you might not come back to the supermarket in a month or two.

“do you hear that…?”

“huh, hear what?” you mumble absentmindedly, too busy taking a peek at the items you bought.

“i think it’s a cat.” jungkook whips his head around like it’s a compass. “the sound is coming from there.”

“cat?” the mention of the adorable animal piques your curiosity. your eyes train the direction he is pointing to. “oh, i hear it too… i’ll look for it.”

and you’re gone from his side. just like that. you strut in the middle of the parking lot in your high-heeled boots, searching left and right for any sign of the cat. the meowing continues. he scrambles to gather all the bags because he is as curious as you are.

“babe, i found it!” your voice echoes.

he finds you crouching on the ground between a red and black cars. the space is wide enough for you to stretch out your arms halfway, but definitely not for him who is carrying four heavy bags in each hand.

“it’s a calico.” you sigh, utterly enamored. you use that sweet and high-toned voice he often hears for bam, and him, most especially when you’re lying in bed and pinching his cheeks and kissing his skin. “it’s still small. it’s so cute… hello, little one— pspsps.”

he laughs fondly when you move aside, smiling wide as you present to him the kitten. “it’s so cute!” it is small. only a few months old. it’s mostly white, with orange ears and spots mixed with black along its body. it looks like one of its paws has a black sock. it looks up to, meows, and puts the said paw on top of your shoe gently.

“awww,” you jut out your bottom lip, carefully petting its soft head. the cat purrs in appreciation and inches closer to your hand. “babe, it loves me!”

“of course it does— okay, you can take it.” he says before you even ask.

“what?” your eyes light up.

“i said you can bring it home with us.”

you’re pulling off your (his) sweater in no time, using it to scoop up the precious creature in your arms.

“oh my god, i love you.” you kiss his cheek. “let me help you with that, baby.”

“i love you more.”

you try to take all four bags from his right hand, but he only gives you three. for i love you, apparently.

—

bam greets you when you open the door. with a wagging tail, he hugs you as best as a dog can. unsurprisingly, he begins sniffing around because of the unfamiliar scent.

“i’m scared.” you wince and raise the new bundle of joy you found from his reach. bam is usually excited and friendly, except to some men. your only concern would be that he’d perceive the kitten as a chew toy. this dog loves playing most in the world. spoiled.

you and jungkook set down the grocery bags at the kitchen. bam follows you around; fueled by his love for his parents and his curiosity for the furry thing that looked down on him once and never again. you expected it to be scared, but it’s oddly calm for a kitten who’s been wandering around most likely since birth.

“bamie, we have a new family member. you have a sibling now. be good, got it?” jungkook lectures him face-to-face after he barked and drove the kitten to hiss and hide its face. “you shouldn’t bark at them. cats’ ears are really sensitive.”

while he does that, you tiptoe to the bathroom so you can give the kitten a much needed bath. you leave it in the sink for a moment while you fill a basin with warm water from the shower.

“wait, baby!” you call out while it meows and stands by the edge of the sink, looking around like its sizing up the height of the jump. you turn off the shower and speedwalk to the sink to stop it. “i’ll clean you up, okay? i’m so sorry. please work with me.”

you carry it in your hands and you slowly submerge it in the water. it struggles against you at first, but eventually, it allows you to do your thing. as long as you let it lie down on your palm. you spend about half an hour trying to get the task done with only one hand.

“this is bam’s shampoo and conditioner. if you smell like him, maybe he’d be nicer?” you joke. it meows twice. “did you just ‘haha’?”

—

bam is currently banned from the bedroom. anyway, he doesn’t really care because he got distracted by the new toy you got him today.

“yo, we need to trim your nails too.” jungkook talks to the kitten. “okay, let’s finish cleaning your ears first.”

“i think it’s a boy.” you mention in the middle of your coos and meows while you scratch his chin. “we need to go to the vet tomorrow.”

“huh, are you sure?”

“yeah, look for yourself.”

“aren’t male calicos very rare, though?” jungkook does take a look to confirm it himself. “wow, he really is one. wow, what are the chances?”

“really? i don’t know much about cats.” you tilt your head innocently. “all i know is that i love this one already.”

“you’re so cute.” he kisses you and you beam. “we should’ve adopted a cat a long time ago if i knew it would make you this happy.”

“i was this happy when we got bam.” you remind him.

“but that was quite a long time ago already, right?” he heaves a sigh. he acts like he’s a ninety-year old who combs his white long beard when he talks about past memories. “time sure flies by so quickly. bam used to be small too. we carried him like a baby.”

“he still wants me to carry him like that.”

“that’s right!” he bursts into a fit of giggles.

you missed laughing with him until you become tearful. this is the point. this has to be the point. you lived through each day it felt like you were dying because there would come a time when you have a stable job, a beautiful home, a loving partner, and a dog and a cat that match your adoration for them.

“he really loves you.” jungkook comments, watching the kitten fawn for your attention. it plays with your hair, jumps up to reach you, and tries to climb your arm. “have you thought of a name?”

you grin, pressing your cheek against the kitten’s face. “isn’t he such a gem?”

—

“gem won’t let me cut his nails!” jungkook whines before he even steps out of the bathroom. gem walks over to your lap the second his paws touch the bed again. “there’s eight and a half left!”

“and a half?!” you laugh so hard that you have to hit your boyfriend’s arm. “it’s fine. leave them alone for now. come here…” you pat your lower torso and gem forms a loaf there. “i’ll have the vet do it tomorrow. we don’t want him scared of you.”

“that’s why i just gave up. it’s his first day with us.” jungkook finally lies down beside you. “but if you get scratched, you need to get shots, alright?”

you swallow nervously. just the thought makes you lightheaded. needles aren’t your favorite thing in the world. and with the way gem can’t stop pawing at you, there is a high likelihood that you will meet a terrible fate tomorrow morning.

“give me the nail clipper and gloves.” you snort at your own pun before you manage to spit it out. “i’ll give it a shot.”

—

you exit the bathroom drained of the determination you had fifteen minutes earlier. gem clings to your shoulder, his nails digging into the fabric of your shirt. no more treats left for him.

“yeah, it’s not happening tonight.”

jungkook opens his arms and you accept the warm invitation. warm. you cuddle his side and leave no space between the two of you. you feel his body vibrating with laughter as he caresses your hair. “it’s okay, baby. you tried your best.”

the sound of nails scratching the bedroom door makes gem perks up from his spot on your pillow.

you and jungkook glance at the door before your eyes meet. “oh no…”

—

“this isn’t how i imagined this day would go.” your boyfriend mutters, assessing the current situation of your bed. you lie on your side facing each other, but there is a bam-playing-with-a-toy-shaped space between the two of you. gem also refuses to sleep on one of bam’s old bed because he wants to be close to you. “not that i’m complaining…”

“uh, looks like you are.”

“i’m really not, but maybe we should’ve cuddled in the car for at least another hour.”

“babe, we’re on our bed!” you giggle at his neediness.

gem wakes up from his slumber when you carefully move him from your arm to your pillow, but he closes his eyes again without a care in the world. bam observes him curiously but remains well-behaved, not making any move to touch or disturb the kitten. on the other hand, you climb over him and jungkook to transfer to the other side of the bed.

“hi,” you grin at your boyfriend when he turns around to face you. “this better?”

he scoots closer until your arm is his pillow and his face is squished against your chest. “this is better.”

“hey, jeon jungkook,”

“what?” he raises an eyebrow at the tone. “what?”

you plant a soft kiss on his forehead. “want to drink beer by the han river?”

—

“of course, we needed to get chicken too!”

yes, your bad for forgetting chicken. you’re not that hungry, but you won’t let him eat alone. besides, you felt so loved when he gave you the first drumstick he saw in the box. you lean back on the tree after finishing your first piece, admiring the flowers and the street lamps and their lights reflecting on the water. bam is exhausted after running around. he’s drinking water from a plastic cup. you learn that gem is affectionate but rarely cares about what happens in his surroundings. he’s not very interested in moving around either. he’s currently situated on your lap like a fine distinguished gentleman. jungkook asks for a kiss every two minutes in between eating and taking a swig at his canned beer. you’re wearing pajamas and slippers. it’s almost eleven in the evening. you can’t ask for anything more. this is always worth the waiting and pining. when did you get so lucky in life?

“baby, thank you. i’m so happy.” jungkook hugs you so tight— you almost stop breathing.

“heh, i’m glad. next time you come home, let’s do something more special.”

“more special?” he kisses your lips before pulling away. “okay. but this is perfect.”

“you’re perfect.” the words slip out without thought.

“you’re perfect.”

you shake your head with a laugh. “this is why everyone thinks we’re corny.”

“so what?!” he exclaims, smiling.

“yeah!” you agree. “so what?”

“beer?”

you give it a disgusted look. “nope.”

“you’re the one who invited me for this!”

“i asked if you wanted to drink beer.” you reason.

“then what do you want to drink?” he subconsciously pats his pocket to check if his wallet is still there. “i’ll buy you some.”

“your cum again.”

his… what? that catches him completely off guard.

he chokes on his beer. he totally fucking forgot his partner’s mouth has no filter. shameless. just shameless. he coughs uncontrollably, patting the picnic blanket in search of a napkin. feeling a little bad for him, you hand it over, but not without laughing at his blushing face.

“so you’re embarrassed now but not when we were in the car?”

“our children can hear you!”

“babe,” you humorously stare at the animals chilling in their own bubbles. “our children speak in bowwow and meow.”

jungkook tilts your chin to his direction. you glare at his playful smirk. “so you want to make one that speaks our language?”

“jungkook,” you slap his face. lightly. “no!”

[y2kstarr]

— ᥫ᭡ talk dirty . . . chris sturniolo

where . . . Chris dirty talks you into finally sitting on his face and letting him eat you out like he's never before.

contains . . . smut, dirty talk, oral (f!receiving), face sitting/riding, sub!reader, soft dom!chris, praising, pussy drunk!chris

credits to @delilahsturniolo for the marathon concept

HOT PINK WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #7

You’re curled into Chris on his bed, half-watching some movie neither of you are actually paying attention to. His arm’s around your waist, fingertips trailing lazy circles against the skin just under your sleep shirt. There’s a heat there — a warmth that’s been growing, slow and steady, the way it always does when you two are this close for this long.

You shift slightly, and his hand slides higher. Not by much. Just enough to make you aware of it.

“You keep moving like that,” he murmurs near your ear, “and I’m gonna start thinking you’re doing it on purpose.”

You scoff under your breath, smiling, but your cheeks are already warm with blush.

“I’m not doing anything." You respond in a slight mutter.

Chris tilts his head, pressing his lips to your shoulder, his voice low, almost playful in your ear.

“You sure?” he coos. “Because the way your thighs keep squeezing around me is driving me a little crazy.”

You look away, cheeks flooding with heat, and he grins.

“God, I love when you get all shy like that,” he murmurs, voice thick with affection and want. “It’s cute. And really fucking hot.”

His hand dips beneath your shorts, palm resting warm on your upper thigh. You don’t stop him.

“You wanna know what I’ve been thinking about all day?” he asks.

You swallow. You don’t answer.

He chuckles softly. “I’ve been thinking about you...” he begins, voice lower now, lips grazing against your jaw in a teasing manner. “On top of me. Your thighs on either side of my head. Your hands in my hair. Your hips grinding down on my face while I make you fall apart over and over.”

You make a quiet, embarrassed sound — half protested squeak, half embarrassed whimper — and bury your face in the crook of his neck as if to hide away.

“Chrisss..." you whimper against his skin.

“Mhm?” he hums like it’s an innocent question, as if he didn't just paint the hottest, most erotic pictures for you, but the hand on your thigh is anything but.

“You can’t just—say that stuff out of nowhere—" you pout as you move your head from out of his neck to look up at him.

He laughs softly, pressing a kiss to your neck, slow and lingering, making your breath catch in your throat and heat to pool between your thighs, need and demanding for attention.

“Why not? It’s true.” His lips trail up to your ear, voice dropping to a whisper. “You sitting on my face? That’s not even a fantasy anymore, baby. That’s a need.”

You shift again without meaning to, thighs instinctively tightening as you let out another pathetic whimper as you imagine it in your head, and he grins against your skin.

“Yeah… like that,” he whispers. “You’d look so pretty like that. All flushed and trembling, trying not to moan too loud while I hold your hips down and make you take everything I give you.”

Your breath catches. You can feel your heart thudding against your ribs.

“Chris—”

“You’d lose it, wouldn’t you?” he murmurs. “You’d try so hard to stay quiet, but the second I really start eating you out—” he groans softly at the thought, “you’d be shaking. Whimpering. Riding my face because you can’t help it.”

You try to hide your face again, heat crawling all the way down your chest, but he gently tugs your chin so you’re looking at him.

His gaze is soft — but intense. Loving, but burning. His sweet blues, now darkening with lust, meeting your adorable doe eyes, and it was as if he could read right through you, a smirk coming to his lips.

“You want to,” he whispers low and teasingly. “I can tell.”

You open your mouth to argue, but no words come. He kisses you instead — slow and sweet at first, then deeper, tongue sliding against yours like he’s already imagining exactly how you’ll taste, and it pulls a needy mewl from you, your hands grasping at his shirt as you feel your arousal seep through your panties.

When he finally pulls away, his voice is nothing but a whisper against your lips, almost begging if it wasn't for his teasing, low tone. “Let me have you like that, baby. Please... Let me love you like that. Just sit on my face.”

You hesitate, breathless. “…You really want that?” you ask.

His answer is instant, voice thick with desire, nearly groaning at the prospect of you saying yes. “More than anything.”

And after one shaky exhale, your thighs aching from being squeezed together for so long, and the feeling of your soaked panties underneath your shorts, you finally nod. “…Okay.”

His grin is immediate — wicked and boyish all at once, his voice a low coo that makes a shiver rush up your spine. “There’s my girl.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

"Are you sure about this?"

Your voice was hesitant as you looked down at Chris, thighs pressed together as you sat next to him in his bed with nothing on except for one of his baggy shirts, the movie nothing but background noise for the two of you.

"Baby, I promise, I've never been more sure of something in my entire life," He chuckled, already lying flat on his back, completely prepared for you as he looked up at you with almost excited eyes. "I'm seriously going to lose my mind if you keep making me wait."

You couldn't help a soft giggle before you exhaled quietly, working up you courage as you moved your legs to hook one over his head, your knees pressing into the mattress as you hovered over his face.

"Jesus... look at this fuckin' pussy, ma..." Chris groaned, bringing a hand up to drag his finger through your already drooling folds, making a soft gasp leave your lips as your hands held the hem of your shirt up a bit for him.

"I-is this ok?" You asked as blush covered your cheeks already, whimpering at the way his hands palmed over your thick thighs, before feeling him slowly hook his arms under them.

"Yeah... but it'd be even better if you actually sat on my face, baby," He cooed playfully, making a moan slip from your lips as he leaned up, running his tongue along your slit in a slow, savoring lick.  "Y' making me strain my neck just to taste you."

"But what if..." You trailed off.

"What if what?" Chris asked, his blue eyes peaking up at you from underneath as you swallowed a lump in your throat.

"What if I'm too heavy for you..?" You couldn't help but meekly whimper out, your nerves taking over you, but as you heard Chris huff out a chuckle, you suddenly felt his arms tugging you down, a gasp leaving your lips as he held you down against his face.

"C–chris!" You yelped, blush burning the tips of your ears before a pleasurable moan fell from your lips at him lapping at your pussy already, groaning against your folds as he held you in place, leaving you unable to lift yourself up.

"Just relax, baby," he murmurs against your slick folds, his hot breath making you shiver. "Let me take care of you. I want to taste every inch of this sweet little pussy."

You gasp as he begins to eat you out like it's his last meal, your back arching as jolts of pleasure course through you, moans and whimpers spilling from your lips.

Your thighs quake and tremble, the muscles taut with tension as you fight the urge to close them around his head, but he holds you steady, not letting you squirm away from the intense sensations.

Chris groans in approval as he laps at your dripping arousal, relishing your unique taste, a taste he could get addicted to without even trying.

"Fuck, you taste incredible," he growls against your cunt, the vibrations of his deep voice sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. His tongue delves deeper, probing your entrance whilst you feel one of his hands move, his thumb rubbing firm circles against your sensitive clit.

You toss your head back, your hair falling in disarray as you moan wantonly above him, whining as one hand shoots up to grip the headboard of his bed harshly to help steady yourself.

"C–chris! Mmm— Oh god, yes!" you mewl, your hips bucking instinctively against his face, getting lost in the pleasure and forgetting about your previous worries. He holds you firmly in place, his strong hand kneading the plush of your thigh as he devours your pussy with unrestrained hunger.

"D–don't stop, please don't stop!" You begged him, pleasure building rapidly as he works your pussy like never before, his thumb keeping that mind numbing rhythm whilst his tongue fucks into your clenching hole, making your mind fuzzy as that familiar knot pulls tighter and tighter within you.

And the moment he groans against your pussy, as if telling you to cum for him, you feel your orgasm hit you like a train, gasping out as you moan his name loud, back arching, hands gripping tight, and eyes rolling back in pure ecstasy.

Your hips ground against his mouth as you gushed all over his tongue, whines and whimpers leaving you as you rode out your high, before you finally slowed your movements, panting as you trembled above Chris until you finally came to.

"S-shit— 'M sorry—" You whimpered, lifting yourself up and off of his face, blushing at the sight of him, cheeks pink, mouth and chin covered in your juices, his eyes full of pure bliss as he looked up at you, chuckling as he looked almost equally as fucked out as you.

"Do.. do you want me to help you out now?" You asked sweetly, before watching as his cheeks reddened, a huffed out, almost embarrassed chuckle leaving his lips.

"Well, uh— I don't think you need to, baby—" He murmured, but as you gave him a confused face, you watched as his eyes glanced down, yours following his gaze before you gasped softly, seeing the big wet stain on his boxers, showing that he'd cum purely just from eating you out.

Your eyes met his again, a beat of a moment before the two of you giggled and chuckled, you leaning down to press a sweet kiss to his lips, whimpering softly at the taste of you on him before he whispered against your lips, his voice sounding like he was completely drunk from your pussy, and it made newfound arousal shoot through your body once more.

"Can we please do that again?"

☆ : that man is a muncher 4 LIFE, i just know it man...i can feel it in my nuggets (i have a coin slot 😔) idk if i like this one much— loved doing the dirty talking part but i feel like I flopped with the actual smut part, im sorry 😭 hope you guys still enjoy tho!!

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