#just a steaming pile of apples

[wight-rabbit]

I made a cinnamon roll apple pie for my birthday today, said happy birthday to the ground

[marvelwitchergilmore]

A Good Man

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Logan Howlett is a good man. At least, that's what you keep telling him.

Disclaimer: 18+ MDNI. Smut. Steam (figuratively and literally), swearing. Logan is the good guy and you prove it to him. Fluff, cuteness, Logan in a flower crown, angst, happy ending, mentions of Halloween and Christmas. Descriptions of period pains, The Addams Family reruns. Again, MDNI. Not Proof Read.

For as long as you had known Logan, you had known he was a good man. 

It didn’t matter what other people said about him, or what he even said about himself. To you, he would always be a good man. 

And that was something you always tried to remind him of. 

The first time it happened, it had just rolled off the tongue. Of course, you knew you meant it and at the time, you didn’t notice the way Logan’s eyes told you the sad truth that he didn’t believe you. 

It had been one early October morning. You had spent most of the night staying up to cut out some felt and cardboard shapes for your classroom to decorate not only for the fall season but also for Halloween. 

You didn’t expect anyone else to be awake that early so when Logan walked into your classroom just ten minutes after you had returned back to your seat on the floor, practically drowning in Halloween cut-outs. 

“Here.”

Holding down the coffee holder, you were presented with the second cup in the holder, your name written on the side in Logan’s handwriting. 

Still waking up from three and a half hours sleep, you looked up a little shocked. But calmed the minute you saw his own tired smile looking back at you. “Go on.”

Taking the coffee cup from the holder, you brought it close to you, your hands enveloping the hot surface. One sniff and you knew what it was instantly. 

“Oh, my god. You are a saint, Logan.”

Logan couldn’t fully look at you, feeling a little heat on his cheeks. “Yeah, well…don’t mention it.”

He brought his own coffee to his lips as he placed the empty holder onto a nearby desk before walking around you and your sea of Halloween, placing one hand in his pocket as he nursed his coffee. 

“What are you doing?”

You looked around yourself after taking a sip of your drink. It was perfect. 

“Decorating.”

“Aren’t they meant to be on the walls instead of the floor?”

You nodded. “They will be…if I can get them finished in time.”

Logan took a scope of the decorations before taking off his leather jacket, folding it and throwing it over your desk chair. 

“What-What are you doing?”

Logan placed down his coffee on your desk before removing his second plaid shirt. “Helping. Here, you’re cold.”

Logan draped his shirt over your shoulders and you were instantly hit with his warmth and his scent that was still prominent on his jacket. 

“Thank you.”

Putting your arms through, you fastened a couple of buttons. Meanwhile, Logan pushed some of the decorations aside and sat adjacent to you. 

First he picked up an unorganised pile of themed worksheets, flipping through a couple of them. Tapping them down, you pulled your coffee away from your lips. “The paper cutter is-”

As you pointed to the desk behind him, Logan’s claws came out and he just shot you a smirk before swiping down the edges. You pulled back, eyes a little wider. “Or you could just do that.”

Logan let out a small chuckle before doing the same to the other three edges. 

For the smaller cut-outs, he did use the pair of scissors you gave him. 

“How did you know I was awake?” You asked Logan after a few minutes. 

“I didn’t. But I knew you had a late night. Figured coffee couldn’t hurt.”

You smiled, watching where your scissors were slowly going round the corners of the apple tree you were cutting. “You’re a good man, Logan. Not many people would be up this early and bring me coffee.”

A few hours later, everything was finished being cut and Logan leaned back on his hands as he sat on the floor. You were still in his shirt. Was it wrong for him to be admiring how better you looked in his clothes than he did?

“What do you think?”

Logan came back down to earth. “What?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. “Come and help me.”

Logan got to his feet, dusting off his jeans before walking behind you. “Pass me that?”

Logan did so and stood at the bottom of the ladder, holding it steady. 

It wasn’t long before he himself was up another set of ladders, taking your instructions for how high to hold the bunting. 

“Little further.”

“Any higher and it’ll be in the ceiling.”

You laughed. “Okay, that's perfect.”

By the end of the day, everything was finished and set up ready for a new week. And every time you looked around your classroom and saw the identical looks of wonder and excitement in the kids' eyes, proved that you were right. 

Logan Howlett was a good man. 

Two weeks later, a knock came to your door. 

“Rogue? Is everything okay?”

She shook her head. “Sorta. Freya won’t let anyone brush her hair. She keeps saying it’s hurting her head.”

“Okay, I’m coming. Have you tried detangler spray?”

Rogue shook her head. “She won’t let anyone near her. It already took three of us to get her to shower.”

Finally getting to Rogue’s room, you knocked on the door. “Hey, Freya. What’s going on?”

“It really hurts.”

Rogue knelt beside you, in front of Freya. “Where does it hurt?”

Freya touched her head. “Here. It pulls really tight.”

“Okay.” You looked around. “Would it be okay if I put some magic spray on?”

“Magic spray?”

You nodded, nudging Rogue. Shuffling over, she grabbed the bottle from her desktop before handing it to you.  

“What does it do?”

“Well,” you looked for the nozzle before turning it around and gently picking up the ends of her hair to spray it. “It helps the brush run smoothly down-”

Freya started to panic. “No, no. No. No brush.”

“Freya-”

“What’s going on?”

From the door, Logan was standing leaning against its frame. 

“Freya’s hair sore.” You told him as he walked inside. “She won’t let anyone brush it.”

Logan slowly made his way inside. “Oh, no. That’s not good.”

Logan took a second before pulling his jeans a little to be able to crouch down. “I see Y/n’s already put some magic spray on it?” 

Freya nodded. “She said it’s going to help.”

Logan nodded, placing down the bottle you handed him. “Well, that’s true.”

“Will you let me try and brush it?” 

Freya debated the idea, fear still in her eyes before shaking her head. 

“Okay, that’s okay.” 

Then you had an idea. 

But Logan beat you to it. 

“Would it be okay if I tried?” Logan asked. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Freya, although still fearful, slowly handed Logan the brush she’d been holding in a death grip. 

“Come and sit over here, honey.” 

Freya stood up with Rogue’s help before Logan helped lift her onto the vanity stool and crouched behind her. 

“Promise you’ll be gentle?”

“I promise.”

“Pinky swear.”

Logan spotted you and Rogue through the glass for a second before looking back at Freya and linking his pinky with hers. 

It was the first time in a month Freya had sat down, quietly, and not cried or yelled out when someone was brushing her hair. 

By the time Logan had finished, he didn’t know what to do. So, quickly, Rogue came back to his side. “Is it okay if I put it into a braid?”

Freya nodded. “Thank you, Professor Logan.”

Logan gave her a small smile and handed her the brush. “Anytime, kiddo.”

Standing back beside you, your arms crossed your chest and you nudged Logan a tad. “You’re a good man, Logan. Thank you.”

Logan shrugged, putting his hands into his pockets. “She’s a good kid. They all go through this phase. Some are worse than others.”

You smiled at him before looking back to where Rogue was explaining something to Freya.

“Do you know how to do that?”

You looked up at Logan. “What? Braid hair?”

He nodded. 

“Yeah, why?”

He looked at you. “Could you…teach me?”

A slightly wider smile graced your face. “I’d be happy to.”

That was why a few hours later, Rogue was sitting in front of you, whilst Logan was sitting behind you, following along with how you were braiding Rogue’s hair. 

“How do you even learn how to do this?”

“It’s just like riding a bike, Logan. Once you know how to do it, you will never forget it.”

Logan grumbled and let your hair fall through his fingers. Meanwhile, you slowly tugged at Rogue’s fresh braid until it had come undone. 

“I’ll go slow. Just follow me. Split it into three.” 

Logan did that. 

“Take one outer section.”

Logan did that, too. 

“And pull it across the middle.” You move the original middle section to the side before taking the other outer section and pulling that across to create a new middle. 

“And you just keep repeating that until you get to the end of the hair, and finally, finish with a bobble.”

Logan had finally done it. It was loose, but he had done it. 

Rogue’s watch went off. “Shoot. I was meant to meet Bobby.”

“Go ahead, just don’t wreck the kitchen this time.”

Rogue smiled. “We’ll try not to.”

Closing the door behind her, Rogue left. 

You remained seated in front of Logan’s legs as he pulled the hair tie free and your braid fell out again. “Think you can do it on your own?”

Logan let out a breath and tried again. “Outer over middle?”

You nodded lightly. “And then the same on the other side. You’ll be doing french braids before you know it.”

“They can stay in France.” 

Logan continued to braid down your hair. It had been years since someone had played with your hair, and you found it comforting. Raking his fingers from the top of your head, he split it into sections once more and you felt yourself falling asleep. 

Less than a week later, you walked past the living room where you found Freya sat between Logan’s legs as he brushed and braided her hair. 

The next morning you woke up with a smile at the memory before being hit with a dull punch to your lower abdomen. 

You didn’t move for twenty minutes because every time you tried, it seemed to come back. But once it had finally passed, you forced yourself to sit up, your head feeling heavy before you looked at your bedsheets. 

“Of course.” 

For the next two days, all you wanted to do was crawl back into bed. Your period had decided to kick the shit out of you ever since it surprised you by coming a week earlier than expected. 

And by the time Logan found you, you were sitting uncomfortably in the television room, watching reruns of the Addams Family. 

“You look like hell.”

You gave a small sniff. “Feel like it, too.”

Logan pressed his hand to your head. “You’ve got a temperature.”

“It’s just hormones.”

Logan shook his head, pressing the back of his hand to your cheeks before pressing his fingers to your neck but you swatted him away. 

“No, it’s not.”

“Logan, I’m on my period. A week early.”

Logan nodded. “I know. That’s why I brought you this.”

In his hand, Logan handed you a fresh hot water bottle and a packet of chocolate. “Oh, my god,” you sighed. “You’re a saint.”

You could have cried. Maybe you were. 

You were in that much pain, you couldn’t exactly tell. 

Sitting beside you, Logan pulled a blanket over your bottom half as you held the hot water bottle against you and snuggled into his side. 

And for the next hour and a half, Logan stayed by your side, watching the Addams Family Show with you. Half way through, his hand absentmindedly stroked at your hair before he pulled you closer to him, allowing him to kiss the top of your head. 

“You are the greatest man who ever lived, Logan Howlett.” You told him before looking up at him. “I really mean that.”

“I’m sure you do, sweetheart.”

Then you saw it. 

Logan didn’t believe you. Sure, there was the smallest smile to his face, but you could see it in his eyes. He didn’t believe you. 

And that struck you to your core. 

“Logan, look at me.” Pressing your palm to his cheek, you turned his head. “I do mean it. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Logan took a moment. Then he smiled. “Don’t mention it.”

And he kissed your head. 

Laying back down on his chest, you watch the rest of the episode whilst your insides started to feel like it was holding a hellhound in a cage that was scratching its way out of you. 

“You okay?”

With your eyes squeezed tight, you nodded. “Just cramps. They’re usually not this bad. Or at least this often.”

Logan nodded, his hand rubbing up and down your back. “What usually helps?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I usually ride it out. They come in waves.”

“What about painkillers?”

The sharpness finally left but the dullness stayed. “I like to see how high my pain threshold is.”

Logan groaned a little and rolled his eyes. “And you say I have a death wish.”

Taking your hand, Logan walked you towards the door, turning the TV off and throwing the remote back onto the sofa from the door. 

“Where are we going?”

“I’m running you a bath. I’ve heard they usually help.”

And he did. 

Even why you tried to say he didn’t, and you could do it yourself. 

“Sweetheart, you can barely walk.” Logan told you as he splashed the bubble bath through the water. “And I could smell you from down the hall. You need to wash your hair.”

That was how you found yourself sitting into a hot bath, covering yourself with bubbles as Logan came back inside. 

Quietly, he pulled a stool beside the bath as you pushed yourself to sit further forward. “Can you dip your head back?”

Slowly, you did so and it wasn’t long before Logan was running shampoo through your hair, softly scrubbing at your scalp. God, you never wanted to leave. 

Logan felt you relax against his touch, slowly leaning your head back when his palm brushed against your forehead. 

With a cup, Logan let the water fall through your hair, washing the suds away from your scalp, down your back and into the water. 

For both of you, everything felt…quiet. Calm. 

Intimate. 

“Thank you,” you broke the silence eventually. “This really helps.”

Logan pulled his gaze from your back and shoulders, forcing himself to look anywhere else but you. “Good. I’m…I’m glad.”

“Hey, Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“I meant it. What I said before.” You repeated it as you looked back at him. “You are a good man.”

Logan swallowed, avoiding your gaze to look at his hands for a second. “We don’t have to-”

You held onto his hands and he finally looked at you. “I mean it, Logan. You are a good man.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

“Why?”

His gaze flicked to your lips and back up to your eyes. You couldn’t deny you hadn’t thought about it as well. 

“Because a good man wouldn’t be thinking what I’m thinking right now.”

You felt yourself lean closer to him. “What are you thinking?”

Logan shook his head despite the fact he felt himself move closer to you, too. “You don’t want to know.”

Your own gaze flicked to his lips and back again. “I trust you, Logan. I want you to tell me what you’re thinking.”

Slowly you came to your knees and Logan’s eyes roamed over you, his breath shortening by the time he looked back to your eyes. 

Pulling his hands from yours, one began to brush the wet streaks of hair from your face and neck as the other found your waist and started moving lower towards your hip. 

Despite the hot bath, your skin flared in goosebumps at Logan’s touch, your own breath hitching in your chest. 

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want to kiss you,” Logan held before his palm spread wider on your hip. “I want to feel you.”

“Then do it.”

Logan didn’t need to be told twice. 

Pressing his lips to yours, it wasn’t long before his hands pulled you closer to him, your own hands pulling him in by his collar. You let his hands freely roam your body, before one slipped down and over your ass, hitching you up until your legs wrapped around his waist, a pile of water trailing after you both. 

Turning around, Logan set you down on the counter top, moving back a little before letting his lips make their way down your jaw, neck and chest. 

Cupping the back of his head, you whispered his name. And for a second he pulled away. His hand still by your waist, he leaned over and fumbled with the shower until it was finally spraying out. 

And whilst you waited for it to heat up, Logan put himself back on you. 

His hands were everywhere and it was driving you insane. And once he finally did something about it, you let out a little gasp. 

“Is this okay?”

A smile came to your face as you dipped your head forward, his lips pressing gentle kisses to the side of your neck. 

“More than okay.”

Curling his digits inside of you, you let out a breathy moan and jolted forward a little when his thumb began circling your clit, adding more pressure. 

You gasped. “Logan.”

“S’okay, Sweetheart.” His lips captured yours again as his other hand held you steady by your hair. “Just ride it out.”

Thrusting in and out of you, he continued to curl up inside of you. 

“M-more. Logan.” You moaned in pleasure, your pussy begging for him to circle your clit harder. “Please.”

Entering a third finger, Logan stretched you out as he felt your walls pulse against his fingers. 

“That’s it.” He spurred you on. 

You fell back against the wall as his hand left your head and came to your hip, pulling you closer to him and the edge whilst his fingers curled deeper inside of you. 

“That’s it.”

You gasped. “Keep-keep going. Don’t stop. Logan…”

Almost chanting his name as his mouth made its way down your collarbone, his tongue flicking over your nipple before sucking at the curve of your breast, you felt Logan apply more pressure around your clit, keeping a steady speed as he brushed in a circle. 

You gasped. “Logan, I’m gonna-”

You didn’t have time to finish your sentence as a moan of pleasure escaped from your throat before Logan’s own mouth caught it in his. 

Your breath heavy and your chest heaving to catch it, Logan swiped across your clit a few more times until you had fully finished. 

The steam was growing heavy around you both and once Logan had finally stripped down with your help, it wasn’t long before you found yourself pressed against the glass of the shower, Logan’s hand leaving a running print beside your head. 

He had been washing your body, his hand grazing the loofa over your skin, all the while he pushed the hair from the side of your neck and slowly pressed firm kisses down the length of your neck. 

Slowly, he turned you around before you found your back against the glass, his hand beside your head and his lips on yours once more. 

Mere seconds later, you hooked your leg around his hip and slowly guided himself into you. 

By the time morning finally broke through, you were fast asleep against Logan, miraculously still in the pyjamas you had put on after the best shower experience you had had in years. 

Dressed in his boxers, his legs were tangled with yours, his chest pressed firmly against your back. 

And by the time you woke up, you found two small braids at the side of your head and a note from Logan saying he’d be back later since Storm had dragged him into being the second chaperone for the field trip. 

One busy day and a broken down bus later, Logan finally got home and found you half asleep on the sofa you had been on the night before. 

“Hey,” you whispered, the light from the TV brightening you both for a moment before a laughing track played. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” Logan whispered back before moving the blanket up a little to allow him to slide in beside you. 

“I missed you this morning.”

“I wouldn’t have left but Storm cornered me when I was making coffee.”

You smiled a little, wrapping your arms around him as he did you with you. “I figured.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Logan pressed his palm gently against your lower half, holding the small of your belly up a little bit which somehow relieved some of the pressure your uterus had been putting on you since mid-afternoon. 

“Want to head to bed?”

“Soon,” you told him. “I want to find out what happens?”

Logan smiled a little. “Haven’t you watched these before?”

“A dozen times, but I still love them.”

Around ten minutes before the episode finished, Logan felt you grow a little heavy beside him and when he looked down, he found you were fast asleep. He waited for the episode to finish before turning the TV off and bringing his hands under your legs and his arm around your back as he lifted you up. 

By the turn of the hour, you were cuddled back besides Logan, one of his hands at the bottom of your back, the other holding your knee in place over his middle. 

The next couple of months continued the same way. Often, you’d fall asleep or at the very least be half way there before Logan would carry you to bed. It seemed to change every couple of nights who’s room you’d sleep in. 

There were moments when Logan would wake up, roaring from the pain of memories. But he was finding them to be very few and far between ever since he started waking up next to you. 

By Christmas, you couldn’t have been more in love with Logan if you tried. And realising this fact hadn’t been from some grand romantic gesture that would be shown to be in the next Hollywood blockbuster. 

He had simply said that you needed to get some lights for the Christmas tree. 

With his arm around your waist, you looked up at Logan to find a look of confusion on his face. You could practically hear the cogs turning over in his head. 

“What? What is it?”

You looked back at the tree, expecting it to be housing a family of squirrels despite the fact it was artificial. 

Too many kids in the school had an allergy to pine trees. 

“We need some lights.”

Logan walked forward and straightened up the tree and you just stood…shocked. Your hands still clutching themselves in front of you, you felt your heart practically swell with excitement and…

Love. 

“What?” Logan looked at you from behind the tree. 

You broke out in a smile and shook your head. “Nothing. I’m just…excited. It’s officially Christmas.”

“We’re still in November.”

“Barely.” You protested. “And besides, who was the one who wanted to get the tree out of the attic?”

As your arms came around his neck, his arms came around your waist pulling you closer to him as he stepped out from behind the tree. 

“Okay, fine. You’ve got me there. But it’s only because I know Rogue will spend the next week badgering me to get it down.”

“You just keep telling yourself that,” you smiled before kissing him. “You might be a good man, Logan Howlett. But you are a terrible, terrible liar.”

A couple of weeks later, school had finally finished. The Winter exam season was finally over and grading the final paper, Logan threw it into the box before sealing the lid shut and carrying it to the other side of his room, shoving it into the bottom of his closet. 

Riddled with tiredness, Logan slumped down onto the edge of his bed rubbing his face just as you walked in. 

“Here you are.”

Logan looked up and graced you with a tired smile. “Close the door.”

You did so before walking over towards him where he placed his fingers through the belt loops of your jeans and pulled you closer until you were standing in between his legs. 

“Long day?” You asked him as he lay his head against your middle, letting your hands run through the back of his hair. 

“The longest. You?”

You let out a sigh. “Longer still. I think I need to teach a couple of handwriting classes. It’s not the marking that takes forever, it’s the reading. Have you finished?”

Logan looked up at you. “Just finished the last one.”

“I’ve still got a couple more on my desk.”

“They can wait until tomorrow.” Logan told you. “Let’s just take a break. Where are the others?”

“Down by the hill.” You nodded your head towards his window. “Storm’s making it a snow day for everyone. They should be gone for a couple hours.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Logan’s hands pushed your shirt up a little allowing him to feel your skin. 

“Because,” you smiled. “I wanted to see you.”

Logan smirked. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Logan pressed a small kiss to your belly. “Any other reason why?”

You shook your head, acting oblivious. “Not that I can think of.”

Logan pressed some more kisses across your middle whilst his hands started to unbutton your jeans to allow him more access. 

He heard you take in a breath and he smirked, feeling your hands rake through his hair, your nails scratching at his scalp before going down his neck. 

“Well, maybe I can think of one.”

Logan smirked. “If you’re thinking, I’m not doing my job properly.”

Continuing to press his kiss against you, Logan slowly pulled your jeans down your hips, over your ass and down your legs, being sure to press his kiss along your thighs as he brought himself to his knees. 

Trailing his hands up and down your legs as you stepped out of your jeans, Logan looked up at you. 

“Beautiful.”

You felt yourself blush at his words before he pressed a kiss against the inside of your thigh. 

“So beautiful.”

For a moment, you felt your knees go weak. 

Stumbling back a little, you gripped onto the edge of his desk. Slowly, his hand caressed your calf, bringing your leg up. Again, his hot breath trailed up the inside of your thigh, pressing chaste kisses against your skin as he made his way towards where your panties were still on. 

Taking his time with you, he pressed more kisses to your hip bone whilst his fingers toyed with the line of your underwear. 

Pulling each side down at a time, he kissed the soft skin under them before finally removing them all together. 

Finally, pressing kissed down the middle of your stomach as his hands played with your ass, he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, lifting you a little until you were balancing on the edge of his desk. 

“So wet already.”

His tongue was light at first, against your clit, coaxing it out of hiding until it was fully present for him. With his moans vibrating against your pussy, you gripped the back of his head. 

Gasping, you felt his tongue slip inside of you, tasting every last bit of you. 

Every now and again, his nose would bump against your clit leaving you wanting more, begging him to do more. 

Then he finally listened. 

Pushing a finger inside of you, he hooked it up before pulling back out, all too slowly for your liking. 

Logan looked up for a moment, watching your head fall back as he sucked at you and your own hand went under your top and you began playing with yourself. 

“M-more. Logan. Please.”

With a smirk, Logan added a second finger.

“Keep going,” you pleaded with him before letting out a gasping moan. “That’s- that’s- that’s it. Logan.”

If there was something Logan lived for, it was watching this. Watching your build up before your eventual release. The gasps and moans that escaped your throat, the slight scream you would give as he got you closer and closer to the edge. 

Logan’s jeans restricted him almost to the point of pleasure. “Fuck,” he groaned. 

Lapping you up, Logan was surrounded by your scent and taste. He thrusted faster hearing you go from slowly muttering his own word to almost screaming it. 

With his tongue circling your clit, he felt your walls tighten against his fingers, his hair being gripped by your hand and he finally got the full taste of you. 

Logan made you come twice more before the others got back; once more with his fingers, stretching you out as you lay against his bed, his mouth taking over the work of your hands, leaving them to roam free across him, and finally with you stuffed full of his cock, begging for more as he slowly built up to pounding into you, before flipping you both over, letting you ride him whilst one hand held you steady and the other drove you half to insanity as he played with your clit and his lips left his mark against every corner and curve of your skin. 

And once more after everyone had gone to bed. 

Feeling his chest against your back as you both walked into his room, one hand came up your shirt before the other went down your bed shorts, pulling your fresh panties to the side and circling and dipping into your some more. 

Before you knew it, both of your clothes were strewn across the room and Logan was flipping you over, lifting your ass, allowing his hand to leave its print before snaking around you, letting you beg into his pillows as he flicked at your clit. 

After Christmas, the months began bleeding into one and before you knew it, summer was just around the corner. 

Outside on the fresh grass, Logan was coaching the final baseball game of the day whilst you were with a couple of the kids, picking out fresh flowers from both the garden and the grass.

However, just before Logan was about to yell time on the game, you felt his arms come around your waist. 

He tied his jacket around your waist. “I’ll run you a bath later.”

Logan kissed the shell of your ear before running back across the field, calling time. 

Twenty minutes later, Logan was back at your side, kneeling in the grass with the rest of the kids, and at some point in time, you turned around to find Logan being told to sit still whilst Freya stood in front of him, Rogue sitting beside him taking pictures. 

When Freya moved out of the way, you saw what she had been doing. 

Walking over with a small laugh, you crouched by Freya’s side. 

“Well don’t you look cute.”

Logan tried his best to hide his smile but he couldn’t help it. You caught it anyway. 

“Freya made it for him,” Rogue told you before holding up her camera. “Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of pictures.”

Freya nodded proudly. “I found some more daisies by the fountain so I could make one for Professor Logan.”

And sure enough, there it was. A daisy chain flower crown around Logan’s head. 

“I made you one, too, Y/n.” Freya showed you as it hung delicately from her arm. “So now you can be matching.”

“Thank you, Freya.” You smiled widely. “Would you put it on for me?”

Freya gave a small smile and shook her head before holding her arm out to Logan. “I think Professor Logan should put it on.”

Logan looked at you and raised his eyebrows for a quick second before carefully removing the crown from around Freya’s arm. Quickly she stepped out of the way and sat in between Rogue’s legs. 

“Take some pictures.” Freya whispered to Rogue. 

With a soft smile, Logan got onto his knees as you fell to yours in front of him. He brushed a few stray hairs from your face before carefully placing the crown securely on your head. 

Logan smiled at you, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Beautiful.”

Rogue gave a small cough with a hidden smirk. It wasn’t uncommon for either you or Logan to get lost in the other's eyes when you were together. There could be thirty people in the room, but the minute you looked at each other, the rest of the world faded away. 

Snapping back into reality, Logan cleared his throat. “What do you think, kid?”

Freya rushed to Logan. “Hmm. It’s perfect!”

You smiled as Freya hugged you. “Thank you, Freya. It’s beautiful.”

“Hey, Freya? Want to take some more pictures?”

“Yes, please.” 

Rogue handed the camera over to her and helped her put it around her neck. “Be careful with it?”

“I promise.”

Rogue held out her pinky and Freya linked her with Rogue’s. 

“Come on, Ms Y/n. I want to show you something.”

“Okay,” you laughed. “I’m coming. Slow down, honey. Don’t fall.”

Rogue watched as Logan watched you and Freya run down the field towards the fountain to a small bed of flowers. 

“You really love her, don’t you?” Rogue asked, already knowing the answer. She looked away before she could see the slight flash of fear on Logan’s face. 

But it was true. 

He did love you. 

Truly loved you. 

And yet…he hadn’t told you yet. 

But you hadn’t told him. 

It had been almost nine months and neither of you had told the other you loved them. Of course, there had been unspoken moments. The slow, lazy mornings when his fingers would trace up and down your back before dipping under the covers pulling you closer to him. The quick goodbye’s between lunch breaks when you’d both rush off to teach your classes. The danger moments where it had almost been said, but the hesitation had been covered up by both of you. 

“It’s okay. Just tell me when you get back.” You’d tell each other. 

Only, you never did. 

You showed it. 

But never said it. 

And as Logan watched you with Freya, holding the butterfly on your finger as Freya worked the camera, snapping some pictures, Logan wondered if he would ever have the courage to tell you. And if that day ever came…would that be the day you leave him? Or worse, get hurt because of him?

You looked back at Logan for a moment as Freya took another picture. And he smiled back, giving you a small wave back. 

“I hope I have what you and Y/n have one day.”

Logan looked at Rogue. “I thought you’re with Bobby?”

Rogue smiled and looked down. “I am. We are. But I think it’ll take a while before he looks at me like how you look at her.”

Logan shook his head with a smile before standing. “Don’t doubt it, kid. He loves you. Anyone with eyes can see it. The same way anyone with eyes can see you eyeing him up from all the way over here.”

Rogue blushed before Logan lowered his hand down to help her up. “Well, it’s not like you two are the most subtle couple in the world. But do you really think so? About me and Bobby?”

“Look, kid. I’m no saint when it comes to advice, or love for that matter, but you just have to take each day as it comes. At the end of the day, if he’s still the one you want to talk to, even when you’re fighting with each other, you’re on a better path than most.”

“Isn’t it better not to fight?”

Logan shrugged. “Fighting is just a part of life, kid. But if ever lays a hand on you, he won’t be standing for very long.”

Rogue gave Logan a small smile. “Bobby’s not like that. And if he ever was, no one else would have to worry about what would happen to him. That I can handle on my own. But thanks anyway.”

Logan nodded and patted her shoulder before looking around. “I’ll be back soon. Keep an eye on Y/n for me?”

“I think she can look after herself,” Rogue nodded. “But sure. Hey, where are you going?”

“Nowhere important. I’ll be back soon.”

Taking the steps two at a time, Logan made his way inside the school.

Hours after the sun had set, you still hadn’t seen Logan since he crowned you with daisies. 

Then, taking a walk into his room, you looked out of his window and saw him sitting in the gardens. 

“Hey, what are you doing out here?”

Logan looked back, a little startled that someone else was out with him. “Nothing. Just…sitting here.”

“Mind if I join you?”

Logan shuffled up a little and you sat beside him. 

Logan was quiet. Usually he’d hold your hand or he’d put his arm around you. This time, he just looked out and away. 

“Is everything okay? I didn’t see you after the flower crowning ceremony.”

You looked up and found the flower crown peeking out from his hair. He still hadn’t taken it off. Or he’d forgotten it was there. 

Yours had been twisted into your hair by Rogue and Freya when it came loose during dinner. 

“I don’t know what we’re meant to be doing.”

You shrugged. “Right now, nothing. I thought we were just sitting here.”

“I’m not a good man, Y/n.”

You drew back a little. “Where is this coming from?”

Logan took a breath. “Rogue made me realise something today and I don’t know what I’m meant to do. I’m not a good man, Y/n. People I care about, people I lov-” 

Logan looked at you and the words faltered in his mouth. 

“They get hurt.” He finalised. “People get hurt because of me.”

“Logan-”

“Or by me. I’m not a good man.”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re a good man, Logan,” you finalised. 

“Please. Don’t say things that aren’t true.”

You were baffled. “Why wouldn’t it be true?”

“Because everyone I have ever cared for has gotten hurt or died. And I can’t put you through that. I can’t see you getting hurt because of me.”

You shook your head. “Logan, I’m not going to get hurt because of you.”

“Really? Because if you haven’t noticed, our lives aren’t exactly the most normal in the world.”

“Maybe not, but I’m enjoying my life so far.” You raised your voice a little as Logan stood up, beginning to pace. 

“I’m not good enough for you, Y/n. You deserve the good guy.”

“You are a good guy.” You stood, walking towards him. 

With his hands on his hips, Logan stopped pacing and you stopped walking, falling six feet short of him. “No, I’m not. People…people don’t take someone like me home. They don’t marry someone like me. They don’t end up with someone like me. You don’t want me.”

You took a step forward. “Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. I’m not the good guy. The one you can take home.”

You took a breath. “Logan, I am home. And you are the good guy. You always have been. Whoever convinced you you’re not the good guy can fuck off. And nothing you say will convince me otherwise.”

Logan almost pleaded. “Why?”

Logan knew he didn’t have the best record when it came to those he loved, surviving past so many years of friendship with him. Leaning on over a hundred years, Logan had known loss in more ways than one. Why couldn’t you see that you could lose, too? That because of him, because fate seemed to have damned him to a life of forever losing those he loved, you would lose, too? Why couldn’t you see that by being with him, you were putting your own life on the line? 

“Because I love you, Logan!” 

Logan felt like he’d been kicked in the chest by a horse. “Nothing you or anyone else can say or do will ever convince me that you’re not the good guy. Because you are. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Hell, I’m seeing it right now.”

You gestured to his head. 

The Daisy Chain Flower Crown. 

He’d almost forgotten it was still on his head. 

“Logan, you have spent your entire life looking out for people.”

“They still get hurt.”

“Maybe,” you shrugged. “But that wasn’t your fault. Sometimes there is nothing any of us can do that will stop someone from getting hurt because sometimes that’s just how it’s meant to be. Sometimes we can learn from it, most of the time it’s just a shit part of life. Logan, you are a good guy. Better yet, you’re a good person. You always help when you can. You take care and look out for those you care about.”

You continued. “Whoever told you you’re not the good guy, they were wrong. Plain and simple. If you’re not the good guy, then who sits on a classroom floor at five in the morning cutting out decorations for somebody else's classroom? Who brings me coffee every morning, just how I like it? Who helps a little girl not be afraid of brushing her hair anymore? Who then asks to learn how to style hair so he can do it for her? Who helps set up a Christmas dance, and steps in to help the kids learn how to dance properly?”

That was something you remembered most often. Rogue and Bobby had been struggling to learn how to dance together, forever stepping on each other's toes. Until Logan had been through watching enough second-hand pain and stepped up. 

He had taken your hand in his, setting your book face down on the side table beneath the lamp and talked Rogue and Bobby through it. 

“Logan,” you whispered to him. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“Just follow my lead,” he whispered into your ear. 

You later found out, over a hot cup of tea, that he had learnt to properly dance when he was younger (at least, that’s what he figured from his muscle memory) but most of it came from when he had a short stint as a security guard at a retirement centre where some of the older women would ask him to dance with them before pushing him off to dance with their visiting granddaughters. 

Logan had led you effortlessly, leaving both Rogue and Bobby in shock. Parting from you, Logan helped Rogue learn first, it being clear she wasn’t a natural follower. And then he taught Bobby, making him copy his steps as he moved with an imaginary partner. 

“Who spends entire evenings sitting watching reruns of black and white TV shows with me, even if we’ve seen them a thousand times? Who spends more time holding doors open, grabbing things from the higher shelves, braiding kids' hair when they ask, helping Rogue learn how to bake properly without burning the kitchen down? You do. You do, Logan. Because that is who you are. You are the guy that, even hours later, still wears the flower crown in his hair because someone made it for him.”

You held your hands by his neck, making him look at you. 

“And that is why I love you.” 

His gaze finally zoned in on yours. 

“Because for all your gruffness, grunting and brooding, you are kind. And thoughtful. And considerate. And I don’t think you realise how good you truly are, Logan. I don’t care if you think I’m going to get hurt. What hurts me is you thinking you’re not good enough for me, because you are Logan. You are the guy I could only ever dream of finding, when I was a kid. And even then, I didn’t find you. You found me. Sitting on that hardwood floor in my classroom where you brought me my coffee and gave me your jacket to keep me warm. I love you, Logan Howlett. Nothing can ever change that for me.”

Finally kissing him, you felt every emotion pour not only from yourself but also from Logan. Your kisses bled from his lips, across his cheeks and finally to the side of his neck as his arms wrapped around you, holding you flush against him. 

He didn’t want to let go. 

With one hand in your hair and the other wrapped around your back, Logan pressed you even closer, taking in your scent with his. 

“I love you so much.”

Logan’s words vibrated through your entire system and for a moment, your heart relaxed. Pulling back a little so you could see his face, your thumbs brushed across his cheeks as his forehead pressed against yours. 

“You are my home, Logan. I love you. I always will.”

“I love you, too.”

“Never let me go.”

“Never.” 

Logan barely had time to get his words out before his mouth found yours for a second outpouring of emotion. 

Eventually, you both finally made it back upstairs where Logan helped you into a hot bath whilst the sound of old reruns came from your bedroom TV.

After that night, never a day went by where you didn’t tell each other you loved each other. Nor was there a day where Logan didn’t prove you wrong. He was the good guy. He was your home. 

And you loved him for it. 

And he loved you back, just as strongly. 

[space-cowgirllll]

Tolerate It

pls enjoy this kinda angsty little thing I wrote a couple of months ago when I was really going through it in a relationship and have been too shy to post anywhere until today. I miiiiight have the second part to this halfway done. If this sucks I'm so sorry lmao it’s very lightly proofread and I have not written anything that hasn't had to be turned in for a grade in years.

Part Two

You sit alone at the table wondering how you ended up here. The dinner you'd spent the better part of the evening preparing grows cold as you sip on what has to be your third glass of wine. From your spot you can see Abby standing at the counter, speaking softly into the phone while she reads through the mail that had piled up over the last week. You pick at your food, hoping she'll join you eventually, but when fifteen minutes turns into twenty and then thirty five, you realize you're wasting your time. The laughter from the other room tells you the work part of the call ended long ago. Pushing your chair back, not caring when the loud noise earns you a glare from Abby, you gather your plate and blow out the candles at the center of the table.

Abby moves to sit on the loveseat in the living room after her call. It doesn't take long for her to get lost in the new book she had just brought home. Your eyes shift to the untouched plate of food still waiting for her in the dining room and then to the apple in her hand. The sound of  your throat clearing catches her attention.

"Your plate is still at the table if you want it, babe." You gesture to the lone plate at her usual spot.

There's a pang in your chest at the sight of the floral arrangement you'd chosen for the week. Behind that, strong wind pelts rain at the window. The gloomy weather a perfect representation of the storm brewing inside you.

"I thought I told you I had an early dinner with a couple of colleagues."

"Oh."

It comes out as a whisper. Not bothering to tell her she hadn't called you back after her lunch break. Again. You make a mental note to put the plate away before bed, knowing she'll pack it for tomorrow.

Your arms are elbow deep in soapy water, trying to rush through the last couple of dishes before she retreats to her study. The clanking of pots and pans fills the quiet space. You scrub at a particularly stubborn spot, trying to think of a way to bring it up without sounding too obvious.

"How was work today?"

"Fine." Your wife replies, not elaborating further.

"It's the twenty first, right?" There's some hesitation in the question.

"Yup."

Okay.

She doesn't look up from her book when you shuffle past her a little while later, placing a steaming mug on the coffee table. Her hand caresses the soft skin of your thigh and you perk up when she mumbles a soft thanks, placing a quick kiss on her temple. The sleeping cat on her lap stirs when you give him a gentle scratch behind the ear.

You settle into the sofa across from her and watch her read. She's in the cotton pajamas and fuzzy socks you'd laid out in the closet for her. It makes you feel ridiculously overdressed. Your hands fist the skirt of your dress, feeling foolish. There's a dark spot on the satin material from leaning over the wet counter.

The record player in the far corner of the room catches your attention. You miss the nights where she'd play you one of her favorites and dance with you around the living room before letting you sit on her lap as she read out loud to you. You never thought you would miss those boring medical journals. These days you're lucky if you get more than an hour with her before she locks herself in her study.

It hadn't always been like this. The two of you have been together longer than you've been apart. Visions of eleven year old Abby teaching you how to braid her hair for soccer practice flash in your head. Crawling into her bed in the middle of the night after another nasty fight between your parents. Summer vacations to her family's lake house. Her and her parents at every dance recital and play you'd ever been part of in high school. Realizing at sixteen that your feelings for the girl weren't so platonic. Then moving into the spare bedroom down the hall from her a year later after coming out to your family. Prom dress shopping with her and her mother, sneaking kisses in the tiny fitting rooms. The Anderson's were the family you never had.

Navigating young adulthood with Abby had been fun. You'd rented a tiny apartment in Seattle and paid way too much for it while attending university. It wasn't much, but it was home. You remember the dance parties in the tiny living room. The time the blonde begged you to let her keep the tiny cat she'd found in an alley on the way home one random afternoon. Going on dates and exploring the city. Staying up late and fantasizing about what life would look like in ten years. The look on her face as her thumb rubbed small circles on the exposed skin of your belly after you'd shown her your list of baby names. Getting married just after graduation.

Abby had never been too busy to show you how much she loved you, no matter how busy she got with school. Packing your meals for work, making sure your car had enough gas in it, organizing stay at home date nights whenever your schedules aligned. And you doing the same for her when she was up to her eyebrows in work for school.

The notes were your favorite. They had started appearing randomly after you'd been unexpectedly laid off. You'd been moping around the house for weeks, losing hope after not hearing back from any of the companies you'd applied to. Always in your favorite color, the purple post it notes could be found stuck to the wherever you'd see them first thing in the morning. The silly declarations of love and the affirmations always made you smile.

Those days were long gone. You were slowly going from high school sweethearts to two people who simply co-existed. No matter what you did or how hard you tried, it was getting harder to deny the lack of warmth in her eyes when she looked at you sometimes. Today proved what you had been too afraid to admit to yourself. The only person who had ever felt like home has slowly started becoming a stranger that slipped into your bed later and later each night.

Your eyes start stinging and you bite down on your lower lip. There's no way you're breaking down in front of her, not tonight. The warmth radiating from the fireplace does little to keep away the chill running through your body. Shaky hands bring the mug to your lips, hoping some tea would calm the nausea swirling in your stomach. You're not surprised to find yourself unable to keep drinking after a few tiny sips. Abby's favorite mug grows cold on the coffee table and you're positive she doesn't even remember it's there.

The sound of her phone ringing startles you both. Abby snatches the phone off the counter, a tired sigh leaves her parted lips when she sees who's calling. She jogs up the steps, intently listening to whoever is on the other end of the phone. You pick at the chipping nail polish on your left hand, watching the way your engagement ring glints in the dim light of the fire. Your stomach dips as you slip the stack off your finger, placing them in the small bowl on the coffee table.

"Are you going somewhere?" Your head shoots up to where she's standing in the threshold. The sight of her in a fresh pair of navy blue scrubs doesn't surprise you. Her loose bun traded for a tight braid that hangs over her shoulder.

"No. Why would I be?"

She gestures at your dress. Eyes roaming over your face, finally noticing the makeup you'd carefully applied hours before. You see her lock in on your empty hand, her sculpted brows furrow in confusion. Please say something. You beg, just wanting to understand why this is happening. Was she so busy she couldn't even bother to ask what's wrong? Did she even care anymore?

The constant buzzing of the phone in her tote bag answers your question for you. She shakes her head and turns to the door, stopping to slip her feet into her sneakers. You follow silently behind her, wondering if you should say something.

"Abigail?"

She hums in acknowledgment, not bothering to look up from her phone. Her fingers move at lightning speed across the touchscreen. Your nails dig into the palm of your hand, fighting the urge to snatch her phone and chuck it against the wall.

"What?" She asks again when you don't speak up. The look of annoyance on her face has you taking a step back.

"Nevermind," you turn towards the coat closet, pulling out her winter jacket. "It doesn't matter." You don't have to look back to know she's rolling her eyes.

"I should be back before you leave for work." You busy yourself with the already organized closet, pretending to move things around while she gathers the rest of her things.

"Be careful." You mumble, blinking rapidly to stop the tears from flowing. Not trusting yourself to say much more without your throat closing.

"Always am." She plants a kiss on the back of your head and heads out the door. It's only when you hear the sound of her car pulling away that you let yourself cry. No longer caring about the mascara that is certainly smearing.

Unsteady legs carry to the foot of the stairs where you collapse into a pathetic heap. Tears freely flowing down your cheeks, further staining the material of your dress. Your hands harshly pull at the fabric, wanting nothing more than to rip it off. The pins in your hair clatter loudly on the floor as you harshly pull them out.

Your sobs echo throughout the empty house. Pain radiates through your body, from somewhere in your chest to the tips of your fingers. The nausea has increased tenfold. You inhale sharply, resting your head on your knees. Watery eyes fixed on the front door your wife had just walked out of, this gut wrenching feeling of loneliness overwhelms you.

"Happy anniversary Abby."

[cinnahoons]

౨ৎ red wine supernova — p. sim jaeyun x fem!reader w. 1k genres. fluff, established relationship ik it's not feburary but VALENTINE'S DAY + jake is a sweetheart cw. none notes. i <3 the inceptio concept thank u enha

a pair of hands are blocking your vision.

“are you sure you’re not gonna run me into a wall?” you ask, fighting back a smile as you shuffle along blindly, a warm heat against your back.

“mmm, i dunno,” your boyfriend, jake, murmurs, his frame guiding you along the familiar twists and turns of your shared apartment. his voice is warm and boyish by your ear. “maybe i want to be evil today.”

you giggle, trying to squint against jake’s hand to see if you can peer through the cracks of his fingers. you can’t catch a single thing—not even light. there’s an electricity in the soles of your feet, sparking and buzzing with every step he takes for you. where is he going?

“you can’t be evil on valentine’s day.” you’re sure he can feel the apples of your cheeks pressing against his palm when you smile. “that’s the number one rule of relationships.”

something like a gust of wind blows gently against your face as jake speeds up a little, and you enter what you feel is one of the bigger rooms in your apartment. he leans toward your ear.

"close your eyes.”

your lashes brush against his palms as you oblige him, and his hands fall gently from your face to your arms. he cups your shoulders softly, the slope of his cheek pressed against the side of your face as he crouches eagerly beside you. you shift your weight from foot to foot in nervous anticipation, wondering what exactly is waiting in front of you. 

“okay, open,” he murmurs.

a silent gasp escapes your mouth when your eyes flutter open. 

jake has decorated the entire kitchen. the little square table in the middle of the small room is draped in a red-and-white checkered tablecloth, varying sizes of creamy white candles flickering their gentle flames atop it. there are two jet-black dishes placed across from each other, loaded with steaming food. accompanying flutes filled with bubbly champagne sit beside them. a bottle of red wine rests by the champagne bottle. there’s a large, glass vase in the middle of the table, stuffed with rich red roses. your eyes water.

around the kitchen, jake has placed shiny, red-foil heart balloons. their streamers hang daintily in the air. you notice, too, that the lights are off; but, there are matching candles to the ones on the table placed around the kitchen, as well as little string lights hung along the ceiling and its brown wooden cabinets. all of it contributes to a warm, golden lighting that encapsulates the little room. 

“jake…” you breathe, unable to muster up the right words to say. he seems to notice the thickness of your voice, as he wraps his arms around your waist and leans to rest his chin on your shoulder. his rich, chocolatey hair brushes against your cheek. it’s grown longer these days, and you’ve let him know at almost every waking moment just how lovely it looks on him, the little curls of it draped along the shells of his ears as intoxicating as the dopey smile he gives you every time you call him your pretty boy.

“happy valentine’s day, baby,” he murmurs, his accent rumbling sweetly in your ear. “i’m sorry we can’t afford a fancy restaurant dinner right now, but… i hope this is just as special.”

you giggle wetly, not having noticed the tear that’s managed to slip down your cheek. what he says is true. the two of you have been working tirelessly over the last couple weeks, fighting hard to pay off the various bills and other expenses that have been piling up on your shoulders. rent has gone up, utilities are catching up fast, and groceries are almost luxuries now—it’s a miracle that you’ve been able to maintain your lifestyle to some degree. unfortunately, it’s meant that the two of you have had to cut out extra expenses. a luxurious, five-star valentine’s dinner definitely fits that description.

“no, it’s perfect. it’s—you really did this for me?”

your boyfriend turns his head so his cheek is squished against your shoulder instead, peering up at you with his soft, brown eyes.

“of course I did,” he says easily. “always for you.”

that does it. your lip quivers and the dam explodes and suddenly there are more tears, cascading down your cheeks like a goddamn waterfall. you cry in his arms until he straightens up, a worried frown on his face as he turns you towards him and swipes tender fingers along your skin. you’re so in love with him it hurts.

“wait, don’t cry,” he says, his brows pinched sweetly. hands flutter over your face worriedly. “you weren’t supposed to cry.”

his gaze is crestfallen, and you start to flounder, shaking your head between tears.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry.” you want to ease the worry on his face, smooth the crease between his brows and kiss him stupid for being so thoughtful. “i didn’t mean to cry, I just—thank you, jake. this means a lot to me.”

he stares at you for a couple of seconds, clearly unconvinced. his hand reaches up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear.

“are you sure? we can go lie down…”

you shake your head again, this time with more conviction.

“no, no! these are happy tears, i promise. i love this, i love you. thank you for always making me feel special.”

his gaze finally begins to ease up, the corners of his eyes crinkling with joy at the wet smile you give him. your eyes are still glassy, but it’s only because of how awestruck you are by his efforts. he gives your relationship his all, and it's all you could ever ask for.

you know you can tell the little girl inside you: you’ve done it. you’ve found your fairytale life, your fairytale boy. 

you lean in, touching your nose against his.

“okay, don’t be evil,” he says, grinning. “kiss me.”

and so you do.

© cinnahoons. do not plagiarize or reupload my work!

tags! @vousty @neos127 @junityy @aenify @en-ner-jay @heartheejake

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

mixed-matched socks | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader

“look out! laundry downpour, ahhh!” you indoor screamed as you slowly dumped the freshly dried clothing over a lying annabeth. her high pitched screeching bursted your eardrums, but were quickly muffled by a shirt and jacket. her little fingers and toes wiggling like worms in her clothing dirt.

“how’s it feel?” spencer asked as he plucked her baby face free of cotton. her smile, that spencer insisted was yours, pushes her cheeks into her eyes causing them to disappear. “like a group cuddle,” she practically sighed in content.

grabbing a random top, one of annabeth’s cartoon kittens tees, you got to work separating the fabrics. “miss bethie, could you look for anyone of your clothes and place them here. this is your pile responsibility.”

“okie dokie,” and she crawled through spencer’s button ups and some of your summer dresses, holding each new piece of clothing in the air, declaring victory before dropping it to her pile. you and spencer worked through and over her to make your own piles, spencer would iron his clothes and you would steam yours.

“all…done!” she gave a bounce to the bed causing her to wobble and both of you quickly shooting your arms out to prevent any accidents. “careful baby,” spencer gently chided. “let’s cross cross apple sauce,” lightly tapping her calf. she plopped her little body down, her pile tipping to the side.

“let’s do some folding. do you know how we fold?” spencer asked annabeth while you started to work on steaming your clothes. “i only see, not do.” her palms patted her knees.

“that’s okay, its real easy.” spencer grabbed one of his sleep shirts for a demonstration. “just hold it up like this, then push the sides in like this then fold. all done.”

you looked over to see annabeth holding a pastel blue top up, her fingers pinching the shoulders as she stared it down. spencer’s larger hands atop hers to guide her through the simple formation, he helped with a few more then she did one all on her own.

“easy peasy, lemon squeezy.” she hummed to herself.

“wanna fold daddy’s socks? he likes when you mix-match them.” wanting her to do another task to keep her occupied and get the chores done quickly.

she looked to spencer, matching brown eyes gleaming into each other, “can i?” asking excitedly. spencer kissed the top of her head, “of course, sweetie. makes my work day brighter.”

annabeth is used to doing the socks, the action simple for her tiny chubby hands. it was her first task once she started to join both of you on this glorious adult chore, always a soft hum under her breath.

it made you look back from before she was around, you doing this alone in your family home with music blaring in headphones, to then sharing a space with spencer and being a bit cautious of crossing a certain line with your knowledge of his germophobia. then one day a shirt got mixed with his wash then a loose sock with yours, then you both were just sitting in the living room watching reruns of doctor who with spencer mindlessly spewed out facts. when you got pregnant spencer would do the lifting of the baskets and you would lay back in your bed going at a slow pace with spencer beside you as he took folded pieces and put them away so you didn’t have to get up a million times.

now it’s the three of you working together with a three month bump barely showing under your lifted tee. something so simple and mundane when you were a teenager that was a tiring chore now shifted into family bonding time, seeing your husband and daughter talk quietly as she held up a pair of dark blue and neon orange socks giggling as she balled them together.

laundry day has become one of your favorite chore days.

-

a/n: inspired by @beansarecooler for an idea they left on a post.

[solbaby7]

S.M.O

pairing: azriel x reader

part 6 of the shy!reader massage mini-series

[ loosely based off the song Slut Me Out by NLE Choppa ]

warnings: sexual themes, jealous!az, swearing, possible typos, (idk dude🤷🏽‍♀️ I can’t help that I like men who feed into my daddy issues and Az just gives every time)

summary: Azriel’s offended to have been left out of the fun—however will you make it up to him?

[ previous part ]

—

Needy. Greedy. Sneaky, little shadows.

Silently creeping up on you while you’re distracted with the piles and piles of paperwork Rhysand had been attempting to make a dent in for weeks. But after complaining of the words blurring together and none of it making sense anymore, you’d sent him off with Cass to go blow off some steam.

You’re dipping a quill in ink when you feel it brush against your toes; a cool caress climbing the length of your leg in a barely there touch that sent goosebumps across your skin. “Why are you still awake?”

Azriel’s still in his leathers, the top few laces of his shirt is completely loose and you’re quick to pick up on the clench of his jaw—the flexing of his hands at his sides that were still wrapped in thick bandages to protect his knuckles from the hours spent before the punching bags. “I was helping Rhys with some paperwork while he’s out.” The crackle of the fire fills the silence for a few beats of time before you turn to give him your full attention. “Is something wrong?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Your head tilts to the side, a crinkle of your brow and Azriel seems—restless. Agitated. He makes a bee-line for the bar cart pushed by the corner of the room next to the window. It’s cracked open, a cool breeze sifting through the thin fabric of your clothes. “About me.”

You lean forward in the seat, elbows resting on your knees as you watch him fill a glass halfway and knock it back in two gulps. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Is something wrong with me?”

It makes your spine straighten, a clipped laugh pulling free but it fades off when you realize he’s being serious. Standing there, perched against the window with the glass freshly filled and there’s a look in rich eyes; something tortured and devastating that’s hard to definitively place. “Of course not. Why would you even ask me that?” Full lips part to answer but Az shakes it off with a scoff, nose obscured by the rim of his glass but the tension in broad shoulders is unmistakable. “Have I done something to make you feel that way?”

One full minute passes before he speaks again, voice much lower—much less confident and it makes your chest ache to hear him so soft spoken. “Cassian told me about what happened the other night. With you, him and Rhys.”

“Oh.” You shift in place, hands nervously toying with the ends of your hair, nails picking at chipped polish and dry cuticles. You pray the firelight masks the red tint that smatters across the apples of your cheeks. “And that upset you?”

He scoffs, finishing the glass and setting it down so firmly it chips. You don’t dare mention it, taking note of the restraint he was already exhibiting by creating so much distance, doing his best to keep his hands occupied before he scaled the length of the room and ripped that oversized shirt clean off your frame. “It didn’t upset me,” Azriel runs a hand through messy locks, sneering at the bandage that catches in the strands and rips it off so forcefully it breaks in two. “I have no formal claim over you—not like Rhys, but I had assumed that if something like that were to ever happen that…” Az’s shoulders slump, a vulnerability washing over his gaze that had you moving to stand. “I thought that you would’ve asked me to be there too.”

The concern melts away and a slow smile begins to form at the corner of kissable lips, voice as soft as the first few strings on a freshly tuned violin. “Az,” The way you say it forces him to look away in shame; embarrassment burning beneath his skin when his words replay in his mind and if it weren’t for your hand cupping his cheek, he probably would’ve winnowed away. “Are you jealous?”

“I don’t have a right to be.”

Maybe it’s because of how irked he truly looked, hands fidgeting and strong facial features scrunched up that prompted your touch to glide from his cheeks down to the strong planes of his chest. You can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palm and the cool touch of his shadows dancing through the strands of your unbound hair. “Don’t you though?” Lower and lower your hand goes, familiar ridges of hard muscle taunts you beneath intricately made fighting gear and something about the shiny daggers tucked at his hips has your thighs clenching. “I’ve spent just as much time with you as I have the others. I know your body like the back of my hand but I never wanted to assume—I wanted you to come to me when you were ready.”

He wastes not a second more, a groan rumbling through his whole being when he closes the distance and presses his mouth against yours like a man starved. It’s messy, sloppy as teeth clash and tongues touch but you can’t bring yourself to care about bruised lips and being perfect when Az was holding you so close—like he was scared you’d change your mind and run off. “Was ready the first time you touched me.”

Azriel bends at the knee, hands curling behind your thighs to carry you in his arms. It doesn’t last long, just enough for long legs to bring you to Rhysand’s desk. The mountain of papers are swiped from the table without second thought, ink pot seeping into the wool rug as ravenous hands eat at any and all exposed flesh he can get to. “You never said anything.”

“I wasn’t worthy of you then,” Something in his tone changes, something darker and more primal that sends a shiver down your spine. “I’m not worthy of you now but I’m too selfish to care now that I’ve got you all to myself.”

His touch is branding, the grip on your hips keeping you firmly pressed against him and the whimper that you let out is eagerly swallowed by his mouth. Azriel’s not gentle by any means, desperate kisses down the length of your neck and the mark he sucks into the juncture of your shoulder has liquid hot need pooling in your panties.

It’s positively whorish.

Slutting yourself out to the High Lord and his brothers but you can’t bring yourself to care; too busy tugging off your—Rhysand’s shirt to make room for the mouth making a claiming path towards your breasts. “Az,” You gasp out when lips wrap around a peaked nipple, back arching into his touch when teeth bite down with the most perfect pressure it makes your cunt clench around nothing. “Please. I need more.”

“Wait.” A simple command that can’t be simply fulfilled and you begin to think he enjoys the way you squirm beneath him. “Do for me what I did for you,” A cruel smile quirks at the corners of his mouth and you nearly want to scold your body for betraying you, legs parting at the sight of him so unhinged—so hungry. Azriel settles between your thighs like he was made to be there, shadows curling around your knees to keep you spread and self-consciousness has no place to rear her ugly head when he’s staring at you like the Mother had presented him his wildest dreams on a shiny silver platter.

“I can’t,” You can feel his fingers touching, pulling soaking undergarments to the side, collecting the drip of your slick and sliding it back up. A thumb ghosts over the bump of your clit and Azriel can’t fight the groan at how your hips chase the retreating finger for more. “Please, I need you.”

“Evidently, not bad enough,” You thought Rhysand was insufferable with his teasing. Cool wisps of murky darkness lick at the strong line of his neck, blending into the deep umber of his hair and golden eyes seem to glow ten shades brighten against such a contrast. “Keep telling me though, I like hearing you say it.”

How are you not to comply?

When his head lowers and presses a kiss to your bare cunt; the only kind act you’d receive before he begins his feast. There’s no running away, no squeezing your legs for reprieve when his tongue drags and sucks and fucks into you with such skill.

Azriel doesn’t mean to but he can’t help but work harder than normal, feeling some need to prove himself—each moan and whine, breathy whimpers and teeth biting so harshly into the plush of your bottom lip he worried you’d break skin and draw blood. So be it. Whatever it took to prove he wasn’t last choice; to prove that he was deserving of being nestled between your legs, slurping at your sex like he’d found the fountain of youth and vitality. One finger slips easily into your sopping hole, a second added shortly after and Azriel’s pleased hums send shocks up the length of your spine. “So good, Az.” It’s breathless, choppy, chest heaving and cheeks flushed with your hands palming at your breasts and fingers pulling on your nipples while he works you through the pleasure. “Feels so good—please fuck me. Please, need you inside me.”

His mouth glistens with you when he raises his head, chin dripping and fingers unwavering in their steady pace. In and out, in and out, in and out. Golden eyes darken as if scalded in fire and covered in soot. “Wait.”

Cruel. So devastatingly cruel and yet when fingers curl inside, rubbing deliciously against spongy inner walls you’re thanking him. Babbled praises and garbled pleas for more as you writhe beneath him but he doesn’t stop; seemingly entranced by a spell unable to be broken by sweet words and soft touches. “I’m sorry, Az. I was wrong—please. Please, just touch me.”

The hard line of his brow finally loosens but only an idiot would think he’d let you off easy. Handsome smiles and husky words nearly distract you from the stealthy way he rids himself of his pants, boxers swiftly following. A sinful moan at the sight of him fully hard and weeping at the tip. “You’re sorry?” Azriel’s fucking hung, long and girthy and so utterly beautiful it makes your mouth water when he holds it tight at the base and settles it between your folds—taunting, teasing with the weight of it but never fully giving. A free hand glides up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts, ghosting over your neck before sinking into your hair. “Tell me how sorry. Make me believe it while I fuck you stupid.”

He demands the impossible.

Words escape you when he finally fits the tip inside, feeding you inch after inch of perfect cock that you can do nothing but grip him tighter and whine. The first few thrusts robs you of thought, brain eddying to mush as he gives you time to adjust. “Azriel,” His back flexes at the sound of his name on your lips, eyes hazy and hair messy as he forces you to watch where you start and he ends. “It’s so fucking deep.”

“Yeah?” A kiss is pressed to your forehead. “Feel good?”

“So good. So, so good.”

“That’s sweet, baby.” The pillow comfort in the gentle tone dries up when his cock slowly drags out until there’s barely anything breaching your entrance. “But, that doesn’t really sound like apologies,” Azriel shoves it all back inside with one sharp thrust and the pace he starts is unforgiving. Hard wood digs into the base of your spine and your nails leave marks in the mahogany when searching for something—anything to brace yourself.

You can’t fulfill the request; eyes rolling back as the air is knocked from your lungs with each snap of his hips. Az refuses to stop despite your insubordination, a broken moan shoving its way past his pretty lips when you can’t stop clenching around his cock. “I’m—“

“Just wait for me—so close. Just a little longer.”

It takes effort to pry your eyes open, gazing up at him with glassy eyes and you’re tugging him closer to feel his mouth on yours. There’s no staving off the tight coil in your belly any longer, your release sounding with a pathetic shout and you can feel him filling you up, his hips faltering with sensitivity. “I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be—I was never offended in the first place.” A boyish grin on manly features, wings relaxed on the mattress and hair falling over his forehead. “Just wanted to hear you beg.”

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hi!! i love your stories and was wondering if you do requests? if not im so sorry to bother you!!!!! and if you do than would it be ok if you could do a bull kiri and bull baku x heifer y/n? again if not im so sorry and hope you have a good day!!

In the Fruit Orchard (Bull!KiriBaku x Heifer!Reader) [REQUEST FILL] 

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Ejirou Kirishima x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: In which you, a heifer girl, get a night with the hottest bull boys on Aizawa's farm after a trip through the fruit orchard.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Animal Hybrid!KiriBaku; Animal Hybrid!Reader; Reader is Fem; Mild Sexual Harassment; Reader Makes First Move; Consensual; Foreplay; Mentions of Milk; Breeding Kink; Deepthroating; Facefucking; Praise; Missionary; Doggystyle; Creampie Kink; Cum on Body; Aftercare; Cuddle Pile

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: I got this request a few days ago & had to give it a try. I hope you like it! -Jazz

************

They were the finest bulls on Shouta Aizawa’s farm. 

And this wasn’t just something said between the farm animal hybrids that roamed the 300 acres. Any time Aizawa had any guests over at his farm, such as fellow farmers, investors looking to buy the farm (which usually never happened) and visitors who took advantage of the farmer’s market he threw every spring, they always made a point to comment on the two bulls. 

“They’re so big and strong!” they’d say, watching in awe as one would toss several bails of hay while the other sharpened their horns on a nearby tree. Usually, every cow on the farm would be staring too, teeming with adoration for the two. “That’s why they’re here,” Aizawa would always say. “Nobody can handle those two but me.” 

And that was the damn truth. There was no one that could handle the brute force, cockiness, or hot-headedness of the bull duo. They first came to the farm two years ago.

Apparently, Aizawa and his husband, Hizashi Yamada, had saved the two from an abusive animal ring where they were forced to fight other bulls. You weren’t there when they arrived at the farm, but from overhearing from your friends, they were coated in bruises, scars, and starved. Katsuki and Ejiro – or “Kiri” – they were named. Since their arrival, they’ve been celebrities on the farm. 

You came to Aizawa’s farm last spring after your last owner died. You’ve enjoyed the rolling fields, endless apple trees, and comfortable pens ever since…but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy Katsuki and Kiri more. You’ll admit the first time you saw them, you were intimidated.

They were big, buff, and beautiful. Similar to centaurs, their upper halves were nothing but rippling muscle, from their thick pectorals right down to their rock-hard abs, while their bottom halves were of a bull––nothing but fine, dark hair covering thick muscles right down to their calves, thighs, and two hoofed feet. They always walked around with their bull rings glinting in the sunlight and steam protruding from their nostrils as they worked, sweat dripping down their skin in the hot sun. 

You never talked to them before. You were more than happy to just watch. You weren’t sure you’d even know what to say to them. You’d probably trip over your words and feel too intimidated because of how big they were and how they towered over your small frame, no matter your size or shape. You imagined that this is why so many cows and heifers loved them so.

It wasn’t private knowledge that Katsuki and Kiri were a hit with the ladies. You’d catch them watching the bull duo with heart eyes all the time along the wooden gates where the cows were separated from the bulls. If they never watched, you’d hear them gossip about the two all day and night, whether during breakfast or at night in your pens. “God, they’re just so fucking hot!” they’d dreamily sigh. “I wish I could have one of them for my own.” 

“Please, I’d take both of them,” another would chuckle. “They’re too sexy to choose just one. If I wasn’t already mated, I’d have them both give me their babies.” The lady cows would laugh while you’d just lay in your fluffy bed in your pen, your best friend and fellow lady cow Mina lying beside you. She’d turn to you in the late night when the pens were finally silent, her golden eyes glowing in the dark. “You’re always so quiet when the girls gossip about those two,” she’d whisper.

You’d shrug, staring up at the starry sky through the window-like hole above your pen. “Because I’m not interested in talking about those two like they’re pieces of meat,” you’d grumble. “Sure, they’re attractive, but it’s not necessary or appropriate.” 

“Fair point,” Mina said, “but come on, you’ve gotta admit that they’re hot as fuck.” She’d smirk at you with her pink lips and snout as she rubbed her big belly that she got from Denki, one of the male cows here. “I would go for Kiri, personally. He’s such a sweetheart. What about you, Y/N? Who'd you go for?” 

You just told her neither and went off to sleep as she giggled beside you, knowing you were full of shit. The truth was you’d choose both of them. You loved how sweet and friendly Kiri was, his bright smile and red locks always filling you up with warmth whenever you’d see him grazing or soaking up the sun in the mornings. But you also were attracted to Katsuki’s gruffness and how aggressive he got to anyone or anything that threatened his home. He once nearly pummeled a crooked investor who wanted to steal Aizawa’s farm from him, prompting the guy to never come back. 

You couldn’t deny the butterflies they gave you whenever you’d see or hear those raspy, deep voices that filled your dreams every night. You knew you had a deep crush, but you weren’t sure if you wanted them to be with you completely.

That is, to breed you. You were the only heifer on the farm so it was quite intimidating and alienating to be the only female cow who wasn’t pregnant, didn’t have babies, or wasn’t with another cow or bull. Plus, you weren't even sure you wanted someone like Katsuki and Kiri. You’d prefer someone who wasn’t on every cow’s mind and perhaps in every cow’s pen at night. 

That all changed the night Aizawa and Hizashi went out of town for the weekend. It was for their 7th-year anniversary and they would be gone until Monday morning. They told you all about it when they gathered the farm animals for a group meeting the beginning of that week during breakfast. “We’re going away!” Hizashi proudly announced. “To celebrate seven years of our amazing relationship!” 

Aizawa blushed when his husband leaned his head on his shoulder, slipping an arm around his waist. “When we’re gone, every single one of you will be on your best behavior,” he sternly said. “I’ll keep the house locked up, but the farm will still be open for visits from the public. Anyone tries to break in, the bulls know what to do. Otherwise, just be good and don’t make a mess.” 

Make a mess, the animals didn’t. But being good? That rule was never going to be respected.

After your owners left Friday night, Saturday night was as wild as one could get on a farm. A party was thrown in the barn house where music, dunking for apples, and drinking from the secret whiskey stash Aizawa stored away all took place. You initially didn’t want to go, but Mina talked you into it. “When are we ever gonna get a weekend where the farmers aren’t here?” she groaned. “C’mon, just for an hour!” 

You begrudgingly agreed though an hour turned into about three insufferable ones. You sat in the dimly-lit barn on one of the hay bails as a stool, watching as Mina danced with Denki and drank her fill of beer. The party was still in full swing, noise and hollering of the animals all around you that made you very uncomfortable. You sat stiffly with your cow-like legs together, your human hands in your lap. You did have to admit that you looked nice in your flowery sundress that Mina forced you to wear. You were secretly hoping to run into Katsuki and Kiri tonight, but so far, you haven’t seen them. 

You sighed, sipping on your iced tea mixed with a bit of whiskey. You wanted nothing more than to leave this place. “Hey, Y/N!” a faintly familiar voice shouted to you. You turned, finding Shindo waving at you as he made is way over to you on his powerful legs with a swing of his tail. He was one of the most beautiful horses you’ve ever seen with the finest black hair along his bottom half like on his head. His top half was just as pretty––nothing but lean muscle and the prettiest, green eyes you’ve ever seen. 

But not as pretty as Katsuki and Kiri. “Oh, hey, Shindo,” you giggle. “I haven’t seen you all night.” Shindo's tail swayed giddily as he looked down at you. “The other horses and I were down by the lake to cool off,” he explains. “It’s a real nice night. You should come out with me for a walk.” 

You blinked up at him, wondering if he was serious. “You’re asking me?” you questioned. No hybrid, especially a male, had ever asked to d anything with them before. “Yeah!” he laughed. “I was just goin’ down the trail to check out the apple trees and I don’t mind your company. Plus, you don’t seem like you’re enjoying the party too much. How come you aren’t dancing?” His smile grew, playfully so. 

You flushed, toying with the hem of your sundress. “I don’t really dance in these types of settings,” you sheepishly laughed. “Too many drunk shenanigans.” As if on cue, one of the cows––that being Sero—flew down the staircase leading up to the upper floor, crashing into one of the wooden tables. 

“Fair point,” Shindo chuckled. “C’mon, maybe we can get some before the drunk crowd does.” He put his hand out for yours, patiently waiting for your answer. 

You looked down at his hand for a moment, weighing your options. What if someone saw you leave with him and got the wrong idea? What if Katsuki and Kiri saw? ‘Who cares what they think?’ your voice of reason hissed. ‘You’re not even mated to them! They probably don’t even know you exist!’ 

“Okay,” you finally giggled. “Why not?” You put you hand in Shindo’s and let him lead you away from the barn and into the summer night. 

Once away from the barn, the night was quiet and peaceful. Only the buzz of insects, the hooting of a nearby owl, and your and Shindo’s hooves clicking across the path could be heard as you both walked along the dirt paths to the apple orchards, all planted by Hizashi. You often went here to relax and enjoy the quiet for a while on warm, sunny days. Shindo suddenly stopped and pointed at the dozens of apple trees in the twilight with the reddest, ripest apples hanging from their branches. “Here, they go!” He exclaims excitedly. 

He skipped over to one of the trees and you followed, giggling. He stopped at one and picked an apple, immediately chomping into it. His eyes close, taken aback by the taste. “Mmm, that’s good. Grab one for yourself.”

You did so, walking up beside him to grab an apple. You bit into it immediately, loving the sound of your teeth chomping along the crisp, juicy flesh. “Wow, this is good,” you hummed. As you ate, the summer breeze caressed your skin and hair, making the apple trees sway. “And it is a nice night,” you sighed, closing your eyes against the breeze. You felt so good. So peaceful. 

When you opened your eyes, you found Shindo starting at you. There was a strange, almost intimate look in them that you couldn’t quite make sense of. “You look beautiful tonight,” he commented. You snorted as a natural reaction, shaking your head at his words. “Really! But I’m sure your mate tells you that all of the time, right?” 

As he flashed a white-toothed smile at you, our heart sank into your stomach. “Uh, no,” you confessed, looking down at your apple. “I-I don’t have a mate. I’m still a heifer.” Even saying it, you felt pathetic. While it was nothing to be ashamed about and you knew you didn’t want any kids right now, you looked around at so many of the girl cows on the farm and wanted what they had: a mate. 

“Seriously?” Shindo asked, shocked. “How’s that possible? You’re so cute!” You flushed at his compliment, looking off into the night. “It just never happened, I guess.” 

“So you’re not with that bull duo all the cows seem to love?” Shindo asked. The farm is sayin��� they’ve got a thing for you.” You stared at him, wide-eyed, your heart pummeling in your chest. “W-What?” you dumbly asked. There is no way that is true. It can’t be. Shindo shook his head, tossing the apple aside. “That’s too bad,” he tutted, “because I’ve got a thing for you, too. I’ve had it for a while now, to tell you the truth.” 

Your eyes bugged out of your skull. “What?” you asked once again, louder this time. Shindo didn’t speak as he began to slowly walk toward you, a sensual look in his forest-green eyes. You began to walk backward, squeaking when you slammed against a tree. “Wait, Shindo…how would this even work? Y-You’re a horse!” 

Shindo just laughed as he drew nearer to you, putting his big hands on your waist. “Interspecies relationships happen a lot around here,” he chuckled. “Didn’t you know?”

His fingers began to slowly slip down to your dress, creeping up above it to lie on your bare fur. “I can treat you way better than those bonehead bulls, Y/N,” he whispered. “You know it, deep down.” He began to lean in for a kiss and you put your hands out to stop him, laying them flat against his bare chest. “Wait, Shindo,” you protested. “I-I don’t even know you that well. We shouldn’t–“ 

“I think she’s telling you no, horse face,” a raspy, familiar voice growled from beyond the trees. Shindo stopped, glaring into the darkness.

Standing there at the end of the path was Katsuki, fists balled up at his sides and steam billowing from his nostrils like in a cartoon. You heart flipped at the sight of him. “You?” Shindo scoffed, smirking at him. “What, you saw me with her and decided to make a move? You’re just too slow, ‘Suki.” 

“Wrong answer,” another raspy yet slightly higher voice said. From behind Katsuki outstepped Kiri, equally as intimidating with his long, red hair and crimson eyes. “We saw her with you, yes, but we’re not here to ‘make a move’. We’re here to stop you from takin’ advantage of this girl when she clearly isn’t interested and then ghosting her like you did to the horse girls on your old farm.” He tapped a finger against his chin, thinking. “And a few heifer girls too, if I’m not mistaken.” 

Shindo visibly gulped, realizing he’d been caught, while you stare at him in awe and rage. Did he see you as just that? A poor, lonely heifer to take advantage of? 

Katsuki stepped closer, his hooves stomping against the ground. “You need to leave her alone,” he growled. “Tonight and after tonight. If I catch you tryna make a move on her again, you better believe these hooves are goin’ straight into your head.” Shindo was visibly intimidated, but he still tried to play like he wasn’t. “Is that a threat?” he whispered. 

Kiri stepped beside Katsuki, crossing his arms over his buff chest. “That's a promise, horse face,” Katsuki simmered. “Now get out of here unless you want me to fulfill that promise right now.” Shindo looked between them and you, weighing his options. Then, with a huff and a swish of his tail, he turned around and galloped up the trail back toward the barn. 

You relaxed against the tree, glad to be away from him. “You alright, Y/N?” Kiri worriedly asked.

You immediately stood up straight, realizing you were here with the farm’s favorite bulls, alone, in the apple orchard. Other than that, you also realized that Kiri said you name. They know your name. You cleared your throat, recovering. “Yeah,” you exhaled, dusting off your dress. “Thanks, but I could’ve handled that myself.” The two chuckled, the deep rumble of their laughter making your stomach flip. “Never said you couldn’t,” Kiri replied. 

“You ain’t the only cow girl he’s tried to hit on here, y’know,” Katsuki added as he ripped off an apple from a branch above him. “He’s known for being a player and with you being a heifer, that only made it worse.” He bit into the apple, taking a big chunk out of the juicy flesh. “You should be more careful. Farm or not, you’ve got some creeps lurking around here.” 

Kiri elbowed him, stomping his hoof. “Don’t scare her, Katsuki,” he hissed before giving you a reassuring smile. “He’s just being dramatic, cutie. Only thing you need to worry about is not ruining that pretty dress of yours.” You flushed at his words, not used to receiving such compliments, whether blatantly flirtatious or not. “Well, we’ve taken up more of your night, so we’re gonna head off.” 

They began to walk off up the path, passing by you as they did. “You’re going back to the party?” you blurted.

Kiri shook his head. “Nah, not our style. Plus, it’s too nice of a night to be cooped up in a barn.” They turned around and began to leave you again like none of tonight ever happened. You found yourself wanting them to stay for a while, especially after that scare with Shindo.

“W-Well, if you want, I was gonna take a walk down the trails here,” you shyly said, piquing their interest. “You two are welcomed to join me, if you want.” 

The bulls turned toward you, looking shocked that you even said anything. But then they each cracked a smile that knocked the air out of you. “A walk, huh?” Kiri chuckled. “We happen to know about some other treats down there the way the others don’t know about. But you can’t tell anyone.” 

You nodded, signaling your silence. “Then let’s quit standin’ here and go,” Katsuki growled, already making his way down the trail though he stopped to wait for you to catch up. The three of you then begin to walk along the dirt trail, taking your sweet time among the summer air. “So you came last spring, right?” Kiri asked. “What was your other farm like, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

There, while walking through the apple orchard, you talk to each other. You tell them all about your  old farm and its beautiful daisy fields until your owner passed from their disease. They told you all about their past too, sparing you any sad details. You also talked about other things you liked and enjoyed, like spending your past time swimming by the lake on the hottest days of the summer and playfully arguing over snow (Katsuki hated the cold). With every conversation topic, you felt yourself becoming more comfortable with them. 

Finally, you three reached the fruit orchard that was blocked by a couple of thorn bushes. Kiri pushed back a couple bushes to clear a path for you, revealing dozens of trees and bushes carrying delicious fruit. “Aaand here we are,” he chuckled. You gasped, your eyes widening at the delicacies that surrounded you. You began to totter through the fruit orchard, ogling at the peaches, mulberries, and… “Blueberries bushes?!” you squealed, gaping at the two bulls who watched you in adoration. 

“And strawberry ones too,” Kiri added, picking a ripe, red strawberry from a bush. All for the picking. Some of the others know about this place, but are too afraid to come down ‘cause it’s too close to the road.” He picked another strawberry and plopped it Help yourself, cutie.” Flushing again from the pet name and his fingers brushing against yours, you took the berry and bit out of it. As soon as the sweet juice hit your tongue, you were in heaven. “Good, isn’t it?” he snickered, watching you. Your eyes fluttered closed at the taste, wondering how the strawberries got so sweet. “Mmm-hmm,” you hummed. 

You turned to Katsuki as you chewed on the rest of the berry, finding him chomping on a handful of blueberries he picked. When he turned to you, you started giggle at the sight of blueberry juice all over his mouth. “What?” he growled. 

Kiri began to laugh too, holding his stomach. “You’ve got some blueberry juice on your lip,” you giggled, pointing at your own mouth. Katsuki’s face turned a stark red as he went to wipe the juice off…but then he stopped. A crooked, mischievous smile suddenly pulled onto his lips. “Well, you gonna get it off for me?” he asked, obviously joking. 

You didn’t know if it’s the full moon, the fruit, or the whiskey you drank earlier, but you were suddenly flooded with confidence that made you slowly walk over to him. His smile faded as you did, wondering what you were up to. You shocked both them and yourself when you reached out to slide your thumb across his lip and suck on the juice from the digit. Katsuki stared at you for a moment, silent. It was enough to make reality kick in for you.

“Sorry!” you gasped. “I-I don’t know why I did that! I-I…” You paused, feeling humiliating overcome you. “I…I need to leave.” 

You began to turn around and quickly run up the trail, but Katsuki stopped you with a hand on your wrist. His eyes were fierce and intense like a raging, hot fire. “No,” he growled. “You finish what you fuckin’ started.” Before you could take a breath, he was yanking you toward him and pressing a rough, passionate kiss to your lips. His lips were soft and tasted sweet and tarty from the blueberries. One of his hands, rough from years of farm work, pressed against your cheek to deepen the kiss, the feeling of his touch making you dizzy. 

You pulled away with a soft gasp when you suddenly felt Kiri push against you, feeling his muscles through his thin V-neck. His hands roamed over your hips while Katsuki busily kissed and sucked on your neck, no doubt trying to give you hickies. Your eyes fluttered at their ministrations, the feeling of them everywhere around you heaven.

“We didn’t wanna say anything after Shindo earlier, but we could never deny how cute you were,” Kiri whispered. His hands trailed up your arms to your spaghetti straps. He pulled one down to kiss your neck, his kisses sweet and less harsh than Katsuki’s. “We’ve wanted you for so long,” he groaned. “We always knew you were the one, but we never wanted to push you. If you want this, we’ll do anything you want from your command, sweetie.” 

He paused his movements just as Katsuki did, his crimson eyes looking into yours. Neither one of them moved, wanting your permission before proceeding. The ball was completely in your court, and unbeknownst to them, you were ready to give them their winning score. You then turned your head to press your lips feverishly against Kiri’s, earning a moan of surprise. When you pulled away, his shocked eyes stared into yours, as gorgeous as the full moon above. “Yes,” you exhaled. “Take me. I want the both of you, too.” 

Joyful smiles curled onto Kiri and Katsuki’s lips. Before you could even breathe, you were suddenly out of your dress, completely naked in the silver moonlight. For a while, the duo played with your breasts, kneeling down to suckle and lick against the hardened peaks of your nipples. You moaned and whimpered to the moon, only that, the stars, and the trees witness to your activity. You knew that eyes could be anywhere––from the passing cars on the street beyond the wooden fence; coming down the trail from the barn party––but you found yourself not caring. Truthfully, the idea of being caught with the hottest bull duo on the farm turned you on even more. Your fantasies got the best of you, and before you knew it, you were suddenly on your knees with Kiri and Katsuki standing over you. Both of them stripped off their shirts and pants, leaving themselves completely naked. Your eyes eagerly drank them in. You didn’t know where to look––at their gorgeous bodies illuminated by the moonlight or their big, fat, thick, veiny bull cocks hanging in front of you. 

“Well?” Katsuki asked, raising a brow down at you. “You gonna put ‘em in your mouth or just stare at ‘em?” You didn’t need to be told twice. You started with Kiri’s cock first, popping him into your mouth while you eagerly stroked Katsuki, the pre-cum dripping down his cock making for some great lube. Then you switched, alternating between each of them with all the eagerness of a good little heifer slut despite how much your jaw ached. They were huge! However, the duo’s soft moans and grunts of pleasure egged you on, making you stroke a little harder and hollow your cheek out more. 

Kiri adoringly stared down at you, watching you take Katsuki’s cock in your mouth. “You’re so cute, sweetie,” he breathlessly chuckled. “Look at you takin’ both of our cocks like a good little heifer girl.” Katsuki moaned in agreement, his crimson eyes blown with lust as he ogled down at you. “Bet you’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you?” he grunted. “Havin’ us all to yourself.” 

His hips began to slowly rock into your mouth, causing his fur to brush against your face and his heavy balls to hit your chin. You moaned around his cock, your jaw and hand burning from the constant work you were doing.

“Mmmm!” you replied. That was code for “hell yes, I confess”.

To make it clear, you opened your throat for him, allowing him to thrust into your mouth a little deeper. When you felt his cock nearly hit the back of your throat, you gagged. He grunted loudly as one hand moved to grip your hair. “Fuck, your mouth feels so good!” he groaned. “I’ve thought about fucking it so many times.” 

Kiri snickered as he began thrusting into your hand, wet and sloppy with saliva and pre. “So much for romance, but even I’ve thought about that too,” he breathlessly confessed. "Guilty as charged. And she looks way more beautiful in real life than in my dreams.” Katsuki suddenly pulled his cock out of your mouth with a moan, his shaft wet with your spit. You gasped and caught your breath, your body hot and pussy wet. 

Kiri stooped down to press a kiss to your forehead, his hand caressing your sweaty cheek. ”Think you can take us deeper, cutie?” he asked. You slowly nodded, your head dizzy and slightly winded. Though your jaw ached, you didn’t want to stop. You wanted to please them. “One at a time, now. And let us know if you need a break or if you wanna stop. Just give us a tap.” The redhead hybrid demonstrated, tapping his own thigh three times. 

Then Kiri was sticking his cock in your mouth until he hit the back of your throat. “Fuuuck,” he moaned, beginning to roll his hips into your hot, wet mouth. You gagged and sputtered around him, your pussy throbbing in time with his dick in your throat. “Mmm, like that,” he moaned. “So. Fucking. Good.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust that has your throat squeezing around him and your jaw begging for relief. Katsuki thankfully gave your hands a rest, opting for just jerking off to the sight of you taking Kiri.

Then Katsuki was next. His thrusts were rougher and faster as he fucked your throat, urging you to take him deeper down your throat until all you could taste and smell was him. “Yeah, just like that,” he urged, his grip on your hair tightening. “Deeper, sweet pea. Take me deeper!” You did so, whimpering as you expanded your throat as if to yawn to the best of your ability while he was still plunged in it. He looked down at you adoringly, the sight of it like a piece of heaven to you. “Good girl,” he moaned. 

At this, you gushed all over yourself as you hugged your thighs tight against each other. Kiri noticed, stroking his cock to the sight of you on your knees with dick deep in your throat. “Ooooh, I think someone likes being called a good girl,” he chuckled. You suddenly felt his hand creep down between your thighs and moaned around Katsuki’s bull dick as they brushed against your sobbing, wet heifer pussy. “You’re leaking all over, cutie,” he tutted. “That just won’t do. All of that milk has to go somewhere.” 

Katsuki took his cock out of your throat, ready for what was coming next. You took a deep breath and recovered, spit all over your mouth and chin. Kiri bent down to kiss you, never mind that you just had another cock in it. When he pulled away, a string of saliva connected to your bottom lips. “Can we taste you, cutie?” he whispered against your lips. “And we’ll take turns.” He smirked up at Katsuki who looked ready to devour you. 

You slowly nodded, your body begging for release. “Y-Yes, please,” you weakly replied. In the blink of an eye, you were sitting with your back against Kiri’s chest and Katsuki’s face stuffed in your pussy, your furry legs hooked over his muscular back. “Fuck, Katsuki!” you cried out, not at all afraid if anyone or anything might hear. You wanted them to. 

Katsuki hummed appreciatively as he slurped eagerly at your cunt, his long tongue sliding in and out of your tight hole. “There’s so much here for me, sweet pea,” he huffed. “You’ve been wantin’ this too, haven’t you? You wanted this big tongue fucking your pretty pussy?” He continued on, alternating between sliding his tongue inside of you and up to your clit, sucking on it generously. You whined and squirmed against his mouth, not knowing which way was up and which was down. 

Kiri slid his hands to your chest, proceeding to pinch and tweak your hard nipples. “Answer him, cutie,” he teased. “You may look hot squirming around like that, but that ain’t an answer he wants.” He pinched one of your nipples a little too hard, causing sparks of pain and pleasure to mingle and shoot within you. “Yes!” You whimpered. “I thought about this! I wanted this for so long!” 

Kiri smirked, pecking your lips. “Good answer,” he praised. “Make her cum, Kats. I want this cute little heifer seein’ stars.” Katsuki’s crimson eyes peeked through the V of your thighs as his tongue thrashed against your pussy, pushing you over the edge. Your back arched and your voice rang out in the orchard, into the night. ”Cum for me!” Katsuki demanded. "Cum all over my tongue. Do it now!”

And like a good little heifer, you did. Your first orgasm of the night ripped through you, waves of bliss washing over your body as you came all over Katsuki's eager lips and tongue. Finally, he drew back and hungrily stared at you, his mouth shining with your juices. "Now it’s my turn, Kiri announced. 

The two switched so now Katsuki was behind you while Kiri eagerly ate your sensitive cunt, moving at a slower pace than Katsuki due to you just cumming. But you didn’t need it slow. You needed it faster. You needed to get to that second climax. “Faster!” you begged. “Please, Kiri, go faster!” The redhead obliged, moaning appreciatively into your pussy as his jaw worked like it was overtime. Your hand threaded through his red locks while the other gripped his shoulder, moans and whines of pleasure dripping from your lips. 

From above you, Katsuki suddenly moved to your side so the tip of his angry, red cocked was now at eye-level with yours. “Look at what you’re doin’ to me,” he growled as pre dripped from the head. “Just from that voice and this body.”

You didn't reply. You only leaned in and latched your lips onto his cock, sucking on the head. The blonde chuckled and stood on his hips for a better angle, beginning to rock his hips into your mouth. “You need more?” he cackled. “Such a little slut behind all that sweetness. Make her cum, Kiri. I wanna feel how tight her throat can get when she’s gushin’ all over your face.” 

The moon shone in Kiri’s eyes as he looked up at Katsuki mischievously. “Mmm, my pleasure,” he purred. “You can cum for me again, can’t you, cutie?” He dove back in, his tongue fucking your hole until you were squealing around Katsuki’s cock. “Tell us more about how much you wanted this,” he demanded. “Tell us all about that dirty mind of yours.” 

You were more than happy to. You wanted them to know all about the nights you’ve spent touching yourself in your pen, dreaming about them in your bed with you. Katsuki’s cock popped out of your mouth as you felt your orgasm beginning to peak. “I-I’ve wanted to touch you,” you moaned. “Wanted to taste you…wanted to feel both of you.” 

You gasped as your second orgasm flooded through you, Kiri still eagerly licking your pussy and his hands gripping your hips. It was all so good. All too much. “I’ve wanted you to touch me too!” you babbled, delirious from the pleasure as your orgasm rocked you. “Taste me…breed me!” As soon as the words flew out of your mouth, you covered your mouth. Kiri stopped licking you and Katsuki paused from stroking his cock, both of them staring at you in awe.’Oh, shit,’ you thought, panicking. ‘What did you just say?’ 

“You…have?” Katsuki carefully asked, his brows furrowing at you in an effort to make sense of your words. You felt embarrassment flood inside of you, replacing the satisfaction and bliss of your two orgasms. “I…I…” You didn’t know what to say anymore. You were scared to even speak in fear of saying the wrong thing and scaring them off. 

Kiri sat up between your thighs, stroking your stomach comfortingly. “It’s okay if it’s just a fantasy, sweetie,” he soothingly said. “We’re not judging. But if that’s something you want, you know that we’ll therefore be your mates.” Katsuki nodded, his fingers in your hair. “No other male could touch you,” he added, a fierceness in his eyes. “And we wouldn’t let ‘em.” 

“Unless you decided we didn’t work out,” Kiri quickly added to not make you feel uncomfortable. “But even then, you’d still have our kids. Would you be okay with that?” The both stared at you expectantly, patiently waiting for your answer. 

You were silent, your head spinning. Did you want that? Sure, the idea of being filled with their cum and their babies turned you on, but it was just that: a fantasy. Something that turned you on. You wanted to have children one day and finally graduate from your heifer status. You also wanted these two to be the ones to do it. But you had to be rational about this. There would be time for that later. “Maybe we’re moving too fast,” you admitted, still feeling foolish for actually craving this. “I want to get to know you two more.” 

They both nodded though still gave you that eager look like they wanted you to say something more. You sat up to take their hands in both of yours. “But,” you continued, your voice breathless and airy, “maybe we can play pretend? And maybe I can still be your mate without the babies?” You peered up at them through your lashes, hoping they’d agree. 

Their smiles were all you needed to let you know that your proposition was a definite hell yes. “I don’t see why not,” Kiri replied. “Whatever makes you comfortable, cutie.” You grinned happily, your heart soaring. Katsuki rolled his eyes, exasperated and extremely horny. “God, can we stop talking and just get to fucking her brains out?” he growled. 

Before Kiri could respond, the blonde was helping you onto your knees, coaxing you into all fours. “I’m goin’ first since you were too slow,” he grumbled. Kiri just laughed, letting him take the lead. Your body trembled as Katsuki situated himself behind you, his big body nearly covering yourself. His hands gripped your hips while his cock pressed against your entrance that was dripping with anticipation down your thighs. He felt big even now. You knew it was going to be a stretch to take him. 

Ready, sweet pea?” he asked, his gruff voice making you tremble. You nodded, biting down on your lower lip. “Let me know if it’s too much.” Then his cock was sliding inside of you, but just the head at first. Your mouth fell open on a gasp as you felt your pussy stretch around his girth. Thank God for those two orgasms. Katsuki didn’t move. He stayed completely still, waiting for you to give him permission to continue. After a few minutes of slow breaths and readjusting, you felt comfortable enough to take more of him. “I’m okay,” you squeaked. “Go ahead.” 

He slid inside of you, inch after inch of bull cock filling your pussy to the brim. You had never felt so full before. It was an indescribable feeling, especially when he began to finally fuck you hard, rough, and fast the way you craved. The harder his hips slammed into you, the more your pussy gripped him. You were a moaning mess, your voice loud and your breasts jiggling as Katsuki pounded into you from behind. “Harder, ‘Suki, please!” you sobbed. “Fuck me harder!” 

Kiri paused for a few beats, wondering if you were serious or real. “Don’t keep her waiting, Kats,” Kiri chuckled, his cock sitting against your lips. “Give her what she wants.” And the blonde did so. He gripped your hips for dear life, propped a leg up, and plunged his bull cock deeper into your soaking, tight walls that squeezed him tighter than a vice. “Such a good girl,” he grunted. “Takin’ this big, fat bull dick like this. Bet you’ve been thinking about me fuckin’ you.” 

You sucked him in deeper and deeper, causing his cock to glide against your G-spot. You wailed to the skies above, in love with his cock. “Fuck, Katsuki!” you loudly sobbed. “Keep going! Don’t stop!” Kiri chuckled from in front of you, his wet cock sliding against your lips. “You’ve got another big, fat bull dick to take care of, cutie,” he chuckled. “Open your mouth for me.” 

You did so, allowing his cock inside of your mouth. The two then began fucking you at the same time, thrusting into your tight holes in unison that had your body shaking and your mind going blank. Your pussy continued to squelch and clench around Katsuki’s cock, his balls slapping against your clit that was just about to explode. You moaned around Kiri’s cock and popped your mouth off of him, panting heavily.

“’S-Suki,” you warned, “I’m gonna…gonna…” 

“Me too, darlin’,” he groaned. “Your tight little pussy is gonna make me cum.” He then reached over your shoulder to take your chin into his hand, his thumb swiping against your bottom lip.“You gonna take it?” he snarled in your ear. “You gonna take all this cum deep in your cunt like my good little heifer? You want me to make you a mommy?” 

“Yes, Katsuki, please!” you screamed as your orgasm grew nearer. “I’ll take it all! All of it for you!” 

It didn’t take long for you to finally burst around his cock the way you needed to. You came with a long, loud moan that tears out of you as your third orgasm washed over you. The moment your pussy clenched around Katsuki’s cock was the moment he came too. He gripped your hips and swore to the heavens before he pulled out of your inviting, wet pussy. Only lewd sounds of his fist furiously pumping his wet cock were heard before a loud groan left his lips. “Fuck!” he bellowed as he finally burst all over your ass, coating your fur in his cum. 

“Wooow,” he drew out, laughing. “That’s a lot of cum, Kats! I think you ruined her!” “Think you can take me too, sweetie?” he softly asked. Weakly, you nodded, wanting him too. “Good girl,” he praised. “Just get on your back for me.” 

He then swung your legs over his broad shoulders and proceeded to slide his big, fat, hard bull cock inside of you, taking his sweet time and focusing on your body’s responses to him. “Gonna take you just like this,” he huffed as he began to thrust his hips forward, stroking your insides with his cock. “This is okay, sweetie? You still feelin’ good?” 

All you could do was moan, whimper, and sob at the pleasure, too far gone to form words. “If you ain’t gonna use that mouth to speak, you could use it for something else.” You understood immediately and weakly opened your mouth, allowing him to use it as a personal fleshlight. “Atta girl,” Kiri praised as you sucked on Katsuki’s thick cockhead. “Such a good little heifer, aren’t you?” 

You were. You were their good little heifer. You wanted to show them that more than anything, so you continued to hollow your cheeks to tighten your mouth around Katsuki’s cock and lifted your hips to meet Kiri's thrusts, brushing your clit against his pelvis. It didn't take long for your fourth (count ‘em; four) orgasm rose to the surface, threatening to spill over you.

You whined and whimpered around Katsuki’s thick cock, causing Kiri to plunge his cock inside of you a little bit faster. Katsuki leaned down, popping his cock out of your mouth. “You want Kiri to cum in you too?” he asked. “You want him to fill that tight pussy with his babies?” 

You practically sobbed as your orgasm hit you, causing you to cum all over Kiri’s cock without giving you a chance to warn him first. “Please!” you cried out. “Please, please, please!” You didn’t know what you were begging for, but Kiri continued his pace, moaning into the breeze as he chased his orgasm too. 

Katsuki hummed appreciatively for your climax, stroking your hair out of your face. “And after he's done, you’re gonna walk around with our cum deep inside you,” he murmured to you, taking you deeper into this breeding fantasy. "And then in a few months, you’ll be all nice and big with our kids.” His lips pressed to your ear, kissing you below your earlobe. “You’ll officially be ours,” he whispered. 

Kiri panted heavily from between your thighs, his cock swelling and throbbing inside of you, about to erupt. “Fuck, that’s so hot!” he groaned. “I’m gonna cum! S-so hard!”

Whines and moans left his pretty lips as his orgasm finally peaked. You almost were sure he’d cum inside of you until he quickly pulled himself out of you and pumped his nut all over your body. You weakly moaned as you felt his hot cum splash onto your stomach and titties, coating you completely in his scent. 

Your eyes fluttered closed out of exhaustion and bliss, soft pants leaving your lips. For a moment, you thought of all of that cum inside of you, both Katsuki and Kiri’s seed mingling together in your womb until you were completely full with their babies.

‘Maybe some day,’ you thought, and you believed it. It was impossible not to think you could have some sort of future together, especially when the two began to clean you up. They could only use their shirts to sob the cum off your body, but you appreciated it nonetheless. 

Afterwards, they both laid down on either side of you on the grass, trapping you between their big bodies. You laid your head on Katsuki's chest while your back pressed into Kiri's front. You were spooned from both sides, totally warm and comfortable. For a while, you just laid there in silence, enjoying the afterglow and the sound of crickets in the night. “That was amazing,” you finally sighed. 

Katsuki nodded, his big chest rising and falling as his breathing evened out. “Mmm, you definitely were,” he hummed. You felt his big arm cradle your neck, his hand lazily playing with your hair. “We can't wait to have you again…and again…and again.”

He leaned down to peck your lips, slightly sucking on your bottom lip as he pulled away. “Because now you’re yours, sweet pea,” he whispered in your ear. “We’re never gonna let you go now.” His words made your pussy clench excitedly around air, wanting desperately to have all of those “agains” and loving the feeling of being theirs. And them being yours. You were even happier to know that tonight wasn't a one time thing––this was a sure thing.

Kiri pressed his lips to your shoulder, using one arm to prop himself up to look down at you. “How ‘bout we all go down to the lake for a dip?” he suggested with a smile. “After a good cuddle under the stars, of course. Just look at this sky!”

He nodded up at the inky black canvas above you that was coated in twinkling stars. “Wow,” you whispered, in awe at the beauty. A happy, content feeling twirled in your gut as you laid with the bull duo, arms and legs entangled. 

You stared at the sky for who knows how long until the sounds of the crickets and swaying trees began to get you. Before you drifted off to sleep, you felt Katsuki and Kiri both press their lips to your cheeks. Kisses goodnight.

“Rest now, mate,” Kiri murmured to you, his muscular arms wrapping around your waist. “We’ve got you now.” 

You drifted off with a smile. 

THE END. 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

LET THEM FEAST

This piece was inspired by this Mickey Mouse cartoon as well as this early episode from Spongebob.

So tell me, do you wanna go?

The cafeteria doors parted, swinging open as any other door would—but to Fellow and Gidel, it was as if the gates to heaven were welcoming them. Humming chatter and the smells of delicious foods churned out from beyond. Deeply inhaling, tasting the aromas in the back of one’s throat, made their bodies light and floaty, as if hunger had made them weightless.

They followed a hoard of uniformed boys with trays, drifting to buffet stations loaded with dishes they could only dream of. Slabs of roast beef dripping with mushroom gravy, racks od lamb, game birds with crisped skin, fish glistening with herb butter, steaming stews with vegetables bobbing in a sea of rich broth, fluffy rice, cakes sliced wide and trifles stacked tall. The paper-thin slice of bread and beans they had for supper had never looked quite so sorry.

Gidel didn’t notice that his mouth was agape and slick with saliva until a cane tucked under his chin and closed it for him. Fellow pulled the young boy close, a hand on his arm as he wildly gestured to the waiting delicacies.

“Take a gander, Giddie! All that food’s free and ours for the taking!!” he chirped. “Ready your fork and knife, we’re going to eat like kings today!”

Arm in arm, the duo dove into the bar, grabbing as much as they reasonably could. Generous scoops of mashed potato, the biggest pieces of meat, plenty of sauce, the largest loaves. Gidel rushed about with an apple crammed into his mouth and Fellow snuck oyster crackers into his breast pocket (as a late-night snack).

While their plates piled higher and higher, the mob students grew more irritable. Elbowing them out of the way, snatching up popular itwms, and taking far more than their share had the tendency to invoke ire. The mobs casted dirty looks at Fellow and Gidel, others raising their voices at the kitchen.

“Oi, where’s the refill of tomato soup? I’ve been waitin’ for forever over here!”

“When’re the dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggies gonna be done…”

“I’m so hungry I could eat a whole horse. What’s the damn hold up?!”

“Be patient, boys!” a ghost chef callee back. He grunted as he hailed a vat of curry off of the stove. “It takes time to prepare the food.”

“They’re ravenous today,” remarked the lead chef. “Wonder what’s going on. We normally don’t have to prepare this much.”

By this time, Fellow (trailed by Gidel) had pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He set down his tray (the tower of food upon it wobbling, threatening to collapse) and waved enthusiastically at the chefs.

“Afternoon, gents! How’s it going? Looks to me like you’re hard at work feeding all these wayward souls.”

“Oh, um. Just fine, thank you.” The head chef blinked. He liked to think that he recognized all of the students and staff that came into his dining room, but he was drawing a total blank with Fellow and Gidel. “Er… Sorry, are you new around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you boys before.”

“Fufu, that’s right. We’re new to these parts.”

“They ain’t even students,” an angry mob student behind him piped up.

The lead chef startled. Worry crumples his round, marshamallowy face. “Oh dear, not students? The buffet is only open to them and staff.” He glanced at Fellow’s pickings. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to return all that.”

Anger and annoyance shot through the fox beastman. Tch…! Those NRC brats, looking down on me! Why should they get to gorge themselves on this stuff while the rest of us beg for their scraps?!

He reached down and gripped Gidel’s hand, giving the young boy a reassuring squeeze. Gidel offered a sleepy grin back.

Watch this. I’ll turn this entire situation around and have them eating out of the palm of my hand.

He let out a theatrical gasp, then summoned his most charming smile. “My bad, I forgot to introduce myself! You see, I am a health inspector sent by the Department of Magic Education to evaluate your menu! Gidel here’s my trusty assistant.”

The leader of the ghost chefs scratched his head. “Huh? Is that what a health inspector does…?”

“Of course, or cooourse! All a part of the job description, my friend.” Fellow indicated his absurd amount of food. “They’re looking to implement new standards for magic school menus—and where better to look at as a model for reference than THE famous Night Raven College? The education it offers is elite, so the meals it offers must be elite as well! That’s why they’ve sent us to try one of everything, to evaluate the quality of your wares.”

Gidel bobbed his head. (He had little clue what he was actually agreeing with, but he agreed nevertheless.)

“Come ON, you don’t seriously buy this crap, do you?” a mob student groaned. “The old fart’s clearly lying!!”

Other voices joined him, but they all fell upon deaf ears. The head chef’s eyes sparkled, his pasty white cheeks rosy with excitement.

“Oooooh, why didn’t you say so sooner?! W-We will absolutely do everything in our power to accommodate your needs, Sir Health Inspector!” He turned to his kitchen staff. “Isn’t this so exciting, everyone? We’ll be the first group of ghosts to receive a fancy accolade after death!”

A murmur of approval weaved through the kitchen. The dining room, however, erupted into a fresh round of protests.

“You’re joking!!”

“That’s such an obvious lie.”

“How can you believe that bullcrap?!”

Keheheh, never underestimate the power of this Fellow Honest-sama’s silver tongue 🎶 I didn’t even need to use my unique magic to cut to the front of the line. Some people are just born suckers and stay suckers in the afterlife.

He smirked, giving a triumphant twirl of his cane. “Sorry, folks! You snooze, you lose. We get first dibs on everything~”

“Hah?! What’d ya just say to me?” A vein bulged on a Savanaclaw student’s forehead. He was about double Fellow’s width and rippling with muscle. “Like hell you are!”

“The way you talk is pissin’ me off!!” chimed in a Diasomnia student. He drew his baton and aimed it at Fellow. “I oughta shut you up for good!”

The idea was a seed, taking root and festering among his peers. Other students were producing their own magical pens, out of pockets and from inside vests.

Fellow paled, balking but keeping himself between the mobs and Gidel. “H-Hey now, can’t we talk this over? Violence doesn’t solve everything, you know!”

“YES IT DOES,” the mobs retorted—in unison for once. Hungry and angry, a terrible combination.

Gidel whimpered. No sound, but Fellow could sense it in the way the boy retreated into his coat. A free hand found its way to the small of Gidel’s back, keeping him upright.

Don’t let them see you like that. Weak, downtrodden. It’s letting them have the moral victory.

His grin widened. He was a fox looking to sink his teeth into unsuspecting prey.

“Why spend your youth grumpy and causing trouble? You should lighten up, live a little, laugh a little. Here, I’ll show you how. Just follow me! Come on to the Theater!! Life is Fun!!”

Fellow spun his cane, releasing a light shower of sparkles upon the crowd. They floated down, popping like popping on their skin. Eyes glazed over, twisted expressions slackened.

“Now then!!” Fellow, raised his cane like a baton, still spinning as he conducted his herd. He, poised as the ringleader. “Right this way, right this way, gentlemen! Let’s have a lively parade to the courtyard on this fine day!”

“The weather is nice today…”

“Coach said I need to get more exercise in.”

“I’ve been stressed about classes, I need to take this break.”

Marching—one, two, one, two—Fellow led the procession out of the cafeteria. He belted out a tune as he ushered students through the exit.

“Hi-diddle-dee-dee, actor's life for me!”

(Gidel pranced in and out of the line of students, reaching into pockets and retrieving miscellaneous items. Pencils, a keychain, spare change. He stashed them under his hat.)

“A high silk hat and a silver cane, a watch of gold with a diamond chain!”

When the last student was gone, Fellow made a U-turn and rushed back into the cafeteria, slamming the doors behind him. He dropped his smile, letting it shatter like a porcelain teacup and not bothering to salvage the remains.

“Sheesh, they’re finally out of my fur!” Fellow sighed deeply. “Those rotten kids really had to make me work hard for my meal...”

Gidel scrambled over to him, pulling out the various items he had clumsily pilfered. Look what I got! he seemed to say.

Fellow brightened, ruffling the child’s messy brown mop. “Atta boy, Giddie! We sure showed those snooty rich kids what for, eh?”

At that moment, the head chef bursted out of the kitchen juggling a tray of apple strudel. He was followed by several other ghosts, each carrying a new dish.

“Sorry for the wait, here’s the… Huh?” The head chef glanced around the nearly empty cafeteria, his brows knitting. “Where did everybody go?”

“Must’ve gone out for a stroll Fine by me, they’re letting us get right down to business,” Fellow laughed, clapping a hand on Gidel’s shoulder. “C’mon, that’s enough excitement for one day. Let’s dig in!”

[wildemaven]

caught kissing santa | dave york

-> pairing: dave york x f!reader

-> word count: 1586

-> content warnings: 18+ blog; established relationship/reader is married to Dave and stepmom to his kids, mentions of food and drinks, non-religious Christmas celebrations and Santa beliefs, alluding to sexy time but no smut, kissing, mentions reader is wearing pajama pants, fluff, soft Dave, one use of ‘good girl’.

-> note: this literally came to me this morning and i whipped it up during nap time. Not beta’d, so all mistakes and misspelling are my own fault!! -> masterlist / holi-dave masterlist

“So let me get this straight. You saw Santa last night. In the flesh. Just standing in our living room?” 

You hear Dave ask Alice to retell her story again from where you’re standing at the kitchen counter, pouring steamed milk into your coffee. Except this time, he encourages her to tell it at a slower pace  so you both could catch every word of it. 

“Yeah!! I was thirsty and wanted to get some water. So I got up to go downstairs, but when I got to the stairs I could see him in the living room.” Alice says, sitting across from Dave at the kitchen table where there’s a huge breakfast of pancakes, waffles and all the sweet toppings laid out. Her excitement is infectious. Her innocence is still palpable and going strong, as she states she saw Santa with her own eyes. 

“And what was he doing?” Dave encourages Alice to share more as he spoons several helpings of  mini chocolate chips onto his stack of pancakes with a hearty serving of peanut butter melting over the top. 

“Putting our presents under the tree.” Her words were muffled by a mouth full of sliced strawberries. 

“Hmm. I guess that makes sense. Where were you Molly, when all this excitement was going down?” Dave looks over to the youngest of his two girls, who’s been enjoying her own helping of pancakes with a mixture of berries and chocolate chips piled on top. 

“Sleeping.” You snicker into your cup at Molly’s blunt response. Her mild temperament was proof enough that the apple doesn’t fall far from the Dave York tree. 

You turn and lean against the kitchen counter, so you can watch the rest of their conversation unfold. 

It took some convincing to get Dave to go along with your idea of dressing up as the Jolly Man in Red this year. Knowing that Alice gets up every night to get herself a glass of water, it was the perfect set up for her to happen upon. Thankfully Dave folds easy to your convincing pleas and a good make out session on the couch late into the night seals the deal. 

Alice had come to you a few weeks ago about the matter. Asking about the validity of whether or not Santa was real. She had heard her friends talking about how they were getting too old to believe in such a silly thing and how it was their parents all along. You could sense the turmoil of her wanting to still believe in the idea of Santa, but also wanting to feel a part of her friend group who seem to be eagerly growing into their not quite pre-teen selves. 

As her stepmom, you didn’t feel like it was your place to have such a turning point conversation with her. Wanting to leave that for Dave and Carol to broach the topic with her if it were to come up again, supporting whatever their approach would be. You told Alice that Santa is real and he makes sure to bring a little holiday magic each year to everyone, no matter how old they are. Your answer seemed to satisfy her inquisitive mind and gave you an idea to give her a little extra Christmas gift in case this would be her last year believing in Saint Nick. 

“What was Santa doing?” Dave sits back into the chair to take in the rest of what Alice had to say. His arms crossed over his broad chest. Your attention is briefly drawn to the way his gray nightshirt pulls tight over his shoulders and back, then quickly refocusing back to Dave and the girls. 

“Putting all the presents under the tree. He had a big bag of them, too.” Her arms stretched out to give him an idea of how big the bag was. 

You smile at the way Dave is giving her his full attention. Never letting on that he was the one wearing the suit late into the night as he placed each present under the tree in the living room, while you watched him from where you sat under a blanket on the couch. Snapping a few photos of him as he really got into character with each gift. Pausing every so often, his hands on his waist, complaining how miserable and hot it would be to actually be Santa in the thick red suit and beard for an entire evening. He even warned that your gifts would be lost if you continued to laugh at his misery. 

Pushing off the counter, you join the three of them at the table. Settling into the open chair next to Dave, as you continue to sip from the warm coffee in your mug. 

“So did you say anything to him? Ask him if he brought you anything special this year?” You ask Alice. 

“No! I was worried I would scare him away and that he’d take our presents with him.” Her eyes widened as shakes her head no. It warms your heart hearing her response to this whole situation, the exact reaction you were hoping for. 

“Oh! I didn’t even think of that. We wouldn’t want him to take everything away that he brought for us.” You say looking over to Dave who’s smiling into his own cup of coffee. 

“He also seemed a little busy once he was done putting all the presents out. So I just went back to bed. Wanted to be surprised when I woke up this morning.” You’re confused by what she means when she said he was busy.

“Busy? How so?” You ask before taking another drink. 

“Well—“ She pauses and looks at Dave, as if to search for the right words before continuing, then back to you. “I saw something else before I went back to bed.” 

“What would that be?” Dave’s gaze shifts over to you momentarily when he inquires about what exactly Alice saw. Clearing his throat as he adjusts his position in the wooden chair and grabbing for his mug to keep his hands busy, his grip on it tightened and his knee bouncing at a steady pace. His fidgety movements are a telltale sign that he’s anxious— valid, given the way Alice has you all hanging by her every word at the moment. 

“I saw you kissing Santa under the mistletoe that’s hanging over the fireplace.” Alice looks you straight in the face when she says it. 

Dave nearly spits out the sip of coffee he had just taken. Coughing into his napkin as silence takes over the entire room. Molly halts her pancake devouring to stare at you with a shocked expression. 

“Oh! Umm, well—“ You fumble over your words. Sheer panic runs through your body as you try to come up with something quickly as to why Alice would have seen you kissing “Santa”. 

“Hey, girls look at what time it is. Your mom is going to be here in 20 minutes to pick you up. How about you go on upstairs to get your stuff together. Brush those sticky teeth and get dressed so you’re ready to go when she gets here.” The girls cheer in unison as they both hop off their chairs and run in the direction of the stairs that lead to their rooms. The bombshell revelation is long forgotten now. 

“Oh my god!” You let out a big sigh and slump down in your chair, your head turning to see Dave silently laughing to himself. “She’s going to ask me again why I was kissing him— but I think you bought me enough time until they’re back from Carol’s.” 

Dave reaches over and grabs your hand, pulling you from your chair and into his lap. Your arms drape around his shoulders, your temple resting against his forehead. His hand smooths over your pajama clad thighs, the other resting at your hip where he gives you a few gentle squeezes. 

“Thank you for doing that for her. She might not believe in him next year, but she’ll have this Christmas as a fun memory to tell her kids when they’re asking whether or not Santa is real.”

“Thankfully all she saw was the kissing— or she would have been scarred for life.” Dave says between the soft kisses he’s giving to your neck. 

“You’re the worst!” Playfully hitting his shoulder. 

“That’s not what you were saying when Santa was showering you with all those gifts last night.” His eyebrows waggle as he looks at you, rolling your eyes back at him. Your face heats up at remembering just how many gifts you were given.

“How about when the girls leave, you slip back into that red suit— forget the beard. And you can give me some more of those wonderful gifts.” You whisper, as if your suggestion might be heard by two sets of small ears. “I might be in the giving mood and have a few for you as well.”

“I don’t know. Have you been a good girl this year?” Dave asks in a low sensuous tone. 

“The best!” You manage to say before his hand is pulling your face to his, kissing you with earnestness. 

The sound of feet bounding down the stairs cuts the kiss short. Alice and Molly making their way back into the living room to pick up where they left off with their new toys. 

“Merry Christmas, Sweetheart.” Dave places the softest kiss to your lips. 

“Merry Christmas, Dave.”

[runaway-dreamers]

Could I ask a Wally x Reader reunion request? Like reader found a way to leave Home and go back to their world, but they learn they can’t return for at least a month or two.

And they do eventually come back apologizing to Wally and then to everybody else. Some angst ending with fluff?

I may have gotten a tad bit excited by this ask.

[Part 1 ◇ 2 ◇ 3]

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

At the end of all I knew, I find the beginning of you and I.

The Everyday Life of Wally Darling

Word count: 2,070

🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

Demands piled high, and you were only so fast to fill them. You were tucked in a corner by the espresso machine. The revolving door of needy customers never slowed, their unspoken requests needing tending to. The jaded opening baristas were already planning what to get from the bar a few stores down . One coworker was taking orders and making small talk at the register, another was next to you pulling shots. Your feet remained in two squares, turning to and from the machine grabbing milk for the sweating ice cups and hissing steam wands.

A whisper from a passing shadow, "Smile more, you're scaring the customers."

You duck your head pulling your cap low. With shaking hands you attempt to pour milk into a pitcher only to have it spill, split by the edge. Rag in hand you wipe away the mess, but the blurring of your vision makes it difficult. The room threatens to spin as if wanting you tossed off your feet. Your stomach twists pushing your heart into your throat. Your body steels for the expected impact. Nothing changes, and the line keeps moving. Standing there inside your head allowed orders to pile.

Idling there disrupted the flow, "Y/N, this one needs regular milk, did you grab the right one?"

"Mhm, yes, yes. Regular." You barely finished your sentence, your voice fading. The cup had been placed on the counter where a hand extending from the growing mass snapped it up. You watched it until it was out of view, absorbed by the bustling chaos.

Turning back to the machine, something red glints off of it. Your single dangling earring taps against your jaw, but the weight of it soothes you. You sigh softly and the side of your lip lifts into a quick smile. It was a bright red apple cut in half with two little black seeds on it. When you touch it you can feel the smooth rise and fall of its shape.

A tap on your shoulder caused you to jump in surprise, "Take your break, Y/N, you're distracted."

With a nod you stepped away. The smile on your face flattened to a thin line as you grabbed your bag. For a moment you thought about leaving and heading straight home. The comfort of your couch called to you, but you knew leaving would cost your coworkers their break. Instead you slipped out of the store and walked to the gas station a few blocks away.

Reddish-brown leaves were falling from twisted branches high above you. The breeze rattled them, shaking them loose until they fluttered down, settling on the ground. Life felt like it slowed to a crawl with the colder months rounding the corner. You briefly thought about what sort of soups Poppy would be making, and if Howdy was stocking caramel apples. The gas station came into view.

Inside the parking lot, tucked behind the old building, was a dumpster. Around it were old buckets, crates, and wood in various stages of rot. Reaching tree branches from the other side of the fence formed a canopy overhead. There was a touch of coziness here as the sound of busy life faded into the distance.

Your favorite overturned crate was still here just as you had left it. Before sitting down you removed a carefully wrapped container from your bag. Half of this morning's blunt rested inside along with your lighter. Held between your lips, you attempted to light it. The flint struck once, twice, three times before a strong enough flame was lit. You held it to the snubbed blunt letting it take hold. The embers burned a bright red as you inhaled. On the exhale you let yourself comfortably slump against the fence, shutting your eyes.

This passing summer had been unbearable, but in the autumn chill you found yourself asking for its return. The cold ran deep soaking into your bones and mixing with your blood. You pulled your scarf up over your ears. Each puff untethered you. Smoke drifted out from your nose caressing your skin as it drifted up, the wispy tendrils passed easily between the strands of your hair.

Your hand trailed over the earring feeling along the shape of it. It was originally part of a set, but the other side had been lost in a pocket between here and there. It had been a gift, one made specially for you. Lovingly shaped by careful hands. If the other side remained in Home, you imagined he kept it close to him at all times. This gave you comfort as you remembered the time spent there.

When you first arrived in Home, you were greeted by a whole cast of friendly faces. Julie created games for you to play. Frank and Eddie would take you bug watching. Howdy always found ways to indulge your sweet tooth. Barnaby invited you out on strolls, imparting wisdom and bad jokes. Poppy taught you how to bake. And Wally was there every step of the way. Life back in your reality wasn't as grand, as you came to remember, but it hadn't been your choice to go. Just like it hadn't been your choice to leave. You were ripped away from all you knew and fell through a hole in the universe.

On an outing you brought up your confusing feelings while bug watching. Eddie had suggested that you at least keep it an open idea, and Frank agreed. There were no clear paths and not many options. Choices weren't a choice unless they were found to be possible. Everyone stressed that should the time come, the final decision was up to you.

You weren't fully convinced to stay or go, but at the time you couldn't rule out any foreseeable options. Despite how close you all had grown, you had felt that you couldn't fully belong. They all knew how homesick you were, especially Wally, and his words were still clear in your mind.

"Hmm, that is a tough one," Wally spoke slowly, his eyes looking thoughtful, "If you found a way home, you could properly answer that question. It would be undeniable, neighbor, whatever your deepest desires are."

You tried to remember things as clearly as possible, but every memory led back to the end. His laughter turned to screams, his hopeful eyes brimming with terror, hands struggled to hold on. The pull of the void was too great, and you fell into the endless darkness. All you remembered was his face laced with regret. He was shouting frantically as you were swallowed whole. All you could do was watch as the darkness consumed your vision. Twice you had fallen, twice you had to confront your mounting losses.

That day played on repeat in your head. You tried to scrub the fading fragments in search of subtle meanings. Were those little glances something more? The softening of his eyes, the pink of his cheeks, was that something you only imagined? Your bag was crumpled on the ground near you. With a rough shake you undid the partially closed zipper and pulled out a beaten up notebook.

Page after page were filled with grainy crayons and smooth colored pencils. Splatters of smudged paint obscured the already warped images and words. Those scribbles had been notes you kept while living in Home. You smiled fondly as your thumb rubbed the coarse texture. It ended up a collective journal meant to be shared. Everyone had pitched in and wrote something about their day.

It looked like the pages had been stained with a painter's used water cup. Over these stained pages you had tried drawing each of them from memory. It became harder to remember what they looked like, but eyes remained. Each one detailed and alive, but lacking familiarity.

Drops of rain fell onto the page popping your bubble of solitude. Your break was over all too soon. As you put everything back in your bag the thought of walking away returned, nagging and incessant. It coiled around your stomach and squeezed itself into a ball. Nothing about this was right. You left the gas station without a word heading towards the bus stop. They managed without you for five months, they'll survive one shift.

—------------------------------------------------

"Howdy has some caramel coated apples all neatly packaged at the bodega." Frank was at the kitchen sink washing a pumpkin. They were scrubbing in particular circular motions, dunking it into clean water every now and again.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Howdy said he got them specially ordered." Eddie was at the table sorting through some letters.

"I know it's just you at the post office, but I wish you wouldn't bring work home." Frank dumped the brownish water down the sink. They took a clean rag and patted the pumpkin dry.

"You're right, there's always tomorrow." Eddie chuckled as he packed the partially sorted mail up and slid the box under the table. He leaned back in his seat with a loud sigh. The sound of a knife splitting the gourd filled the kitchen.

Frank spoke up, "So.. Have you noticed Wally around lately?"

"I see him walkin' often. More so than usual, and very slowly, too." He drawled, waiting for Frank to share what was on their mind.

"Earlier today, he declined another invite from Julie." Frank's words dripped with growing concern. Their frown was even more pronounced than usual. Eddie could read the tension on his husband's body.

"I noticed that change in him, yes, but it's to be expected. Loss can-"

"It's our fault." They spoke harsher than expected.

Frank left the knife in the flesh of the pumpkin. The piece flopped to the side as it was let go. They leaned against the edge of the sink. Each passing second marked by the dripping faucet.

Eddie started, "Now, Frank, don't think that way. It won't help nothin'."

"No, Eddie, no. We both told Y/N to keep it an open option," Their eyes filled with tears, "And now look, they've gone! Vanished!"

Another long silence. Eddie was staring at the table. Though he wanted to remain strong for Frank he knew that he couldn't deny those feelings any longer.

Eddie spoke with emotion thick in his voice, "Wally leaves letters addressed to Y/N."

"Yeah?" Frank turned away, pain evident on their face, "And what does he say?"

"He says he wants to find a way to get these letters to 'em. I told him I'd find a way," Eddie chuckled at this, but his eyes were wet with unshed tears, "There's no impossible task for a guy like me."

They eyed Eddie's profile, "I think we could make that a reality," Frank spoke quietly.

Eddie narrowed his eyes as he sat up straighter, "How so, darling?"

"Dear, and don't be mad," Stepping away from the sink, a flicker of fear crossed Frank's face, "I was looking around the area Y/N was last seen, uh, for the void Wally keeps talking about."

"And why would you go and do something dangerous like that?" Eddie was trying his best to remain calm, he stood up from his seat and walked closer to his husband, "What if you went and got dragged down, too? Who knows what's on the other end of that thing!"

"I get it! I really, really do!"

"Is that so, Frank?" Eddie responded.

"Hear me out, please?" Frank stepped closer to Eddie, arms crossed and eyes searching.

Eddie softened as he looked into Frank's eyes, "Please be careful, that's all I'm asking of you," Eddie spoke softly as he embraced Frank.

Frank sighed, relaxing into the hug, "I think I found the hole."

"What? What do you mean?" Eddie looked down at Frank. He was holding him by his shoulders squeezing ever so slightly.

"I.. dropped a note through it not too long ago. It's right next to a field of wild pumpkins." Frank shifted on his feet.

"Was the note for Y/N?" Eddie asked. His hands rubbed along Frank's arms.

"Yes, and, well, see this is where it gets strange."

Frank stepped away from Eddie. Their bag was resting by the kitchen doorway. They picked it up and brought it over to the table where they dug around for something. Eventually Frank removed a notebook, and inside the notebook was a neatly folded note.

Frank looked at Eddie, "I got a response."

[irafuwas]

Electric Dreams Summary: Malleus’s 1000th birthday is coming up, and the Queen decides it’s as good a time as any to abdicate the throne. Plans for the coronation soon get underway, and when Malleus sits down to write a list of people he’d like to invite to the ceremony, he realizes that almost all of them are already dead. Content Warnings: Major character death Pairings: None Length: 16k (Header artwork from here)

You can either read it after the cut or on AO3!

I.

They bury Silver next to his father in the plot behind their dilapidated little cottage, just as he’d wanted. It’s a warm, sunny day, and the meadow around their home had lately exploded in yellow buttercups and golden cowslips and cool, hushed bluebells, as if the earth had flung its arms wide open in rejoice of the lone casket being lowered into its shadowy embrace. After they smooth over the last clump of dirt and the final eulogy has been read, the tiny procession splits up - some going to loiter in the garden, others heading inside the cottage to dab their damp faces and seek refuge from the heat.

Although Malleus and Sebek never did get to discuss the details of the funeral before Silver passed, they both feel confident in their choice of a modest ceremony – he never was one for frills and fanfare, after all. But even with the small crowd gathered, the cottage is livelier than it’d been in a long while. There’s a spread of traditional Briar Valley fare laid out on the tables – steaming dumplings heavy with ground veal and spices, piles and piles of roast pork and sausages, and fresh apple strudel topped with a blanket of powdered sugar - and Malleus and Sebek can hear the clink of tableware mixing with the murmurs of low voices all around them. But neither of them speak as they quietly sip on their tea.

After a while, Malleus gets up to refill his glass, and he realizes on his way to the kitchen that it’s Deuce Spade who’s been chatting with Kalim al-Asim outside in the garden for the past half hour. He glances at them through the kitchen window as he reaches for the kettle.

They’ve both aged considerably since the last time he saw them. The edges of Kalim’s eyes crinkle severely every time he smiles at something the other man says, but his laugh still rings out as loud and as true as ever. Deuce’s dark eyes crinkle in return, and his hair has frosted over to a dull white that rivals even Kalim’s near-translucent locks. He reaches out to pat a trembling hand on Kalim’s back once his laughter breaks down into a rattling cough.

Malleus turns away, frowning. He goes to rejoin Sebek in the living room, raising an eyebrow at the untouched plate of sausage still resting on his lap.

“Are you not hungry?”

Sebek doesn’t look up as he shakes his head. He sets the plate down on the table and rubs his arms as though he’s cold. It’s a nervous habit that has disturbed him since he was a child, and he scowls once he realizes he’s doing it again.

Sebek had lost his father a few decades prior. He remembers the funeral as though it were yesterday; it felt like he’d just finished washing all the dirt from his hands a few moments ago, and then he blinked, and it was already time to pick up his shovel again.

There are nights where he finds the black maw of the sky is somehow darker and infinitely vaster than usual. Its magnitude, its perfect darkness - blacker than obsidian, blacker than the purest coal, blacker than the gentle luster of a raven’s feathers – immobilize him. Only then, as he lies in bed, transfixed by the endless night, as whispered prayers begin to spill from his lips - at times haltingly slow, at times rushing faster than a waterfall - only then does he admit that he misses his father. The man’s death had ripped a hole in his heart that still hadn’t healed, and Silver’s passing had knocked him down right when he was finally ready to try and get back up again.

He never could comprehend how his mother had remained so stalwart and strong all this time, nor how she’s still retaining her composure at the funeral right now. He’s been watching as she flutters from one guest to another, thanking them for coming, and checking if they need their glasses or plates refilled. It’s striking how young she looks in comparison to his former schoolmates, and he wonders if everyone else felt just as shocked when they saw him and Malleus mingling with the guests earlier.

It takes a few moments for Sebek to put his thoughts together, and then he says, quietly, “I just… I just don’t understand why humans are put on this world for such a short time? What good does it do them - do anyone - to lead such short lives…?”

Malleus doesn’t know what to say, or if he should even say anything at all. He tries to think back on all the times Lilia had soothed his fears as a child, tries to cobble together an appropriate answer based on the bits and pieces of hazy memories that flit through the caverns of his mind. But he knows that nothing he comes up with would help.

Finally, Malleus replies, “Yes, that’s… That’s something I’ve long pondered, as well.”

Sebek balls his fists in his lap. “Damn humans!” he chokes out, his voice barely a whisper. “Damn them all!!”

Malleus places a hand on Sebek’s shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. If he cannot imitate Lilia’s soothing loquacity, then at least he can do this much for the boy, he decides.

The minutes turn into hours, and the small crowd begins to disperse as the sun dips low into the sky. The air is still warm when Malleus at last steps outside the cottage and begins to head home.

Sebek ends up staying behind the longest. Malleus can hear his sobs echoing through the forest all the way back to the castle.

The day he received news of Silver’s passing, a part of Malleus - a small part he never wished to think about or speak of - was surprised that he ended up living as long as he did. Malleus had always feared, in private, that the boy’s broken heart would claim him much sooner, and he never could decide if he felt saddened or relieved that Silver had waited so long before setting off to go join his father.

In the weeks leading up to the funeral, he’d often think of Silver. Sometimes, the Silver he remembered was just a tiny infant napping in his arms, and other times, he was a bright-eyed boy waving around a crude wooden sword in the air. Occasionally, he’d think back to their years at Night Raven College, and he could still clearly picture Silver’s entrance ceremony in his mind. Lilia was positively electrified that day - he trembled with excitement as he stood next to Malleus in the darkness of the mirror hall. The two of them exchanged proud smirks when the mirror announced the boy’s sorting into Diasomnia.

Malleus never liked to think of Silver in his final years.

As the decades passed, his once lustrous hair eventually faded to a lifeless gray, and wrinkles and worry lines tugged down at what used to be supple skin. And yet – even as he approached the twilight of his life, there was still that same glint in his auroral eyes, still that same air of nobility about him that hadn’t dulled in the slightest. And still that same stubborn streak he’d inherited from his father.

Even a weeklong shouting match with Sebek wasn’t enough to get the aging man to step down from the Imperial Guard. They’d both made great strides in their careers, and Silver was fiercely proud of his hard-earned title – the first ever human to attain the rank of Colonel in Briar Valley’s armed forces. But the aging man was struggling to keep up, some days failing to draw his heavy longsword without it crashing to the ground. And Sebek was quick to notice.

“You utter moron!” Sebek had snarled at him one evening. “You’re going to work yourself to death at this rate!”

Silver sighed. “You think I don’t know that? This is what I… This is what my father would’ve wanted, so…”

Any mention of Lilia always brought the conversation to a quiet end. And then night would fall, and then the night would turn into day, and their argument would begin anew together with the rising of the sun.

Malleus finally stepped in when he found out that Silver had cracked a rib while sparring with some of the new recruits during morning training. He signed the knight’s honorable discharge papers later that afternoon.

After Silver stepped down from the Guard, he and Malleus would often walk together through the young prince’s rose garden. They’d go early in the morning, before the sun had climbed too far overhead and her amber rays were only just starting to bleed into the hazy blue of the cloudless sky.

It was something they used to do from time to time when Silver was little. The rose seeds Malleus’s grandmother gifted him every year on his birthday were rarely ever the same - one year, he’d get a mix of floribunda and polyantha seeds; another, damask and tea – and he would hold the baby up to the rose bushes and point out all the different types of flowers. He’d tell him about how old garden roses differed from the modern varieties, and when and where to do your pruning and why it was so important. And the baby would listen and listen.

“Do you still remember how you’d try and help me prune the roses when you were little? I’d hold the shears for you, and you’d try to press down on the handles with all your weight, but they wouldn’t budge. Your entire body would shake all over with the effort and you had the most serious look on your face. It was always so hard for me not to laugh.”

Silver smiled but said he didn’t remember. He began saying that a lot as he grew older.

“Are any of the roses here the same ones from when I was a child?”

Malleus scanned his garden and pursed his lips before answering, “No, my oldest bush is only about 40 years old. Many of these flowers are the descendants of seeds I planted during your infancy, however.”

“Amazing,” Silver whispered. He reached out and traced a gnarled finger along the velvet petals of a young rose, still not yet unfurled.

“What is?” Malleus asked.

“Ah, I was just thinking about something I’d read in a book lately. It said there’s trees in Twisted Wonderland that are older than even the oldest living human. And I was thinking, long after I’m gone, those trees will probably still be standing there, right? And the planet will keep turning, and the sun will keep shining... It’ll be like I was never even here.”

Malleus furrowed his eyebrows in thought. “…And you find that amazing? You aren’t afraid to leave this world and miss all those things?”

“I’m trying not to be,” Silver replied, a tired smile tugging at his dry lips. “I guess I just...”

Silver searched for the right words. “…I just take comfort in knowing that your roses will keep blooming for you long after I’m gone, my Lord.”

Malleus had wanted to snap at him, wanted to whirl on him like a viper and spit, “But what will I take comfort in?”, but the words got caught in the lump forming in his throat. He turned away from Silver and cursed himself for acting so childishly.

At Silver’s funeral, Malleus’s eyes blurred as they lowered the casket into the ground. He tried to focus on something else, on anything other than the sound of dirt and rocks being heaved onto the wooden frame, and he clung desperately to the shard of a memory from what felt like a lifetime ago.

He’s standing in Lilia’s cottage, and Lilia offers Malleus to hold the baby for the first time. Malleus holds out his hands, but then draws them back in hesitation.

“And you’re certain I won’t injure him?”

“Oh, you’re such a worrywart. It’ll be fine…” Lilia thinks for a moment and then continues, “Ah, I know. Just think of him like he’s one of your roses! You’re always so gentle with them, aren’t you?”

Gentle. A word most would refrain from using to describe Malleus, what with all those rumors and stories of his awful powers. (The Halloween incident still hangs fresh in his mind.) But Lilia was correct – Malleus fawned over his roses like nothing else.

When he was little, he would cup their pleasant, pink faces in his hands with a featherlight touch and whisper to them the secrets of his child’s heart. And every year, when the juvenile buds slowly began to unfurl for him, stretching out their newborn petals in welcome of the boy’s fanged smile and glittering eyes, the joy that washed over him was gentler than any spring rain and warmer than any afternoon sun. They were more precious to him than all the jewels in the castle vaults combined - his own dragon’s hoard of living rubies, topaz, rose quartz, and garnet.

And so he nervously accepts the tiny infant that Lilia holds out to him and he shifts the child awkwardly in his arms. Be gentle. He’s like one of your roses. Be gentle, be gentle, be gentle.

The sound of Sebek loudly clearing his throat next to him ripped Malleus from his memories. He whispered a quiet “Thank you” and took the handkerchief from Sebek’s outstretched hand.

Malleus buried a piece of his heart together with Silver that day, and he buried yet another piece when Sebek passed away a couple of centuries later. And when a record-breaking snowstorm ripped through Briar Valley that winter and decimated his rose garden in its icy wrath, he found he simply did not have the energy to mourn any more.

II.

Malleus can tell that someone is standing outside his room. He figures it’s one of the young servants in training; he can hear her muttering the lines she must’ve been instructed to say as she paces back and forth for a few minutes.

Finally, a tiny voice squeaks out, “Umm, Lord Malleus...?”

Malleus looks up from the book he’d been reading and sees his door has been opened just a crack. A young girl dressed in a servant’s uniform peeks through, wide-eyed.

“Yes, what is it?”

Perhaps out of fear, or excitement – or a juvenile mixture of both – she hurriedly blurts out, “Her M-Majesty requests your audience at once!!” and then promptly shuts the door with a soft thud.

Malleus sighs and tells the closed door, “Thank you. I’ll go to her now.” 

“You called for me, Grandmother?”

His grandmother, Queen Maleficia, smiles broadly at him as he steps into the throne room. She bids him to come sit, and he lowers himself hesitantly into the empty chair – the king’s throne - next to her. It’s seldom that he ever comes into this room, and rarer still he’s allowed to sit there. The hard armrests dig into his elbows, but he doesn’t complain.

“Malleus, I called you here to talk about something very important,” His grandmother says with sparkling eyes. “Your birthday is coming up!”

“Yes?”

“Your one thousandth birthday, my dear. A momentous occasion for us dragon fae, for you’ll finally become a full-fledged adult.”

“Ah.” The cobwebbed gears in the attic of Malleus’s mind begin to turn. He has an idea of where this conversation is headed.

“And as such, I’ve been thinking… I’ve ruled over Briar Valley far longer than I had ever intended. I meant to step down from the throne and let your parents rule after you were born. But of course, things didn’t quite turn out the way I had envisioned.”

His grandmother’s smile falters for a moment, and then she continues, “But now, I feel certain the time is right. My precious grandson, you have grown into such a wonderful young man. You are clever and resourceful, and you have a passionate interest in history and foreign affairs the likes of which I’ve never seen in any budding politician before.”

“I know you’ve faced so, so much loss in your young life already, and you’ve come through it with such grace and humility.” She reaches out to clasp his hand in hers, and Malleus shivers at the shock of her cold skin.

“There is no doubt in my heart that you are ready for this. And that Briar Valley is ready for you.”

Malleus isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say, so he just smiles and then whispers, “Alright.”

“Excellent!” His grandmother rises and claps her hands together loudly. “Someone, go fetch me the members of the royal planning board! We have a coronation to get ready for!” She turns to Malleus, and he rises, too.

“Do go ahead and start thinking about whom you’d like to invite, my dear. I’ll have the board reserve some seats up front for your friends.”

Malleus’s birthday comes and goes with much fanfare and hoorah, and once all the confetti is swept away and the banners and flags are taken down and he no longer has to dread passing a window and risk seeing an effigy of his awkward face staring back up at him from the town square, Malleus takes some time to think about whom he’d like to invite to his coronation. He sits at the desk in his room, pen and paper spread out on the table before him. He sits there for a while, as still as stone, until finally, like a petrified creature released from decades of slumber, he slowly, stiffly reaches out, takes his pen in hand, and starts to write.

He starts with whatever names come to mind first – his old classmates and instructors from Night Raven College, the people he met during his brief internship, the politicians and members of foreign royalty he’s had to endure countless boring dinners and stuffy balls with. His little list grows longer and longer, and he grabs another sheet of paper after filling up the first one. As he sets his pen down after a couple minutes of hurried writing, he’s surprised, but pleased, at how many names he ended up recalling.

And now the difficult part: He must choose the fortunate souls who shall be blessed to attend the coronation of King Malleus Draconia. He smirks and starts with the first sheet of paper, slowly reading aloud the name he’d written at the top. And then he frowns. No, you can’t invite Kingscholar; He passed away already. You attended his funeral, don’t you remember? He picks up his pen again and draws a black line through the name. And then he reads the next name and recalls Sebek once complaining about how the television programs wouldn’t stop replaying Vil Schoenheit’s movies for weeks on end after his death, and he strikes through it. And he does the same for the following name, and the one after that. His list turns into a jumble of scratchy lines, and then he moves to the second sheet, crossing out one name after the next. He realizes with a shaky sigh that most of these people are already dead.

But there is one name that he’s not so sure about, it’s the only one that stands unmarred in his clean handwriting amidst the mess of black ink: Ortho Shroud, younger brother of the late Idia Shroud. He can’t remember the last time he’d seen the tall, lanky figure of the elder brother, but he’s certain he wasn’t at Silver’s funeral. Only Ortho attended; he’d mentioned something about once treating some injury or other that Silver had incurred at the equestrian club. Malleus had smiled as he listened to the story back then, and he smiles again now as he recalls Ortho’s animated figure telling the tale.

He leans back in his chair and rests his chin on his hand as he thinks. Malleus never quite grasped just what the boy was, only that he wasn’t quite human, but not fully machine, either. If he truly was some form of inorganic creature, then perhaps there’s a chance that he’s still…

Malleus moves aside his stationery with a sweep of his arm and pulls out the laptop he keeps stored in the drawer underneath his desk. The construction of Briar Valley’s first nationwide power grid and internet network had recently been completed a couple of centuries ago, and electricity now thrummed throughout the land. It took some getting used to, especially for a folk so accustomed to their magic, but the citizens quickly grew to enjoy the novelties of television and the world wide web. Malleus had also recently learned of the wonders of online chess, and he proudly considered himself a bit of a gamer.

He opens up his email and begins his search. There is a faint memory that clings weakly to his brain of Lilia sending him a message not long after he’d departed for the Land of Red Dragons. There was a grainy picture attached showing Lilia’s pale, outstretched hand, his nails painted cherry red, pointing to some snowcapped mountains towering in the distance. If his memory serves right, Lilia had sent that email to a number of addresses, and one of them might’ve had Ortho’s name in it. He scrolls through his archived folders and clicks on the one he created just for Lilia’s old emails. It takes only a moment to find the message he was thinking of. He remembers now that it was the last time he’d ever heard from the man. He didn't see Lilia again until Silver dutifully retrieved his small body from those frozen peaks.

He doesn’t dare open the attached picture. He quickly scans through the list of names and addresses in the “to” field until he finds the one he was hoping to see, and with shaking hands, he begins a new email. He types a curt message asking the boy how he’s been and if he’d like to stop by for a few days so they can catch up.

He clicks “send”, and then folds his hands in his lap as he waits for a response.

III.

Ortho comes to Briar Valley later that week, and Malleus is surprised at the pure quietness of the boy’s arrival. He’d expected something more grandiose from a member of the Shroud clan, like dark clouds of smoke and exhaust and great explosions of light. But there is none of that – Ortho merely descends from the sky with all the whispered elegance of an owl gliding through a nighttime forest, and he alights a few meters away from where Malleus had been waiting for him in the courtyard.

They shake hands and say their hellos, and Ortho adds that the current director of Styx sends her greetings. Malleus raises a thin, black eyebrow at this.

His curiosity piqued, he asks, “Is she, ah, descended from your brother, then?”

Ortho laughs, high and bright like the aluminum wind chines that hang from some of the trees in the courtyard. “Oh, no! My big brother never got married or had children. After he passed away, another branch family in the Shroud clan took over Styx, and their descendants have been running things at the Island of Woe ever since.”

As they walk towards the castle gates, Ortho explains that the new management agreed to let him stay with them after his brother died, and he’s been spending most of his time the past few centuries overseeing the island’s security system. (Apparently, he can operate it remotely via “satellite”, but for Malleus the word only conjures up visions of the moon, and he tilts his head in perplexment.)

Malleus asks, “And you’re absolutely sure it’s alright for you to be here? I don’t want any problems with Styx, especially not so soon before the coronation.” His grandmother had scowled deeply when he told her whom he’d been planning to invite, and he was eager to assuage her concerns.

“Yeah, Styx is still as secretive as ever, but they’re pretty lax when it comes to me leaving the island. As long as I don’t divulge any top-secret info, of course.” Ortho finishes with a wink.

“I see. Good, then let me show you to where you’ll be staying.”

They walk together to Ortho’s guest room, and the castle servants scatter before them like a parted sea. Malleus knows they’re staring; he can see the white faces of the chambermaids peeking out from behind half-shut doors, but he doesn’t mind. He remembers how intrigued he’d been when he first met Idia Shroud and the little robot that always seemed to be hovering in his shadow. And how shocked he was when the device opened its mouth and began to speak.

Malleus, too, finds himself glancing now and then at the boy walking beside him. He doesn’t look much different from how Malleus remembers. He’s not grown any taller, and his fiery hair isn’t any longer than before. He still has that soft, round face, and those striking yellow eyes and that small mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth.

Later, while Ortho unpacks his charging apparatus and surveys the room for the closest outlet, Malleus asks the question that’d been pestering him since his guest’s arrival.

“Ah, it made my big brother uncomfortable whenever he saw my face, so that’s why I always wore either a visor or a mask while he was alive. Since he’s gone now, I don’t bother with covering up my face anymore.”

“What? Why would your face make him uncomfortable?”

Ortho looks over his shoulder from where he’s kneeling before the outlet he selected. He states plainly, “Because it reminded him too much of his little brother, Ortho Shroud.”

Malleus blinks. And then he frowns. “Wait…. Seeing your face – you, his little brother, Ortho Shroud – reminded him too much of his little brother…. Ortho Shroud. And that made him… uncomfortable?”

“Correct!” Ortho grins like an absolute imp, and Malleus wonders if he’d been studying up on fae humor before coming here.

“….I must say, the more I learn about your family, the more bizarre you all sound.”

Ortho laughs again. “You have no idea.”

Once Ortho is done packing, Malleus asks if he’d like to go tour the valley with him. He answers with an excited “Absolutely!”, and they make their way back out to the courtyard. The day is still young, and a sky as blue as freshly picked morning glories greets them once they step outside.

At the castle gates, Malleus asks Ortho to wait a moment. He squats before the boy and takes his smaller hands into his own. Lilia had once told him that children listen better when adults get down to their level, and Malleus wants to make absolutely sure that Ortho understands the gravity of what he’s about to say.

“Listen to me well, Little Shroud. Most of the fae here are kind and virtuous people, and I trust the castle staff not to lay a hand on you. But I cannot say the same about our townspeople and countrymen. I fear a young child of man like you… Yes, even one made of cool metal and not the warmth of living flesh and blood, will attract those who wish you harm. If, when we are away from the castle, I take your hand and draw you close to me, you must not let go, for it means they are near. You must not listen to their whispered temptations; you must not believe their siren lies. Do you understand? If they gaze at you with eyes of black fire, if they promise you Heaven’s greatest rewards, if you turn to them and see your brother’s face and hear his voice calling out your name, you must look away. Can you promise me you will do that?”

Ortho nods his head slowly, and they set off.

They begin with a cursory flight over the valley; Ortho using his machinery, and Malleus his magic. Malleus restricts his speed at first, concerned he might accidentally leave the boy behind. He’s pleasantly surprised to find Ortho easily keeping pace with him, and when he cries out into cold winds asking if they might go a bit faster, Ortho responds with a thumbs up and a sharp-toothed smile.

And so they race over the castle town, past the church, whose twin spires watch over the land like a pair of dark sentinels, past the cobbled streets and the timber houses of the residential districts, past the bustling marketplace and the quiet town square. Malleus explains how all the buildings radiate around the castle like the petals of a flower surrounding its pistil, and he points down to the linden trees - dull and naked in their meager spring attire - that line nearly every street. He tells Ortho that come summer, the whole town will be bathed in their flowers’ intoxicating perfume, warm and soft and sweet like honeysuckle. The cool breeze feels delicious on Ortho’s skin, and the low buzz of Malleus’s voice beside him is as tender as the overhead sun.

As they circle overhead once more, Ortho is surprised that no one seems to pay them any mind. Not the merchants behind their stalls, and not the townspeople passing by; not the swarm of children playing tag in the maze of shadowy back alleys; not the red-faced shepherd barking at his sheep to move, and not his perfectly unhurried sheep. None of them so much as glance their way as they fly by. Ortho glides next to Malleus and asks him why that is, and Malleus laughs. “My people are deeply intertwined with magic; it courses through our veins from the moment we enter this world. Seeing two people soaring through the sky is no more riveting to us than a toad that hops or a cow that lows. Many of us begin flying at a few months old, after all.” Malleus laughs again as Ortho’s mouth drops open in astonishment.

They leave the castle town behind them, flying faster and faster, beyond the evergreen forests and the rolling hillsides and the miles of grassy fields glimmering with white snowdrops and yellow daffodils. Malleus describes with a smile how beautiful the valley looks in the summer, when the wheat is heavy and ripe for harvest and the modest green farmland transforms into an ocean of gold. He loves windy summer days especially, loves how the acres and acres of wheat undulate and dance in time to the rhythm of the breeze, the entire countryside sighing and rolling like gilded waves as far as the eye can see.

They press on, and Malleus leads Ortho towards the mountain range that rises in the distance like the spikes on a dragon’s back. The farmland below transforms once more into lush grasslands and forests, and a massive river cuts across the valley plateau.

The sight reminds Ortho of a passage he’d read in one of his travel guides:

“Briar Valley is a relatively small nation, flanked on all sides by jagged mountains and bisected by a massive, winding river that many of the locals continue to worship as an ancient Lindwurm. The winters are bitter cold, and the summers are pleasantly warm; it is a fertile land, and the majority of the county’s foodstuffs is produced within Briar Valley’s borders.”

Ortho’s eyes follow the twisting body of the river, and he can easily imagine why the fae revere it as a deity - the mouth of the great waterway stretches infinitely wide like the jaws of a python as it spills into the freezing ocean. But it’s the mountains that truly take his breath away. They are a thousand times bigger and a hundred times darker than what he’d been envisioning based on the photos he’d seen, and their obsidian bulk nearly consumes the skyline.

Malleus points a pale, clawed finger at the angry mass of black rock and stone that rises up taller than all the others. “That is the Forbidden Mountain,” he shouts above the roar of the wind. “Legend says the Thorn Witch once ruled over the valley from atop its peak.”

“It’s amazing!” Ortho shouts back.

They stay there for a while, quietly admiring the black obelisks towering before them. Ortho almost wonders if the Thorn Fairy might still be lurking up there somewhere on that dark peak, the shadow of her terrible specter still searching in vain for the lost princess after all these millennia. He dispels the thought with a shiver.

Finally, Malleus turns to Ortho and says, “Come, let us return to the castle town. There’s a place I want to show you.”

Even from high above, the church had looked magnificent; and now, standing before it on the ground, it’s absolutely breathtaking. The fae’s connection with Nature - a glorious mixture of reverence and intimacy – is evident all throughout the building’s architecture. The façade is richly decorated with a host of stone creatures: rearing bucks locked eternally in battle, golden eagles and barn owls and songbirds frozen in flight, and foxes and hares circling each other in an endless hunt. From up close, Ortho now sees that the bulging lines he’d noticed winding around the twin spires are delicately sculpted rose vines, replete with thorns and all. Jagged spikes erupt down the spines of the flying buttresses, reminiscent of a beast Ortho doesn’t quite want to think about, and they stretch and yawn as they support the heavy weight of the towering walls. As they circle the building, Malleus happily points out all the different gargoyles that snarl at them from their guard posts up high; Ortho had nearly overlooked them in the forest of masonry and metalwork, and he stumbles as he tilts his head further and further back just trying to take it all in. All the travel guides that he’d downloaded had lavishly praised the church as the “Pinnacle of the Briar Valley Gothic style”, and now he understands why.

Malleus ushers Ortho towards the heavy bronze doors at the entrance of the church, and they head inside. A few members of the laity sit hunched over in the wooden pews within, murmuring prayers in a language that Ortho cannot understand. His eyes flick up to Malleus’s face, and then down to his hands, which lay unmoving against his side. After a moment’s hesitation, Ortho takes a step forward, and then another, and he quietly walks down to the end of the aisle, walking just the slightest bit faster whenever he has to pass one of the fae mulling about. Finally, he reaches the apse and the alter. He doesn’t notice Malleus joining him a moment later; he is far too entranced by the stained-glass windows that tower before him. The afternoon sun spills through the windows and pools onto the floor below, bathing him and Malleus in a shower of multicolored light.

In his mind’s eye, Ortho can see the master architect urging his laborers to keep building higher, to push the spires taller, up into the sky, closer and closer to the seat of Heaven’s mighty throne. He can see the sculptors playing with light as though it were clay, molding it in their calloused hands and transforming it into the countless stained-glass windows that crown the head of the altar. He thinks about the townspeople emerging from their dull and darkened homes and blinking into the bright light of the completed church for the first time. What must they have felt? Had their hearts ached for something they couldn’t find the name for, like his heart aches now? Had their eyes burned hot with the threat of strange and unfamiliar tears, like his eyes are burning now? Had they felt as overwhelmed and insignificant and small and suffocated as he is feeling now?  Oh, and to think! To consider - how many weary pilgrims, how many desperate worshipers and weathered souls have stood in this very same spot before him, gazing up at these same venerated panes of kaleidoscopic glass and feeling what he feels; how many millennia upon millennia has this architectural wonder united the peoples of its creator in whispered awe and indescribable rapture!

Ortho takes a shuddering breath, and he steps back to admire the windows once more. He’s seen tracery like this elsewhere, in the churches of the Queendom of Roses and the cathedrals of the City of Flowers. The square sections of glass come together to create a series of fantastic images, and they remind Ortho of the illustrated fairytale books he used to read with his brother when they were little.

Ortho tilts his head back and focuses on the pictures up at the very top.

He sees:

The golden fields of corn and wheat that dot the valley’s farmlands.

Lush forests, twisting rivers, towering mountains, and azure lakes.

Smiling children - with horns and antlers sprouting from their foreheads and wings fluttering on their backs - dancing in a circle, arms linked together.

A fae mother sitting before her cottage and nursing her child, the baby’s tiny horns but white specks on its head.

Ortho’s eyes travel further down. The glass panes gradually transition from cool greys and blues and bright yellows to duller oranges and reds. Further and further down, the redder the panes become, like tongues of fire spilling over the window.

He sees an image of a human man and a fae woman holding hands, with shy smiles on their faces. Both the woman’s wings and the human are gone in the next image, and her smile has warped into a scream. He can’t quite tell what happens after that.

“What is that grey substance the humans are forging in that pane there?”

“Iron.” Malleus hisses the word, as though it burns him just to say it.

Ortho doesn’t say anything as he turns back to look at the windows.

He sees:

Human and fae armies marching towards each other with swords drawn and war flags raised.

Villages engulfed in flames.

A smokey battlefield littered with armored bodies.

Flashes of lightning splitting a crimson sky.

And finally, the last image: A black dragon, its wings spread wider than a hurricane. The glass surrounding it blazes as red as blood.

“Malleus Draconia… What… is this?”

“My people’s history. Our triumph.”

Malleus swallows thickly, and then he whispers, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

All Ortho can do is nod. He dare not defile this place any further with his words.

It’s late afternoon by the time they return to the castle. They head to the dining room to get some lunch, and Ortho watches wide-eyed as a horde of servants materialize as soon as Malleus takes his seat.

Malleus lifts his hand, and a servant steps forward to slide the day’s menu into his waiting fingers. He contemplates for a moment, and then announces he will have the slow roasted pork shoulder served with shredded sauerkraut, potato dumplings, and gravy. A young chambermaid asks if Ortho would like any refreshments, as well, and he declines her kind offer with a smile. His oral intake unit isn’t equipped, and he doesn’t feel bothered enough to go fetch it from his room. He looks around the dining room while they wait for the food to be served. It resembles a grand hall more than anything else, with a massive glass chandelier hanging overhead and several huge windows lining the walls, and he figures the long table they’re sitting at could easily seat over thirty guests. 

Presently, the head chef and sous chefs and other kitchen assistants march out in a line. The assistants all carry a silver cloche server in hand, and they remove the domed covers with a flourish as they set the trays down before Malleus. The pork shoulder has been roasted to a brown perfection, and a thick, crispy layer of fat sits atop each slice of meat. The gravy is dense and richly seasoned, and the sauerkraut is the most beautiful shade of lavender that Ortho has ever seen. A stack of steaming potato dumplings completes the ensemble. The head chef nervously searches the prince’s face for the slightest sign of approval or dissatisfaction, and his shoulders sag in relief when Malleus dismisses the troupe with the wave of a hand. The head chef bows deeply, followed in turn by the sous chefs and other kitchen assistants, and they file back to the kitchen as efficiently as they came.

The entire spectacle delights Ortho, and he kicks his feet in excitement while he waits for Malleus to finish eating. He imagines how the dining room must look like when the castle is hosting a party, when the heavy window curtains are pulled back and the rays pouring in from the evening sun dance across the rows of silver plates and golden goblets and the entire room erupts into light. And he thinks of gaudy princes and princesses discussing the silliest of things in their ridiculous costumes, and tireless knights prowling the castle grounds in search of hidden marauders and ne'er-do-wells, and he thinks of royal balls that last until the first light of dawn pierces the sky when it’s still not quite morning but no longer night, and other such things that tickle a child’s heart.

After lunch, Malleus resumes showing Ortho around the castle. They start with a tour of the Imperial Guard’s training grounds out back, and they stay and watch for a while as the young recruits spar with some of the captains. Ortho almost thinks he should cheer on the recruits, since they might like the encouragement, but he also considers taking the side of the captains, since they are so spectacular with their flashy jabs and stunning parries. The captains ultimately prove victorious, and as they turn to greet the prince, the sight of the small, fiery-haired boy clapping enthusiastically next to him perplexes them more than anything else they’ve seen the past few months.

Then Malleus takes Ortho to the highest of the watchtowers, where they can see the church’s spires jutting up not too far in the distance. And then he takes him to the castle archives and the library and Malleus’s private study. Ortho is especially fascinated by the library, and they spend hours going through ancient spell books and history books and collections of Briar Valley fiction and poetry. So many of these texts have never made it outside the small nation, and Ortho uncovers books about species of fae he’s never even heard of, and books written in languages he’s never even seen. He drinks it all in with sparkling eyes and toothy smiles. In his eagerness, he accidentally tips over a heavy bookshelf while attempting to extract one of its paper treasures, and Malleus laughs so hard that his eyes water when the boy ends up buried under a mountain of leatherbound tomes.

The heavy wooden doors of the library close behind them with a loud bang as they leave. They only make it a few steps before Ortho reaches out and tugs on Malleus’s arm.

“May we go see your rose garden now?”

Malleus blinks. “My… what?”

“Your rose garden! All the travel guides I downloaded mentioned it. They say it’s one of the greatest wonders of the valley, and that you can see it all the way from the forests that border the castle town.”

Ortho notices the frown forming on Malleus’s face and asks, “Don’t tell me something happened to it?”

Malleus sighs. “Indeed. Sadly, the whole garden was destroyed when we had that bad snowstorm not too long ago.”

“Bad snowstorm…” Ortho closes his eyes for a moment as he thinks.  “Wait, I remember that! You mean that monster blizzard that struck Briar Valley over a hundred years ago? People were calling it the storm of the century!”

With a solemn nod, Malleus replies, “I do believe that was the one. …Has it really been a hundred years already? I suppose I just haven’t gotten around to fixing it up yet.”

In truth, he’d considered rebuilding his garden more than once, but he never could bring himself to do it. All the seed packets his grandmother’s been giving him for his birthday the past century have yet to be opened, and they lie buried deep within one of the chests in his room.

A week after that awful blizzard tore through their small nation, he and his grandmother gathered together around the dining table for the first time that winter. They both shivered as they ate, and at one point she looked out the window and murmured something about his “poor roses, the dear things”. Malleus was shocked. He hadn’t even remembered to go check if his flowers had made it through the storm. He’d stopped tending to them sometime after Sebek’s death. It was a gradual thing. He’d water them less often - once a week instead of twice, and then once a month, and then not at all. And then he forgot to tell the servants to purchase more fertilizer when his supplies were getting low. And then he didn’t bother deadheading the bushes in the fall. And then he just stopped going to the garden altogether.

There are times when he’ll wonder, where had that gentleness that Lilia had once spoken of, that love in his heart gone? Had that vengeful snowstorm ripped it from his chest and scattered it to the winds together with his roses? Or had it withered and died and returned to the earth alongside Silver and Sebek’s worn and ashen bodies? Or had it been stolen from his heart long ago, had Lilia taken it with him as he climbed those great mountains, up higher and higher, beyond the radiant clouds and into a world he wasn’t yet ready to journey to?

And there are other times where he’ll go look at the skeletal remains of his garden and he’ll wonder if those rumors about him being detached and apathetic and cold were true. He knew many in Briar Valley believed so. He knew they’d hesitate to even speak of him, as though his name were an ill omen. And he did not blame them. His love was never anything flashy or obvious, was never as bright and as brilliant as the shy half-smiles that Silver would reserve for his father.

No, Malleus’s love was soft and quiet, the glass of his heart opaque, not clear. It was often timid, often awkward, but his love was always there. Even now, even if he could no longer detect its gentle thrum coursing through his veins, his was still the love of that lonely little boy who’d hold his ear against the warm mass of his rose bushes and listen as the flowers revealed to him their perfect wisdom.

And the people he cherished in his heart of hearts were his roses, too. All of them – Lilia, Silver, and Sebek, his parents and his grandmother, and his dear friends from school. To try and rebuild his garden - to press those expectant seeds into the wet earth and wait for the tiny buds to emerge into the light of a January day, to look with bated breath for the sepals to fold open and reveal the sacred pink gems held tightly within their green grasps, to awaken to the sound of the cardinals heralding Spring’s arrival and race to the garden while the sky is still yawning off the night’s indigo embrace and to rejoice at last at the first newborn blooms - it felt blasphemous, like summoning the dead back to life. And his heart was simply too dark and too heavy still for such a thing.

Malleus watches silently as the light of excitement rapidly fades from Ortho’s eyes, and he snuffs out the last dim sparks with a shake of his head.

Ortho sighs. “Well, it’s too bad I couldn’t see your garden, Malleus Draconia. It always looked so beautiful in those pictures I saw. But I’m glad at least the castle and the town and everything made it through the storm okay.”

They resume walking, and Ortho decides privately not to mention the garden again.

Later, after the lilac night had blanketed the valley once more and a calm hush had fallen over the castle, Malleus stalks through the dark halls trying to shake off his restlessness. He passes by Ortho’s room and can hear him murmuring through the closed door. It sounds like he’s talking to someone, but Malleus can’t imagine whom. He hovers at the door for a moment, and then he continues on, not wanting to disturb the boy.

IV.

The next morning, Ortho and Malleus are to have breakfast with the Queen. Ortho wakes up early so he can hook up his oral intake unit in time, and he opens the windows before setting to work. The sun has just barely risen, and the sky is a pleasant gradient of pinks and oranges and yellows and blues. The chilly air is abuzz with thrushes and chiffchaffs singing their daily praises, and the loud cries of haughty wrens undercut the performance. March was in full swing in the valley, and before long the chorus would be joined by the excited twitter of the goldfinches and the sugar sweet call of the willow warblers as spring rolled on.

Just as Ortho finishes equipping his unit, Malleus knocks on his door and softly asks, “Little Shroud, are you ready?”

Ortho answers, “Yes!” and he goes to join Malleus in the hallway. They walk to the dining room together in comfortable silence. Ortho stayed up late last night, gripped with an innocent mixture of nervousness and excitement, but he’s still bright-eyed and brimming with energy. He knows very well that few outsiders are lucky enough to get invited to Briar Valley’s royal castle, and that even fewer still get to receive an audience with the Queen.

Two servants standing before the dining room pull the heavy doors open for them, and they go to where the Queen is waiting for them at the head of the table. She rises from her seat as they approach.

Ortho bows deeply, just as he’d practiced the night before, and says, “It’s an honor to meet you, your Majesty. Thank you so much for permitting me to come here.”

The Queen smiles. “And I thank you for accepting my dear grandson’s invitation. I hope you’ve been enjoying your stay.”

Ortho confirms that he has, and then he looks up and studies her face. The Draconia family’s resemblance is plain to see. She and Malleus have the same bright green eyes, long, black hair, and those sharp fangs that peek out when they smile. Only the thin crow’s feet around her eyes and the slight gauntness of her high cheek bones betray the difference in their ages. She’s a good head shorter than Malleus, but her presence is so much more intimidating. Malleus’s great aura feels like an April shower in comparison to the tempest of energy emanating from her body, and it takes every ounce of Ortho’s willpower not to crumple to the floor when she goes to shake his small hand.

The Queen bids them to sit, and they all take their seats, with her at the head of the table and Ortho and Malleus flanking her on either side. Bowls filled with wax-white sausages floating in steaming water sit before them. A gorgeous, herbal scent - a dazzling mixture of cardamom, mace, parsley, lemon, and other more deeply buried smells - wafts from the bowls. Their plates are decorated with large dollops of dark brown mustard, along with a number of soft, golden pretzels. A crimson-colored juice of some sort swims placidly in their goblets.

Malleus takes his fork and deposits some of the sausages onto his plate. “They’re filled with very finely ground veal and bacon - made from pork loin, rather than pork belly. Poached just long enough for the meat to turn this greyish-white color. They’re one of Briar Valley’s specialties,” he explains.

He waits for Ortho to fill up his own plate, and then continues, “The skin is edible, but we typically don’t eat it. Just take your fork and knife and cut the sausage open lengthwise, and then peel back the skin and eat the meat. And do be sure to try the mustard.”

The explanation finished, Malleus and the Queen take their cutlery in hand and begin to eat. Ortho watches how they expertly incise the sausage casings and extract the white meat as though they were performing surgery. He picks up his own fork and knife and tries to copy their nimble movements as he slices open the fibrous skin. He is pleased to find the meat tastes just as delicious as it smells, and his mouth pulls up into a smile from the rich blend of spices.

Ortho next dips a piece of sausage in the grainy mustard and gingerly takes a bite. He gasps at how sweet it is - he’d been expecting something spicy. It’s nearly too sweet, but only just nearly, and in a strange way he can’t explain, the sugary flavor perfectly complements the savory meat. He eagerly dips another piece of sausage in the mustard and brings it to his mouth, and then another, and another.

The Queen laughs at the boy’s exuberance. “Please take your time, my dear. There’s plenty more where that came from, and if you’d like another serving, just let one of the waitstaff know.”

Ortho begins to reply, but quickly remembers his mouth is full of food, and he shoots his hand over his mouth in embarrassment as he nods. He takes a sip of the juice and considers the flavor for a moment – it’s a pure, bright blend of various kinds of wild berries and other fruit, and the cool liquid somehow invigorates his appetite even more.

As Ortho sets to work on the pretzels, the Queen finally begins her questioning.

“Malleus tells me you went to school together at Night Raven College. I’d been envisioning someone a tad older when he told me that, so I was quite surprised to see just how young you are. I take it your species must age slowly, like ours does?”

Ortho chews contemplatively on his pretzel. “It’s not that I age slowly, it’s just that my appearance doesn’t really change as time goes on. I guess you could say?”

“Oh, really? My, how very interesting.” She takes a sip from her goblet, and her pointed tongue darts out to capture the stray drops trying to escape down her lips. “He also told me you hale from the Isle of Grief, from the Shroud clan. Is your family doing well these days? I haven’t heard from Zephyr in quite a while.”

“Ah,” Ortho says, but then closes his mouth. He’s not sure if it would be impolite to tell the Queen that Zephyr Shroud had passed away four decades ago, and that someone new is leading the family now. He pushes around the last piece of sausage on his plate as he searches for the safest answer. “The Shroud family is doing well. We…. recently got a new clan head, and she sends her greetings.”

The Queen continues, “I see. Please do send her my thanks and well wishes in return. And I hate to pry….” (Ortho privately thinks she does not) “…but are you involved at all with Styx’s operations, by any chance?

“They make my equipment for me, and I help run security at their headquarters, but I’m not involved in their research, no.”

“I see, I see. Good, yes, that’s good.” She nods, but Ortho can’t tell if the gesture is directed at him or herself. She pushes her empty plate away and folds her hands on her lap. Ortho sees a glimmer of hope, and he thinks this strange and awkward conversation might soon come to an end. But all his hopes are dashed when the Queen turns and asks one of the servants for two more bowls of sausage and another plate of pretzels. “Now, what do you mean by “equipment” exactly? And I noticed you hardly seem to have any traces of magic about you. How were you able to attend Night Raven College, may I ask? And is your hair actually on fire? I’ve always wanted to ask your family’s clan leaders, but it slips my mind whenever I see them, and I don’t remember until they’ve already passed. It’s as though each time I blink, you’ve got someone new in charge!” She finishes with a curt laugh, and her bright green eyes bore into Ortho expectantly.

Ortho glances across the table and gives Malleus a plaintive look, but he is seemingly far too engrossed in his pretzels to offer any help.

After breakfast, the Queen excuses herself to go attend to some royal matter or other, and Ortho and Malleus quickly retreat to the library. They wander up and down the rows of shelves for a while, only half paying attention to the books they pull out and flip through. When they happen to meander towards the same shelf and meet in the middle of the aisle, at last they talk, having recuperated enough for conversation.

Ortho starts first, and he exhales like a pierced tire. “That was…. Intense.”

Malleus sighs, as well. “Yes, my grandmother can be quite… severe in her inquisitiveness. I do apologize if she made you uncomfortable at all.”

“Oh, it’s alright. I remember my mom used to drill me and my big brother like that whenever we came home for the holidays, so it was kind of fun, in a way.” Ortho smiles to himself reservedly, as though recalling some precious secret.

“Anyways,” he continues, “I wish my big brother could’ve been here. I’m sure he would’ve loved to meet the Queen.”

Malleus raises an eyebrow. “You really think so? I always had the impression he wasn’t a very sociable fellow.”

Ortho laughs. “You’re right, he wasn’t. But her Majesty resembles a character from an anime he really liked, and I bet he would’ve gotten a kick out of meeting her.”

Malleus isn’t sure whether his grandmother has just been gravely insulted or highly praised, and so he resigns to simply hum in agreement. He tries to imagine how a meeting between the two would even look, but the image refuses to form, his brain balking at him like a stubborn horse. He gropes through a haze of hundreds and hundreds of years of memories and tries to conjure the elder Shroud’s face in his mind, but all he sees is a blur of white skin and blue hair and sharp teeth.

Finally, he looks over to Ortho and slowly admits, “You know, I can’t quite… seem to recall how he looked…”

Ortho flashes him a reassuring smile in return. “That’s okay, I will assist you.”

Some part of Ortho’s body emits a beep, and then his chest plates slide back to reveal a black lens at their center. Before Malleus can ask what he’s doing, the lens turns from black to bright white, and now Idia Shroud himself is standing before them. He’s dressed in the navy-blue coat with the white triangles down the sleeves that he’d always wear at Night Raven College, and his long, fiery hair undulates like waves around him.

For a moment, Malleus is stunned. And then his stupefaction quickly melts into hot anger. Necromancy is strictly forbidden amongst his people, and by no means will he permit this black magic in his own home.

“Wretched spirit!” he snarls. Dark emerald green energy swirls around him, and he raises a glowing hand towards Idia. The books piled around them fly open and the bookshelves begin to shake as a whirlwind of paper dances around the room.

Ortho runs between Malleus and his brother and waves his hands frantically as he shouts, “No, no, no wait! It’s just a hologram, Malleus Draconia! It’s not a ghost, it’s okay!”

Malleus’s slit pupils dart between the two brothers. He tries to focus on Idia for as long as his rage allows, and at last he notices the miniscule dust particles passing through the beams of light that make up the specter’s body. Malleus lowers his hand and dispels his built-up magic with a shake of his arm, and Ortho sighs in relief as he watches the green sparks dissipate into the air. The airborne books crash to the floor a moment later.

Malleus says quietly, more so to himself than to Ortho, “My apologies, I thought you’d…” He doesn’t trust himself to finish the sentence. He knows just speaking the words would stoke his wrath again.

Ortho quickly scans Malleus’s vitals and blot accumulation levels, and he can feel the tension seep from his own body once he confirms the storm of danger has passed. He looks over and sees Malleus staring at the floor, working his jaw in contemplation. Ortho waits for him to speak again.

Finally, Malleus plucks one of the thoughts swirling around in his mind, and he asks, “Can you… Can you project the other students, as well?”

Ortho nods, and the lens in his chest whirs for a moment before the room suddenly fills with a crowd of figures. Malleus scans the familiar faces. There’s Deuce Spade and Ace Trappola and the Child of Man together by one of the windows. There’s Leona Kingscholar, frozen in the middle of a yawn, surrounded by his pack members. And there’s Vil Schoenheit, a compact mirror in one hand, his other paused midair as he fusses with some miniscule imperfection in his mascara that even Malleus’s fae eyesight couldn’t ever hope to uncover. And then he sees them. They’re standing together in the corner of the room.

Malleus takes a step forward, and then stops.

“Do they… Can you make them move?”

“Yes, by taking the footage I recorded while at school and running it through one of my AI programs, I can configure the holograms to perform pretty much any action you can imagine. I can also simulate their voices, if you’d like.”

Malleus opens his mouth as if to speak, and then he closes it again. He shakes his head and says, “Ah, no. No, that’s fine. I’m not even sure why I asked, please don’t mind me.” His gaze lingers on the three of them while he talks. He continues staring at that spot long after Ortho shuts his lens off.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Malleus has a fitting to attend to, and then yet another rehearsal for the coronation. The servants hurry and fuss around him like honeybees on a wildflower as they double-check and then triple-check their measurements. He slowly disappears underneath the long bands of white measuring tape, and Ortho tries his best to stifle his laughter while he watches, looking away guiltily whenever a surreptitious giggle escapes his lips. But Malleus doesn’t pay him any bother; his mind is too focused on other things.

The holograms have been haunting him all morning. He sees them when he looks into the mirror, he feels their presence when he’s alone. They’re always at the corner of his eye, always just out of arm’s reach. As though taunting him. He wonders if they plague him so because of how real they looked. He had seen movies projected onto screens before, and he still remembers the ghastly window projections Lilia would dig out every Halloween. But that footage was always so grainy, so dull and lifeless. The holograms that Ortho had conjured earlier were deceptively vibrant, they had breathed. They were alive. If Malleus had reached out and touched them, he scarcely doubts he’d have felt warm flesh under his hands.

The murmurs of the servants around him pull him from his thoughts, and he is gradually befreed from the prison of safety pins and sewing needles and measuring tape and color swatches. He turns slowly as he hears someone approaching, half dreading it might be another radiant phantom coming to vex him.

“Malleus Draconia, I’ve been detecting a delay in your response speed since this morning, as well as periods of increased heart rate. Is something on your mind?”

Malleus’s shoulders sag in relief. With a sigh, he answers, “Ah, it’s just you, Little Shroud. No, I’m fine. I’ve just been preoccupied with the preparations is all.”

Ortho smiles with all the innocence of a lamb. His barracuda teeth glint portentously. “…Did anyone ever tell you I can detect lies?”

“I am not-“

A chambermaid interrupts to ask if Malleus is ready to start the rehearsal, and he gratefully follows her to the throne room. He hears Ortho walking behind him. He tries to ignore the second set of footsteps he knows isn’t really there.

The cool reprieve of night is accompanied by a sudden rainstorm, and Ortho excuses himself to his room at the first crack of thunder. The blinding marks left behind by the lightning raking its great claws across the sky still terrify him after all these years, and he closes the windows and draws the curtains shut, not wanting to look at those awful flashes of light.

Later, Malleus passes by his room during his usual nighttime stroll, and he again hears Ortho’s excited voice floating through the wooden door. He stands there listening for a few minutes, and then finally knocks on the door. He asks loudly, over the pouring rain, if he might come in, and Ortho shouts back, “Of course!”

When Malleus opens the door, he sees Ortho reclining on his bed, and Idia Shroud sitting in a chair nearby. Malleus groans and closes his eyes, shaking his head. But Idia is still there when he opens his eyes, and he takes a hesitant step back.

“What’s wrong, Malleus Draconia?” Ortho asks wide-eyed, looking between his brother and Malleus. “Is my hologram bothering you again? Here, I’ll turn it off.” The apparition disappears without a sound, and Malleus takes a shuddering breath.

“My apologies, I just wasn’t sure if he was really…” Malleus shakes his head again. “No, it’s fine. What were you doing just now? I thought I heard you talking with someone.”

Ortho sits up and hangs his legs over the bed. “Oh, I was just talking with my big brother.” He watches as Malleus’s usually stern face scrunches up in confusion, and stifles back a laugh.

In his stupefaction, Malleus blurts, “And what were you talking to him about?”

“All sorts of stuff! I was telling him about our breakfast with the queen, and all the cool books we found in the library. Oh! And I’ve been showing him all the pictures and videos I’ve been taking so far.”

Malleus thinks for a moment. “Ah, so when I heard you speaking with someone in your room the other night…”

Ortho nods. “I was just talking to my big brother, yeah.”

“I see,” Malleus breathes out. And then, quietly, he murmurs, “I see… That’s quite surprising.”

“What do you mean?” Ortho asks.

“I suppose I hadn’t expected a robot to be able to be so sentimental, missing your brother and talking to his photo like that.”

“I mean, of course I miss him! But there’s nothing in my programming that makes me feel this way. It comes from my heart, the same as you.”

Malleus blanches. “You have… a heart? The literal organ, you mean?”

“Erm, no.” Ortho winces. “You see I’ve got this magical circuitry onboard and-”

“And there it is again,” Malleus sighs.

“What?”

Malleus crosses his arms. “To me, you have always been a very confusing amalgamation of machinery and human. And I fear I shan’t ever understand exactly what you are.”

During his time at Night Raven College, Malleus had only ever heard fragmentary rumors about the Shroud brothers. The other students would whisper that something terrible had befallen their family in the past, and that Idia had created the little robot in his grief. But neither of the brothers had ever offered to divulge their past to Malleus, and he never asked them to. He kept many things close to his heart, and he respected others who wished to do the same.

“Well,” Ortho says as he folds his hands in his lap. He stares at them for a moment, and after looking back up at Malleus, he continues, “I can try and explain it to you, if you’d like.”

“Only if you don’t mind, I don’t wish to pry.”

Ortho shuffles further down the bed and pats the empty space next to him, and Malleus sits down.

Ortho takes a deep breath, and then begins, “Well, this story starts a really long time ago. There were these two brothers named Idia Shroud and Ortho Shroud, and they always dreamed of going on adventures together…”

Malleus leans over, trying to grasp onto the shaky whispers that spill from his mouth like a confession. He had always thought of Ortho’s voice as bright and animated, like the titter of a goldfinch on a summer morning. But now, for the first time, as he listens to the boy talk, he finds his voice is very small. It’s as though his words have been crushed and shattered, the fine bits and pieces sent adrift like dust in the wind. He notices for the first time, too, just how small Ortho is, he notices the smallness of his hands. Is this not but a child’s body shivering hesitantly beside his? Is this not but a child’s tiny hand gripping nervously onto his own? For him to be carrying such an endless ocean of sorrow inside of him, how has he not drowned from its tremendous weight already? How has the earth not opened up and swallowed him whole, trapping him inside the same deep, dark pit that Malleus has been staring up from for centuries now?

The story comes together slowly, dripping like water, steadily taking shape like some great crystalline structure in a cavern long forgotten by time. And at long last, the pure light of revelation dawns before Malleus’s eyes. With a gasp, he tells the boy he understands now. Yes, that secret truth that has stood unnoticed before him for half a millennium, that has always slipped by him unheard, like a distant cry swallowed by the winds - now he sees it, now he hears it. Now he finally understands.

Exhausted, Ortho closes his eyes and sinks into the bed.

Malleus reaches out and cups Ortho’s cheek in his hand. A dim warmth emanates from the synthetic skin. As he sits there in the cold darkness, he wonders and wonders just what haunts the boy in his electric dreams.

V.

The rainstorm fades away into the black night as quickly as it had appeared. The next morning, the sun rises sluggishly, as though weighed down by the lingering dampness that hangs heavy in the air. The dawn chorus, as well, lacks its usual fervor, and only the intermittent cries of a distant blackbird accompany the horizon’s slow transition from black to red to blue.

If Ortho had been at all bothered by their conversation last night, he does not show it. He greets Malleus cheerfully when they sit down for breakfast, and they discuss only the drab weather and what plans they have for the day. When Ortho asks if he might accompany Malleus on his morning rounds, he readily agrees.

First on Malleus’s agenda is a violin recital. Sometimes he will perform for his grandmother, and he used to enjoy showing off a piece or two for Lilia, but as of late he’s been playing for only himself. The usual forlornness of the music room is somewhat stifled now that he has Ortho with him, and he searches for a chair the boy can use. Ortho watches him, shifting speculatively from one foot to another.

After Malleus locates a second chair and goes to take his seat before the music stand, Ortho timidly asks, “Remember when we were talking yesterday after your fitting, and that maid came and interrupted us?”

“…Yes?” Malleus replies, pausing as he picks up his violin case.

“Well, I still want to know if you’re doing okay. I keep detecting irregularities in your adrenaline and cortisol levels.”

“I assure you, I’m quite fine.” Malleus puts on his best smile as he unlocks the case and takes out his instrument. The smooth blend of maple and spruce feels reassuring in his hands, and he sets his jaw as he begins his tuning. “Now hush for a moment, please. I need to focus.” Ortho acquiesces, and he dutifully goes to sit in the corner of the room. The violin’s mournful voice somehow dissolves the tension that had been sitting uncomfortably in Ortho’s body since that morning, and as Malleus decisively strikes his bow across the pearl white strings for the final, piercing note, a firm resolve solidifies in its place.

Next is a morning meeting with the royal council, and Ortho resumes his endeavors while they walk to the council chamber. He breaks into a trot to keep up with Malleus’s long strides.

“Talking things out can help you feel better, you know!” Ortho implores.

“And that would be lovely,” Malleus huffs through gritted teeth, “- if only I needed to feel better!”

The servants passing by wonder to themselves if the boy is purely brazen, or if he’s just ignorant. They watch as the black column of their prince stalks faster and faster down the hallway, unable to shake off the white and blue speck following him.

The council meeting provides a short reprieve from Ortho’s questioning, and Malleus listens eagerly as the advisors, merchants, secretaries, and other council members take turns giving their rambling reports. The meetings were one of Malleus’s greatest delights; he was always eager to hear how things were going outside the castle, and the merchants would often bring back fascinating stories of what they’d seen during their travels. Most of the members pay no heed to the small boy sitting quietly next to the prince, but Ortho catches some of them glancing his way. Their blue and green and yellow eyes remind him of cat’s eyes marbles, and he admires how they catch the light. He ducks his head whenever they notice him staring.

Malleus’s excitement quickly disperses together with the conclusion of the meeting, and Ortho, in turn, swells up again with curiosity. The other council members file out of the room first, some of them still quibbling and grumbling over the issues they’d been discussing, and Malleus and Ortho bring up the rear. Ortho tugs on Malleus’s sleeve after they pour into the hallway.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine!”

For the rest of the morning, Ortho clings to him like a shadow, his perturbations hanging over Malleus’s head like circling buzzards. No matter how many times Malleus shoos him away, no matter how fiercely he glares, no matter how much venom he tries to inject into his refutations, the boy simply flutters back to his side moments later, as unbothered as a dandelion on the wind. Even teleporting to another part of the castle proves fruitless – Ortho’s location systems keep tracking him down within a matter of minutes.

Finally, around noon, Ortho corners him in Malleus’s study. He asks once more, “Are you sure there isn’t anything bothering you?”

Malleus sets down the book he’d been hiding behind and sighs. “You really aren’t going to let up until I talk to you, I suppose?”

“Nope!” Ortho grins.

“You’re truly vexing, you know that?” Malleus replies, a tired smile pulling at his lips. He gestures to a nearby chair, and Ortho sits down.

“Very well then. If you must know, it’s because of those…” He waves a hand in the air as he searches for the word. “Those holograms you showed me yesterday. I can’t stop thinking about them, for whatever reason. I don’t know if it’s just because I haven’t seen photos of them for so long or…”

“Them?”

It takes Malleus a moment to coax the names out of his mouth. “…Lilia, Silver, and Sebek.”

Ortho nods his head. “Oh, yeah. I remember you were really close to them.”

“Yes, they were like family to me…” Malleus murmurs, trailing off in thought. He licks his lips and asks, “…Does it not… Does it not make you sad, seeing your brother’s picture? And talking to him as you do?”

Ortho shakes his head. “It’s perfectly normal to feel uncomfortable when looking at pictures of your deceased loved ones. I just happen to be one of those people who doesn’t. And when I talk to my big brother, it helps me feel close to him. Everyone processes grief in different ways, after all.”

“Grief?” Malleus scoffs. “It’s been ages since they passed. Why would I still be grieving? It’s not like I hole myself in my room all the time, sulking about.”

“That’s not…” Ortho frowns. “Grief isn’t always loud and in your face. Sometimes… Sometimes it can be really quiet.”

“Mm,” Malleus sighs. He was familiar with that sort of quiet grief, the kind that would strike him faster than a cottonmouth, usually on still mornings or hushed nights, when his loneliness was at its most palpable. It always felt like an ambush, the way it would suddenly materialize in his heart like a rainstorm on a clear day. It was not like the burning, bone deep sorrow that had gripped his body after Lilia left, and neither was it suffocating, like how he’d felt at Silver and Sebek’s funerals. But it hurt him just the same.

“And how exactly does talking with his pict- his hologram make you feel better?” Malleus asks, genuinely curious.

“So my big brother and I had always wanted to travel the world together- Well, more like I wanted to get him out of his room, for once.” Ortho laughs, and Malleus smirks.

“But anyways, we never ended up being able to travel much since he was stuck dealing with Styx stuff most of the time. That’s why I like to talk to him and tell him about the places I go to, and the things I see. I know it doesn’t make up for the memories we never got to make together, but that hologram kind of helps me process all the stuff I regret not being able to do with him.”

“I see.”

Ortho takes his lower lip into his mouth and nibbles it pensively. “Is there anything you regret not being able to do with Lilia Vanrouge and the others?”

Malleus nods gravely. “Of course, for I never got to… Lilia was already gone by the time Silver and I arrived at his farewell party, and that has always weighed heavily on my mind. I know there’s nothing I can do about that now, but… I still would’ve liked to have at least spent one last night together with everyone.”

Malleus opens his mouth to continue speaking, and then closes it again. Ortho waits patiently, watching as Malleus furrows his brows in thought.

Finally, Malleus continues, “…I wished desperately, perhaps more so than anyone else at Night Raven College, to have the kinds of school experiences I’d always read about. I wished to have study sessions with my classmates, to go visit my friends and stay up late talking with them, to go to parties and other social gatherings… And yet, when I finally received the party invitation I’d always longed for, I didn’t even go. I still marvel at my foolishness to this day.” He finishes with a shake of his head.

Ortho crosses his arms and closes his eyes. “Hmm… I might be able to assist you with that. Could we reserve the castle’s ballroom tonight?”

Malleus blinks. “That shouldn’t be a problem… But why?”

“You’ll see!”

Later that night, after Ortho explains his plan, he instructs Malleus to go put on his old house warden uniform. It’s been ages since he last wore it, and the fabric feels alien to him. He tugs at his collar and fiddles with his gloves and fingers the lining of his coat, as restless as a snake eager to shed its skin. Even standing before the mirror, it feels like he’s looking at someone else, like the pale, awkward face staring back at him belongs to some unfortunate stranger. He clicks his tongue and turns to make his way to the ballroom. Ortho greets him when he passes through the towering doors.

“Now, it consumes a lot of battery power for me to run so much footage through this specific AI program all at once. I’ll probably be able to display the holograms for about two hours before I’ll need to stop. Okay?”

“Yes, that’s alright. I don’t imagine this will go on for very long, anyways.”

Ortho glides up to the gallery on the second floor, and he turns to face the dance floor. The plates in his chest once again unfurl to reveal the lens of his built-in projector, and in the blink of an eye, the ballroom is filled with the glimmering holograms of their old Night Raven College classmates.

“Is everything okay? May I start the music?” Ortho shouts from the gallery.

Malleus stills his nerves with a deep breath. “Go ahead!” he calls out, and the ballroom’s speakers start thrumming a moment later. At once, all the holograms turn and look up at him expectantly. Even from where he’s standing atop the stairs, he can easily pick out Silver, Sebek, and Lilia’s white faces peering at him from the crowd. Silver steps forward and offers his hand. Malleus rushes down the stairs and takes it.

The first few steps are awkward and offbeat. Again and again, Malleus moves his hands or feet too close to the hologram’s body, and his limbs pierce through the projected light like a clumsy blade. He winces, both at his inability to perform a simple waltz, and at the sight of his fingers halfway embedded in Silver’s waist. Eventually, Malleus figures out that if he counts the steps, it’s easier for him to move while hovering his hands just above Silver’s body. One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three. Their steps finally line up with the beat, and they glide across the dance floor with confidence and surety.

For the first time that night, Malleus smiles, and Silver smiles back. How he ached to pluck that smile off the boy’s face and safekeep it in his pocket forever! Alas, all he can do is drop one arm and raise the other, signaling Silver to turn. He watches silently as Silver twirls beneath him, and their hands rejoin at the next step. After a few minutes, the music swells – it’s time for the swap.

Silver swings away and takes his father’s outstretched hand, while Sebek separates from Epel to come join Malleus. Malleus almost wants to turn around, to just stop right there and simply watch Silver and Lilia dance, but Sebek’s brilliant smile captivates him like nothing else. They move quickly, with Malleus leading the way, and Sebek forceful and heavy in his movements. Where Silver was reserved, Sebek is thunderous, and Malleus laughs as they whirl and race across the dance floor. When the music finally swells again, Sebek hands off Malleus to Lilia with a bow.

Malleus again fumbles for a few moments, having to adjust to Lilia’s much shorter height. He curses as his one hand shoots right through Lilia’s face and the other cuts through his shoulder. After a couple of hesitant steps, he at last finds his rhythm once more, and they move leisurely to the steady thrum of the music.  

Like a pair of jubilant cranes declaring their great love, like the push and pull of the moon and the ocean’s tides, they take turns leading and following one another. The throng of students parts before them, clearing a path for the two to drift down. As the song races on, more and more couples stop to watch them, and soon it’s just Malleus and Lilia floating across the dance floor. Malleus can feel their eyes boring into him, but he doesn’t care. He has been bewitched. He grows more and more drunk on every turn, every dip, every carefully placed step and dizzying revolution. The floor disappears underneath him; the ballroom fades away. There is only him and Lilia and the music. Rapture’s final trumpet could’ve sounded in that moment and he wouldn’t have noticed.     

As the last, winsome notes of the song gradually fade away, Lilia reaches up and ruffles Malleus’s head, and Malleus closes his eyes. For nearly five hundred long years he has lived trapped underneath the immovable weight of his sorrow. He has beaten his fists against it and kicked it and raked his claws down its sides, he has wailed and screamed and roared until his voice grew hoarse, he has cursed Heaven and Hell and begged for salvation from both, but he was never able to get it to even budge. The past few days, he finally felt it starting to shift. And just now, when that small hand he so desperately yearned to feel the touch of had reached out to him, it nearly disintegrated on the spot.

Finally, the song ends, the air stills, the spell is broken. Malleus opens his eyes, and the world reforms before him. He raises his hand and rubs his head where Lilia had touched him. He had almost felt it, almost felt those familiar, thin fingers running through his hair. Maybe if they just start the song over and go through the dance again, he’ll feel it next time.

“Little Shroud!” Malleus cries. “Please! Do it once more!”

“Okay!” Ortho yells from above, and the song begins again. The holograms disappear for a moment, and then reappear in their starting positions a second later. Malleus retreats to the top of the staircase. Then he turns around and takes Silver’s hand.

This time, there is no awkwardness, no clumsy missteps or fumbling movements. Malleus and Silver spin with all the grace of a courting swan, he and Sebek whirl as determined as a maelstrom. When Sebek releases him into Lilia’s arms, he handles the transition with ease, his hands finding their correct positions all on their own.

Yes, this time, when Lilia goes to pat his head, there is the slightest hint of the cool fabric of Lilia’s gloves ghosting over his skin. And as Lilia pulls his hand away, a scent not unlike one Malleus has smelled a thousand times before washes over him – it’s sharp like iron, and musky and sweet like jessamine. He’d always thought it fitting that Lilia smelled that way. The canary yellow bells that adorn jessamine vines were often mistaken for honeysuckle, and many a thirsty child had fallen paralyzed to the forest floor after drinking its sugary nectar. Its sweet smell was both a warning and a temptation, and Malleus found it purely intoxicating. He breathes in the air greedily.

Oh, if they could just try again! Surely, he’ll feel that hand’s tender caress next time!

“Little Shroud!”

Ortho restarts the music and resets the holograms again. And again and again, for hours on end. As the night marches on and the firefly lights of the stars begin to dot the sky, Ortho ignores the high-pitched beeping of his low battery alert.

It takes a few minutes for Malleus to realize the holograms have vanished. He’d been keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he twirled Silver around the dance floor. When he finally opens his eyes, ready to take Sebek’s hand next, he sees only the dark, empty ballroom.

“Little Shroud!” he calls out, and then louder, when he doesn’t get a response, “Ortho!”

He teleports up to the gallery and finds the boy sprawled out on the floor, his eyes closed. He goes to check for a pulse, chiding himself once he realizes his simpleminded error. He flips Ortho onto his stomach and searches for the battery indicator light the boy had mentioned before, and he sees it blinking an angry red.

Malleus lets out the breath he’d been holding with a hiss, and he gathers Ortho into his arms. He staggers as he rises from the ground, the boy’s small frame proving much heavier than it belies.

He takes Ortho back to the guest room and deposits him on the bed. He fumbles as he hooks up the charging cable to the port on the boy’s back. Nothing happens at first, and Malleus worries that he’s done something wrong, but then a voice sounds out, “Time Until Full Charge: 3 hours and 42 minutes”, and a faint, green light begins to glow near the battery port. Ortho’s eyes open a moment later.

Malleus peers over him as he asks, “Little Shroud, are you alright? Can you hear my voice?”

“Malleus… Draconia…?” Ortho blinks a few times, and then sits up. “…Yes, all my systems are operational. According to my memory dump files, it appears I crashed due to a critically low battery. I’ll be good to go as long as I fully charge my battery tonight.”

“Ah, thank goodness…” Malleus exhales, relieved. “I do apologize, I was so absorbed in my own whims I lost track of time. I shouldn’t have put you in danger like that.”

Ortho looks away. “It’s okay... and I’m sorry, too.”

“For what?” Malleus asks, confused.

“I was trying to give you one last night together with everyone, but I went and ruined the whole thing…”

“You didn’t ruin anything!” Malleus exclaims, and then he clears his throat. Quietly, he continues, “You didn’t ruin anything. You gave me something I wasn’t aware my heart desperately needed. And I thank you sincerely for it.”

“Mm,” Ortho mumbles, only half listening. He blinks rapidly and looks around the room - at the door, at the bookcase, at the bedside table. Everywhere except at Malleus.

Malleus frowns. “Is something the matter?”

“I guess I just… I don’t know.” Ortho lets out a shaky sigh. “When I saw you dancing with those holograms, you looked so happy. And that made me really happy, too. But then I started thinking, you’re my last friend from NRC, right? One day, you’re going to be just another hologram to me, same as everybody else...” He brings his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs. It reminds Malleus of how Silver and Sebek would look when they got upset as children, and a feeling he can’t find the name for begins prickling in his chest.

Perhaps encouraged, perhaps despaired, Ortho’s words pour out faster and faster. “I never asked my big brother to make me, but he did. And then he just up and left me behind. Everybody does. And there’s nothing I can do about it…”

His voice shrinks to a whisper. “…I guess I just don’t like that I never got any say in the matter.”

Ortho clears his throat, and then a heavy sob wracks his small body. The tears he’d been fighting so hard to hold back finally burst free and rush down his scrunched-up face. Malleus desperately wants to look away, but the moonlight reflecting off the boy’s tears paralyzes him.

He thinks back on all the times in his life when he had failed to comfort someone. He still remembers the night of Lilia’s departure with perfect clarity, he remembers the pure white of the snowflakes that fell on Silver’s face, how they mixed with the iridescent tears that spilled from his eyes, and how they melted from the warmth of his quiet sorrow. And he remembers the hard line of Sebek’s shoulder trembling under his hand at Silver’s funeral, he remembers how small the huge man had looked, crumpled over, folded in on himself, crushed under the immense weight of his endless grief.

And now he stands before this child who has wrenched back the heavy curtains of his heart and led him into the blinding light of the world for the first time in nearly half a millennium. At times, he viciously fought back against the small hand that guided him, refusing the open pastures before him like some forgotten creature long left to rot within the darkness of its cage. And at times, he was only eager to follow its gentle coaxing, desperate for even the slightest bit of reassurance that he really could escape the pit of his sorrows and the ground wouldn’t swallow him whole again.

Is there truly nothing he can do, nothing he can say to soothe the poor boy’s heart? Must he once again be rendered dumbfounded and dazed by those silent tears?

He decides this time will be different - it must be.

He sits down on the bed next to Ortho and takes some time to gather his words. After a couple seconds, he utters, “I see. Yes, I can certainly understand how you feel.”

“While I cannot say I agree with what your older brother did, I will say this...”

“When Lilia announced he was going to be raising a human child, I thought he had finally, truly lost his mind. I eventually figured out why he must’ve seen no problem with it, since he would far outlive the boy - he’d have his hands full for a couple of decades at most, and then be free to continue living his life as he pleased. I’m sure you can imagine what a shock it was when he ended up passing so much earlier than Silver did.”

“It wasn’t until I got older that I realized I had it all wrong. He must’ve known very well that he was going to die before Silver, and that’s precisely why he decided to take him in. For he knew that he couldn’t… He knew that he wasn’t strong enough to live in a world that had taken his heart away from him.”

“But he must’ve felt that I was strong enough, and that I can do what he could not. I suppose older generations always have such hopes for those who come after them.”

Ortho finally looks at him. He wipes the wet mess from his face and takes a deep breath. “Maybe my big brother felt the same way, that I’m strong enough…”

“Perhaps he did. I certainly think you are, at least.”

“…Thank you.”

Malleus stays with Ortho until his battery finishes charging. Ortho is due to return home the next morning, and they talk about all the things they saw and did together on his much too short visit. And then they talk about everything and nothing, about their memories from their time at school, about all the different people and things they missed, about all their budding hopes for the future. And finally, enveloped in the twilight darkness of that small room, they promise to always keep in touch.

They fall asleep to the sound of the cardinals heralding the dawn.

VI.

Malleus squints as walks with Ortho into the soft light of the courtyard. They stand still for a while, just listening to the gentle hum of the windchimes. The foul weather from the day prior has vanished, and the sun’s golden rays stretch triumphantly overhead. Ortho remarks that it somehow feels like it was both forever ago and only just a couple seconds ago since they last stood there, and Malleus quietly agrees.

He turns to Ortho and places his hand on the boy’s shoulder. It’s time for him to go home.

“And I will see you at the coronation?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

“And you will let me know when you’ve made it back safely?”

“Yup, I’ll email you soon as I get back to the island. And then we can schedule a time to play some online chess together!”

Malleus smiles, and Ortho beams up at him in return. “Good. Take care, Little Shroud.”

“You, too, Malleus Draconia.”

As he watches the lights from Ortho’s propulsion system dissolve into the amber sea of the early morning sky, Malleus strokes his thumb across the packet of rose seeds in his pocket.

[talaok]

I’ve dreamed of this (Part I)

Summary: You are a part of the BAU, and for the longest time you and Dr. Spencer Reid had been best of friends, even when it was clear to everyone else, and at times to you, that you should be more than that, and when something almost happens on a night out with the team, everything is destined to change. This is a double pov story (each chapter will be alternated between y/n's and spencer's pov)

Chapter summary: After solving a case the team goes to a bar to blow off some steam, and inevitably, the tension between you and Spencer grows.

warnings: alcohol consumption

Y/n 

Knock knock. You looked up from the pictures of the 16-year-old victim found in the woods two days ago. You had caught her killer today, and as you filed the case in the solved pile, you had felt it was your duty, or at least the respectful thing to do, to give her one last goodbye before you inevitably had to move on. You hated this part of your job. You hated the need to not get attached. You knew it was right, that if you did start caring too much you wouldn't have been able to do your job anymore.  That if you started to think of the bodies in front of you as sons or daughters, as loved and cared for, you wouldn't have been able to help them anymore. And so you didn't. You looked at everything objectively, only focusing on the technical aspects of it all, but for every case, Once you solved it or once, unfortunately, you had to give up on it, you granted yourself 10 minutes. 10 minutes of humanity and mourning in front of the tragedy you had just spent weeks treating with detachment. And it seemed that today, your ten minutes had been interrupted. "Y/n you coming?" Derek was smiling at you. "Huh?" "We're going to get a drink"  "Oh" you laughed softly "yeah, sure. Just give me a minute" "ok, great" he turned away just to turn back around "I'm sorry if I interrupted your little ritual," he apologized with a genuinely worried expression. You shook your head, of course, he knew about it. You always somehow forgot you were surrounded by people whose job was literally reading others "it's fine. Don't worry" you reassured him as he walked away from your desk, this time actually.

"c'mon pretty boy" You had packed your bag, exited your cubicle, and walked to the glass doors to meet the others to find Morgan talking to a very unsure Spencer. "yeah come on pretty boy" you joked as you elbowed the poor man. Derek grinned "He says he's too tired" he nodded at him. Spencer threw his head back in exasperation, his adam's apple in full view as he stretched his long neck, his honey hair falling back with it. "Oh.Not a chance" you turned to him  "I really am" he mumbled "Spence you need to relax" "I can relax at home"  "come on it'll be fun" you raised your eyebrows "we can dance " his lips twitched into a sly smile "and have a drink with alcohol in it this time" you placed your hand on his arm and noticed how he gulped "and you can tell me all about whatever statistic there is about how dirty bars are and I promise I'll listen"  His eyes fell to the floor and then back up to you. You could see on his face he had already surrendered "You know I don't dance" "We'll see" you smiled maliciously as his eyes traveled down to your lips. He cleared his throat “I just- I have to get a thing from my desk” “Alright just don't try to sneak out of here Spence”  “I wouldn’t dare” he laughed, turning around. You let your eyes linger on his frame a little longer before turning to Derek. He chuckled “What?” He put his hands in front of him in defense, still smiling smugly “nothing. It’s just interesting how he never seems to say no to you” “Well, what can I say? I have my charm” you joked He winced “yeah I’m not sure it’s just that” “Oh stop it” you rolled your eyes at his assumption. It wasn’t the first time he suggested it. “I'm just saying.” He shrugged “ you don’t see dr. Spencer Reid stutter every day” "When will you stop with this theory of yours?" "When you'll admit I'm right" You scoffed "yeah right" He raised an eyebrow knowingly and you scowled at him as Spencer approached. "I didn't sneak out"  "I see that, you're a man of your word " you smiled, sensing Morgan's lips twitch into a cocky grin. "we should go" he said "The others are already there"

"well hello" you said as a series of all kinds of greetings met your ears, variating from hotch's polite - hello - to Penelope's - hello my most precious -. You sat down next to Emily and after a moment of hesitation, spencer set next to you. Now, you weren't stupid, hell, studying people's behavior was your job, so yes, you had been lying to Derek before. You weren't certain about it, but you had a suspicion that what he enjoyed suggesting so much was actually the truth. You had noticed it a long time ago. You had joined the bureau about a year after he had, and even if you weren't that experienced of a profiler you could see how he acted differently when he was with you. He was always awkward, I mean, it's spencer Reid we're talking about, but when he was with you he was even more. he had trouble looking you in the eyes, would freeze after even the slightest touch, and was very hesitant to talk to you, and when he did, he would often find himself stuttering or blushing or saying - sorry- with that little sweet voice of his a lot.  But you didn't let go. you knew that under all that shyness and awkwardness there would be someone extremely interesting. and you were right. As time went by he got better, he started speaking to you voluntarily, engaging in long conversations, filled with dorky jokes and boring data, conversations that you started to adore and that, time after time, made you two learn more about each other than you could have ever imagined. But after all this time, after 4 whole years, you would notice how he sometimes would still when you touched him, or how when you wore a little more revealing clothes it was hard to have him look you in the eyes,or millions of others small things that made you question what you actually meant to him. But there were two fundamental problems, and as much as you wanted to explore that thought that sometimes crept into your mind, these always seemed to be there to remind you not to. The first one being the fact that you were and are, co-workers, as in workers that work together, as in workers that basically live in their office and that travel constantly together, and that have done 2 days of holidays collectively this year. And let's not forget, coworkers as in workers who cannot have relationships with one another due to the very strict policy their boss has everyone follow.  So that was one And the second, which, even if it should have probably been the opposite, was the one that scared you the most, was that most importantly, you were friends. Best of them for that matter. You had known each other for four full years, and in those years you had both gone through so much and had been each other's lifeline for so long that you felt like if you ruined everything, if, let's say you actually did something about what he felt, or most importantly, what you felt, and things didn't work out or it turned out you had read everything wrong, well then, you wouldn't know how to do it anymore. How to do it without him by your side. And so you stopped yourself. Every time you started even thinking about the possibility of doing something about all the beats your heart would skip when he complimented you, you thought of the worst possible outcome and forced yourself to bottle everything up. You didn't want to lose him. You just couldn't. "So what are we drinking?" JJ said "How 'bout some shots?" Emily immediately intervened as hotch scowled at her. "We have work tomorrow" "And we had work today" she raised an eyebrow and he nodded slightly, as he always did when he was unenthusiastically approving of something. Emily smiled as little shouts of excitement left JJ's and Penelope's throats. You leaned closer to spencer and whispered "this is not gonna end well", earning a little laugh from him. The same sound that every time made you feel all warm and squishy inside. Like you didn't know what to do with your hands anymore. "well whatever happens I'm here" he bent down to murmur against your ear, his breath tickling you softly "I'll protect you from drunk Emily". You snorted "Then thank god for you dr. Reid" you placed your hand on his chest as you looked up at him through your lashes. You could see his cheeks turning a pinker shade.  Fuck, how you wish you could just give in. "y-yeah" he laughed nervously "a real life-saver". "absolutely" you smiled, taking your hand off of him, and, as you suspected, rendering him able to breathe again.

"you want another drink?" Emily asked you over the music. It had been an hour and you were now scattered all across the bar. Morgan with some girl on the dance floor, where JJ and Penelope were visibly sweating their ass off to the beat of the music, Rossi, Hotch, and Reid still at the table, probably discussing something to do with work, and you and Emily at the bar, taking a break from the dancing. You took a deep breath as you caught your breath "no thanks" you said, "I have to go get something I was promised". Prentiss frowned as You strutted to the table the boys were at. You didn't even let them time to express their confusion before you spoke. "You owe me a dance" you reached your hand out to Spencer "I don't dance y/n" You didn't say anything, just pressured him to take your hand. "and I never said I was going to" he raised an eyebrow "please" you pouted. "Y/n..." his voice was strained as he tilted his head to the side. You liked this visual, him beneath you, all his pretty features completely visible, his hazel eyes perfectly accessible, just like his slightly parted rosey mouth. "Spence..." you mimicked his tone, still pouting. "I'll show you. I promise" you smiled reassuringly. He looked to his colleagues and was met only with encouraging looks. It was public want for him to loosen up a bit, for his own good. "ok but no making fun of me" he said as he took your small hand into his big and powerful one. "you know I will" you bit down a smile as you started walking to the dance floor. There weren’t many people dancing but you still decided to stop at the side of the dance floor, knowing as Spencer didn’t like to feel squished between many people. You glanced to your right, where the mass was, all sweaty and close to each other. There was what was clearly a couple slow dancing right next to you, disregarding the upbeat rhythm of the music, and close to them, two girls were jumping up and down, screaming the music’s lyrics into each other’s ears. You smiled at the picture as you turned to Spencer again. He was nervous. You could see the slightly panicked look in his eyes, the twitch in his mouth as you took his other hand in yours and started swaying to the rhythm, moving his arms with yours. His body was still immobile like a piece of wood, not giving any signs of knowing in the slight what dancing meant. His eyes were fixated on your face, intimidating you a bit. “You’re gonna have to move at one point Spence” you smiled He did the same as he looked at his feet ” I have no idea how to” he said, sounding completely hopeless. So dramatic. “Just listen to the music” you looked for his eyes “It’s easy trust me” “ it’s easy for you” he raised his eyebrows “ it should be even easier for you Mr. IQ of 187” you grinned. His lips twitched into a shy smile “ that doesn’t really help with stuff like this” “So you’re saying I just found something I’m smarter than the wonder boy at? What a confidence boost” you smirked He shook his head “You are smarter than me at many things y/n” Now it was your turn to blush. You laughed softly “I appreciate you lying to me, but we both know that’s not true Spence” you kept moving to the rhythm “But it is” he said honestly “ we wouldn’t know how to do it without you” he glanced behind you ” without your ability to get the suspects to tell you everything” his feet started to mindlessly move with the music “ not to mention all those times you figure a case out in 5 minutes” his hips began to sway slightly. It seemed the only way to get Spencer Reid to dance was to make him forget he was doing it. You smiled as you got closer to him“you’re flattering me, Doctor”  He chuckled “w-well you-you deserve it” “Why thank you” you giggled, and without giving yourself time to think about why you shouldn’t, you untangled your hands from his and brought them up behind his neck. Intertwining them right where his hair started. His arms were frozen by his side and for a moment you regretted what you had just done, he seemed uncomfortable. “I’m sorry is this ok?”  His cheeks were bright red “n-no, I mean yes I-I like it” he stuttered, making you laugh softly. You breathed a sigh of relief before you started moving again, inevitably dragging him with you. “You can touch me too you know?” You eyed his hands and he gulped “o-ok”. He slowly raised them and uncertaintly placed them on your waist. You could feel he wasn’t really holding you, just skimming you shily, but nonetheless a shiver traveled down your spine. You smiled. You liked this feeling, being so close to him you could smell the scent of his clean clothes and his natural fragrance, something you had no idea how to describe.  You continued moving with the music, which had now changed to a slower-paced song, as spencer did the same, slowly loosening up. “You’re getting good at it” “You don’t have to lie” “I’m not” He raised an eyebrow and you smiled guiltily ” maybe just a little bit” “Thought so” You swayed even closer to him while dancing, slowly moving in sync with him. Your eyes left his to glance quickly at the room around you. The purple and white lights flooded the space as everyone seemed lost in their own thoughts or too busy tasting someone else’s mouth. As your eyes toured around the room, Derek caught your eye. He was dancing with a pretty blonde girl, that is, if we can call that dancing, there was a little too much grinding for it to be fitting to your definition. He felt your eyes on him and raised his head from its place on the girl’s shoulder. You already knew what his reaction was gonna be, and you were proven right immediately as the sides of his lips turned up in a much too smug grin, his eyes communicating very clearly - I know I’m right, and so do you- You rolled your eyes in response and he just laughed. “What’s wrong?” Spence said worriedly You shook your head “ nothing, don’t worry” you smiled reassuringly getting closer to him, just to spite morgan, and maybe, just maybe also because you really really wanted to. He stilled momentarily again and you couldn’t help but play with some of the hair a the base of his neck, hoping it was as soothing for him as it was for you. It seemed to work as he started dancing again. The music changed to a more rhythmic tune again, but you didn't feel like dancing to it, you needed fresh air. "You wanna go out a sec?" "Sure" 

You knew going out with only him was only gonna make Derek, just like Emily, who had also suggested your mutual interest in each other before, believe more in their theory, but you didn't care, it's not as if anything was gonna happen. And even if it did, they would never know. Not that it was going to, obviously. "so" you started, leaning on the cold brick wall of the bar, Spencer was in front of you "are you having fun?" A car passed by on the dark road. The only sound besides the low thumps of the music coming from inside. " yes, I really am actually" he smiled " you seem surprised" you noticed He looked at his feet and then at you again "Well, you know, it's just bars aren't really my thing" "right" you nodded "but I like being with you" he said faintly "with-with all of you, I mean" You bit down a grin "I like being with you too" "W-well that's great" "yep" you said "otherwise who can I make fun of for his dancing?" you giggled, making him laugh sarcastically. "you said I wasn't bad" "I did say that" you tilted your head to the side "but you still have a couple of things to learn" "Well, I blame the teacher" You gasped as you punched his shoulder playfully "unbelievable" "I'm kidding" he smiled "you're actually a great teacher" "damn right I am"  He wet his lips as he looked around. "It's nice when no one's here" "yes it is" you agreed, taking in the lightly lit sidewalk, leading up to the park you walked by every day. It's weird how light can make such a difference to your surroundings, able to make a dark street feel unsafe at night, and the spot in front of a bar safe and comforting. maybe it wasn't the light, you thought, maybe it was the company. "What were you talking about with Hotch and Rossi?"  He turned towards the sound of your voice "Oh you know," he winced, regretting what he was about to say "scotch" Your mouth opened in an amused surprise "You?" he sighed "yes me y/n. I know some stuff about alcohol" "but you don't even drink it"  "Yeah, but I read about it" he shrugged "wow" you smiled "You're full of surprises doctor Reid" "thanks?" he said more as a question "It's a compliment" you stepped closer to him, putting your hand on his arm "It's what makes you so interesting" You scrunched your nose "that and the whole genius thing" He laughed softly "well I'm glad" he said "and just so you know, y-you're also very interesting" "oh I know" you spoke "I've been told before, not always as a compliment though"  "I'm sorry" "It's fine. At least I know someone like me now" He smiled, his eyes focusing somewhere on your cheek. "You-You have an eyelash there" "o-oh, where?" He hesitated a moment before bringing his hand to your face and gently picking it off "there" "thanks" you murmured "make a wish" "huh?" you frowned "for the eyelash" "O-oh right"  You hadn't realized until now how close you had gotten. His face was just a few inches from yours and you could feel the warmth of his body so close to yours, not to mention the feeling of his fingers on your face still lingering on your cheek. You closed your eyes, expressing the wish. "Done?" he asked, once you opened them again. He hadn't moved away, much to your relief. "all done" "Then you can blow it away" he said, moving his finger to your mouth, the eyelash still there. You did, blowing gently on his digit, as your eyes were fixated on his, which on the other side, couldn't help but fall to your lips. His adam's apple shifted as he swallowed nervously. He was so beautiful, his brown eyes wide through his long lashes, the strands of his hair on his forehead, and his mouth so damningly inviting. He was even more handsome this up close. You weren't in control anymore as you automatically leaned closer, while he did the same. You could almost feel his lips on yours, those pinkish, tortured beautiful lips were about to meet yours when the bar door opened. You both took a step back. fuck. "Oh hey guys Rossi is offering another round!" Emily's voice felt distant in your ears, as if those few feet separating you were actually miles. You looked at Spencer. His eyes were fixated somewhere behind you, panic clear in them, and then turned to Emily, forcing a smile.  "great, we'll be right in" you said unconvincingly. "All right, just don't wait too long before he changes his mind" she joked before going back in. The street looked darker now, lonelier. "Spence" you tried reaching for him before stopping yourself, remembering where that led to just moments ago. "Spence we're drunk- It was just-" "I have to go" he interrupted your blabbering "but-" "I'm sorry I-" he glanced at you, and your heart sunk in your chest at the look in his eyes, the same ones that were so full before, now seemingly so empty. "I have to go" he said, before turning and walking away, leaving you alone, in the dark night, without a light to hold on to. You had really fucked up, you thought as you stood there sole, mouth still open as the unsaid words you hadn't spoken died on your tongue. Fuck. You looked at your watch. In only ten minutes, you had managed to fuck everything up. Just perfect.

next chapter

[emotionalcadaver]

Part 21: The Shadow of the Abattoir

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary: Lucy offers Tommy a break from all the work and stress he's been dealing with lately. 

Word Count: 5,241

Notes: I decided to give these two a cute little moment because I've been very mean to them lately. Warnings for depictions of smut.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 7: Respite

“Tommy?”

He didn’t notice Lucy where she was standing in the doorway to his office, nor did he hear her when she gently called his name twice. He was too hyper-focused on the small mountain of papers in front of him, battling back a headache from both stress and eyestrain. 

He did take notice, however, when she promptly pushed his chair back from his desk and plopped down definitively in his lap, her arms around his neck.

“Wha-”

“Thomas,” she said, with a sternness that was greatly undercut by the fond amusement dancing in her eyes. “You’re ignoring me.”

His hands settled on her waist of their own accord. “Sorry,” blinking, his eyes darted to the door that she’d left ajar, brow furrowing at the realization that the betting shop was empty and mostly dark. They were the only people still there.

Fucking hell, where had the time gone?

Lucy’s fingertips trailed up and down the nape of his neck to draw his attention back to her, red-painted lips quirking into a tiny smile.

“Did you need something?” he asked. She raised an eyebrow, leaning back to pluck up the paper he’d been looking over. 

“These aren’t due until next week,” she commented.

“Yes, but, I figured I ought to get a head start–”

“They can keep ‘til tomorrow,” she set it down at the top of the stack of paperwork. “It’s late,” she gave him a look, green eyes sharpening. “And I know you haven’t eaten yet.”

“Love…”

“C’mon,” she hopped up off of his lap, grabbing his hand and giving him a tug. “Otherwise we’re going to miss it.”

“Miss what?”

She shot him an amused, mischievous look. Like she knew some big secret that he didn’t. She gave him another tug.

“C’mon.”

He looked over the work still piled on his desk conflictingly, the stubborn part of his brain tempted to just insist on staying until the stack of papers had been reduced.

“Tommy,” Lucy said, a little more assertively. He looked at her apologetically.

“These need to get done, love…”

“And they will. Tomorrow. I’ll help you, alright?” she took a step towards him, cupping both his cheeks and tilting his head up. She widened her already enormous green eyes a little, pouting in that way that they both knew would get him to do just about anything that she asked of him. “Please, Tommy? I put a lot of work into this, and if you spoil it, I will be very cross with you.”

He could feel a fond smile threatening to pull at his lips despite his workaholic tendencies urging him to stay at the desk. Raising an eyebrow, he wrapped his arms around her waist, interest piqued. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we?”

She smiled, shaking her head, sliding his glasses gingerly off of his face, folding and placing them onto his desk. This time, when she took a step back and tugged on his hand, he let her pull him from his chair. 

She guided him to the green double doors, only slightly ajar, faint, flickering light bleeding in through the other side. One of the doors pushed open with a creak when Lucy nudged it, and he was greeted with the kitchen, lit only by the dim, twitching lights of dozens of lit candles. A vase of blooming red roses was set upon the counter. In the center of the stable, surrounded by little plates and bowels piled high with bits of bread, apples, carrots, shrimp, and roasted potatoes, was a steaming fondue pot filled with melted cheese. Lucy let go of his hand, bustling over to it and giving the cheese a gentle stir. Tommy stared at her with wide eyes, lips partially parted. She looked over her shoulder at him and smirked at what he assumed was a rather gobsmacked look on his face. 

“When…”

“You were so sucked into your work, you didn’t even notice when I burned the first batch,” she cringed lightly. “This thing is kind of finicky.” 

“I didn’t even know we had a fondue pot.”

“We don’t. I traded with Ada for it.”

“Traded what?”

“I let her take Charlie for the evening.”

“You traded our child for a bowl of melted cheese?” he chuckled, even as he let her herd him into a seat. 

“Just for the night! Besides, she missed him.”

He hummed. Ada had gotten close to Charlie when she’d come to live at Arrow House to help with him right after Grace had died. 

Lucy sat down in the seat next to him, dividing out the fondue forks between them while Tommy took in the spread before him. She had to have put some effort into this. 

“Lucy…” he said, baffled as to what could possibly have precipitated her to do something like this. “Why…”

She shot him a mischievous look from over where she was skewering a bit of bread onto her fork. Like she knew some big secret that he didn’t. “You’re not the only one who can be spontaneously romantic, you know.”

He snorted, still sensing that she wasn’t entirely telling him everything, but decided to let it go, at least for the moment. 

“You didn’t have to do all of this,” he said, fiddling with a slice of apple before stabbing it with his fondue fork, dipping it carefully into the fondue, rotating it to make sure it was covered as much as possible in the melted cheese. Lucy shrugged. 

“I figured that we deserved something nice. After all the shit lately.”

He blew on the apple before popping it into his mouth. The cheese was warm and gooey, a sharpness in it that mixed well with the sweetness from the apple. He skewered a piece of potato next. 

“It’s good,” he complimented, and Lucy looked down at her plate bashfully. She was a decent cook. Nothing too fancy, but so long as she had a recipe to follow or was making one of the dishes her mother had taught her to make, she could do a damn good job. “Thank you,” he rubbed at his face, shooting her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I know that it’s all a madhouse at the moment…”

“You don’t have to apologize. We’re fine. Don’t worry.”

He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, leaning forward to kiss her once softly on the lips, tilting his head up to peck her forehead. Lucy leaned into him with a happy little sound, and he had no choice really but to kiss her again, adding the slow stroke of his tongue into the mix this time. 

Lucy laughed against his lips, pulling back with her smile pulling at her cheeks. “Don’t think you’re getting out of eating more than a few bites, Shelby,” she narrowed her eyes at his innocent expression. “I know your tricks. And if you make me finish this whole spread by myself, I will be sick for a week.”

Wetting his lips with a mischievous grin, he turned his head, and promptly ate the carrot dripping with cheese from her fondue fork.

“Oi!”

“What?” he asked, still innocent as a newborn deer, wiping cheese from his lip. “You said that you wanted me to eat.”

“Mm, bastard,” she said with a fond shake of her head. Scooting his chair closer to hers so he could wrap and arm around her shoulders, he dipped a piece of bread into the fondue pot. Twirling it to break off the strings cheese attempting to cling to it, he held it out to her. Lucy bit it off of the fork ravenously, and he tried very hard to ignore the way she left a small streak of bright red lipstick against the gleaming silver of the fork. Definitely not thinking about how she would leave traces of lipstick on other things that she could have in her mouth. 

He swiped a stray bit of melted cheese from the corner of her lips, smiling softly to himself, and kissed her again. 

In the soft, flicking candlelight, they fed each other food from one other’s forks, laughing softly when warm cheese dripped onto chins, talking about everything and nothing in equal measure. They finished off dinner by feeding each other chocolate covered strawberries, and when he kissed her again, her lips were sweet with the lingering juice of them, and he was half tempted to just pick her up then and there and carry her upstairs to bed, leaving the clean up for the morning.

Some of the tension he’d been carrying in his neck and shoulders had dissipated, and he felt lighter; more relaxed and at ease. Perhaps he’d needed a respite from everything more than he’d actually thought. 

Between the two of them, it didn’t take all that long to clean up. Lucy kept glancing at the clock, as if expecting something. It was almost midnight.  

Tommy found himself greatly wishing that they had a working gramophone somewhere in the house. 

Fuck it, he decided, watching her wipe her damp hands on a rag. She laughed when he pulled her into his arms, entwining their fingers with one hand while the other rested on her waist.

“Tommy! I’ll step on your toes…” she warned, even as she giggled and let him sway her. 

“Don’t care,” he mumbled, dropping his lips to her forehead. “Thank you for this,” he murmured into her skin. Lucy leaned back, giving him a fond, mildly amused look. 

With a giggle, she wrapped her arms around his neck, gently pulling his head down until it was closer to hers, their foreheads touching and breaths mingling. “You really don’t remember what day it is, do you?”

He froze, immediate panic washed over him, mind spinning into overdrive, trying to remember any important dates. Her birthday? No, that was at the end of April. Their anniversary? No…

There was a minor ruckus going on outside, people on the streets hooting and hollering in celebration of something. 

Lucy chuckled, pulling him down before he could continue panicking over what important event he’d forgotten about, pressing their mouths firmly against one another. 

He kissed her back, hand cradling the back of her head to his. Her hand slid up, cupping the side of his face while her lips parted against his, allowing his tongue to stroke across hers. She hummed softly against his mouth, smiling into the kiss when he pulled her closer, flush against him. The soft press of the swell of her breasts against his chest, and the warm curve of her hip under one of his hands, had him stirring in his trousers.  

She broke the kiss with a smile, both hands cradling his face, their foreheads touching. Her huge, forest green eyes gazed up at him affectionately. Filled with so much love it almost bowled him over. 

“Happy New Year’s, Tommy.”

He blinked, once, processing. Then, “oh.”

She laughed, kissing him again before he could respond.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the second they had parted. “I didn’t–”

“Oh, shush,” Lucy just giggled. “I almost forgot about it too. I wouldn’t have remembered if Ada didn’t remind me,” she looped both arms around his neck, biting her lip. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

He buried his face–cheeks already warming–into her neck. “Shut up.”

She just laughed again, squeezing him tighter to her. “For the record, I would have done this whether it was New Year’s or not. We needed the break.”

Tommy hummed in agreement, heart fluttering at her thoughtfulness. She was always so good to him. Far better than he ever deserved. 

With his face pressed into her neck, the intoxicating scent of the rose perfume she almost always wore filled his senses. His hands smoothed down her sides before wrapping around her waist, mouth angling to start pressing kisses into the soft skin of her neck. Lucy shivered, arms pulling him closer, head tilting back to give him better access.   

“Happy New Year’s,” he mumbled, once he’d worked his way up to her ear, and though he could not see it, he knew that she was smiling, fingers stroking at the nape of his neck. Raising his head, he kissed her again, taking firm hold of her waist and lifting her up onto his hips. She wrapped her legs around him immediately, this a familiar routine between them. 

Tommy groaned when she nipped playfully at his bottom lip, fingers smoothing through his hair and pleasantly scratching against his scalp.

He carried her over to the couch in the front room, her hands busying themselves pulling open the buttons on her shirt, letting it flutter in a pool of white fabric to the floor. Her bra soon followed, and then he was laying her down on the old, worn sofa, crawling on top of her with his arms braced on either side of her head while they kissed.    

“Let’s ring in the new year, eh?” he husked, taking great pleasure in the way her pupils dilated at the sound of his voice. He kissed her hungrily again, groaning into her mouth at the feel of her bare breasts pressing against his chest. He helped her to devest himself of his upper layers, tossing them to the floor. His cock throbbed in his trousers, growing harder with each passing moment, with each press of their lips or caress of her small hands across his newly revealed skin. 

He needed her more than air; more than anything in the entire fucking world. 

Her thighs were already parted for him, spread wide with his body slotted between them. Cradling the side of her head with one hand, he ran the other up her body, cupping one of her full breasts. Lucy hummed, back arching into his hand when he ran his thumb across her nipple before giving it a light pinch, feeling the bud grow harder. Her fingers raked through his hair, down his back, likely leaving very light red scratches in their wake. Then she was squeezing at his biceps, before dropping both hands to run down his chest. Tommy broke their kiss, pulling back just enough to look at her, their foreheads still touching while their breaths mingled. 

Her dark red hair was fanned out across the arm of the couch, curls tousled into a fiery halo around her head. Her fair, freckled cheeks were flushed an adorable rosy pink, full lips parted, swollen and red from his kisses. Big green eyes, the shade of dark moss, stared up at him, pupils dilated so that there was but a sliver of green encircling them.

Tommy stroked her cheek tenderly, fingers brushing along the shape of her cheekbone. She was breathtaking.

Movements slow and deliberate, he kissed her cheek, then her jaw, then down her neck. She sighed, a sweet, heartbeat-skipping sound, and tangled her fingers into his hair. Tommy worked his way along her shoulder, stopping at where the first scar marked her chest, paying specific attention to caressing his lips across it. 

He’d kissed each and every one of her scars, faded in the years that had passed since they’d first been imprinted onto her body, more times than he could count. And he’d do it again and again.

He felt Lucy shiver at the sensation of his mouth on the sensitive flesh, and his arms coiled around her in response, hugging her tighter to him, taking note of her reactions to ensure that she wasn’t growing anxious. Sometimes it happened, bad memories springing up outside of her control. But tonight, she remained relaxed in his arms.

His face shifted lower, lips working their way up the swell of one of her breasts, tongue darting out to circle her nipple when he finally made his way to the apex. His hand continued to tease the other one, and Lucy’s fingers squeezed in his hair in encouragement when he wrapped his lips around her hardened pink nipple and began to suck. 

Her reaction was delicious; a soft moan leaving her lips while her back arched, pushing her chest even more into his face. Her head tipped back, eyes closing, and her legs, strong from years of horseback riding and patrolling the streets of Birmingham, cinched around him. Tommy mused to himself that, if he had to pick a way to die, it would be like this: clutched tight between Lucy Winters’s legs, watching her face contort with pleasure. 

He sucked a moment more on her nipple, particularly enjoying the shudder that went through her whole body when he scraped his teeth against it, then switched sides. Didn’t want the other breast to feel left out, after all. 

Between his legs, his cock throbbed with impatience, growing a little uncomfortable where it was still trapped in the confines of his underwear and trousers. And while he chose to ignore it for the moment, he did resume his descent down her body, mindful to kiss the scars on her stomach as he went. 

Her belt jangled a little as he undid it, loosening it just enough so that he could get at the fastening of her trousers and pull them, along with her knickers, down her legs. She kicked them off, and he caught both her thighs in his palms, hooking them over his shoulders. Licking his lips, he lowered his face to between her legs, smirking at her when he caught her propping herself up onto her elbows to watch him. His nose trailed delicately through the coarse red hair between her legs, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her musk before moving lower.   

Using two fingers, he parted her labia, and licked a stripe up from the bottom of her slit up to her clit. Lucy moaned, thighs twitching a little, and he smirked again, this time just to himself.

She was already good and wet for him, sweet as the strawberries they had eaten earlier. He lapped at her hungrily, eager for everything she had to give him. He let her hand in his hair help steer him as she pleased, guiding the pace and location of his touches. 

When he slowly slipped a finger inside of her, he swallowed hard at the tight squeeze of her walls around him, cock twitching with the hope that it would soon be replacing his finger within her. All it took was a few pumps of his finger and swipes of his tongue on her clit to have her relaxing even more, opening up wider for him with a fresh gush of arousal. Her moans were soft, hips shifting to push closer to his mouth, and he thought that he could listen to her make those pretty sounds forever. 

He added another finger, crooking them slightly so the pads of his fingertips were stroking along the spot inside her that he knew made her voice raise in pitch. And was rewarded with just that, plus a light tremble in the hand still curled in his hair, pushing his face deeper into her pussy. 

Fucking hell, if she suffocated him there, he would die happy.     

Tommy doubled his efforts, purring at how she tightened around him, how her voice broke on a cry of his name, begging him not to stop. 

As if he would ever want to. 

That he still had her, after everything, that she had stayed…it amazed him. She could have just about anyone she wanted, and yet she was still with him. Loyal to a fault. Loving him with every beat of her huge heart. Tommy could not even begin to fathom why she was still with him at all. But he was grateful that she was.

So fucking grateful. 

Lucy came around his fingers with a cry of his name, hips grinding against his mouth, babbling out praises that made his cock throb painfully in his trousers as he drank up all she had to offer, tongue darting out to taste the sweetness rushing from around his fingers. She slumped back against the couch, and when he looked up, he was met with quite the sight: her chest heaving, a light sheen of sweat coating her skin, green eyes staring down at him dazedly. 

With a small smile, he returned to cleaning her up with gentle kitten licks, easily her down carefully from her high, cleaning off his fingers after he gingerly pulled them from her opening. 

“Tommy,” Lucy croaked, the hand that a moment ago had been clenched in his hair stroking the top of his hair, the other reaching out to him. “Tommy, come here.”

He let her draw him back on top of her, bracing his weight on his elbows to avoid crushing her. Despite her constant assurances, he never had been able to entirely shake the fear that he would accidentally hurt her. She was so tiny; it wouldn’t be hard to do so. 

Her cool fingertips caressed his face, and he couldn’t help but lean into her touch, a sound like a purr rumbling unconsciously from his chest. She always had that effect on him; turning him into practical mushy goo under her hands.

Angling her head up, she kissed him softly. He parted his lips to hers, letting her set the pace as her tongue dipped into his mouth. His cock was throbbing desperately, and the simple action of lightly rubbing his bulge against her was enough to have him gasping into her mouth. 

“More?” he asked, needing to check before pushing things any further. He could always just finish off with his hand if she was too tired to keep going. 

But Lucy nodded vigorously, pulling his mouth back down to hers, hands running down his chest, trailing through the line of hair leading from his navel to dip beneath the waistband of his trousers. 

“Yes.”

He moaned as she cupped him in her hand through the fabric, hips pushing into her hand. It took some fumbling and shifting of his hips to get his belt loosened and shimmy out of his trousers and boxers, and then he was bare against her, Lucy’s small hand immediately wrapping around his swollen erection, his hips thrusting into her palm.  

He was positively aching, cock heavy and thick between his legs. The gentle rub of her hand only soothed the throb of desire a little, his throat suddenly very dry, a shudder running along his spine when she smeared the oozing precum from the tip with her thumb, letting it help slicken her movements. She angled her face to kiss him again, legs hitching up around his waist, and he let her pull him in closer. 

He would have let her absorb him into her entire being, had it been possible.

He stared into her face as she guided him to her entrance, not even bothering to try to hide his desperation for her. He’d never needed to hide what he actually thought or felt when it came to Lucy. Never needed to perform. For some unfathomable reason, she loved him just the way he was. 

“Tom,” she whispered, hand going to his shoulder as the tip of his cock penetrated her. He grunted at the tight wetness, warmth surrounding him as he slowly sheathed himself inside of her. The uneven, shaky gasp she let out once he was seated in her fully had his eyes–he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them–opening to fix on her and check to make sure that she was alright. 

She looked back at him with heavy-lidded eyes in which he saw nothing but desire, pleasure, and love. Her lips were parted with her breaths, and she reached out to cup the side of his face, thumb gently stroking. That, combined with the arm she had wrapped around his shoulder, and her thoughtful actions from earlier in the evening, had his heart suddenly growing tight in his chest, a lump forming in his throat. 

His Lucy always made him feel so loved. Even when he didn’t deserve it.

As if reading his mind, she cocked her head a little, kissing him fully on the lips quickly, then between his brows. 

“Okay?” she asked, thumb still stroking his cheek. Tommy wetted his lips, raising one hand to cover hers where it rested on his face. 

“Yeah,” it came out as a hoarse whisper. She kissed him again, and when they parted, this time, she smiled at him tenderly. 

“I love you,” she murmured, and he almost burst into tears right there in her arms. His heart felt like it might burst with the scope of his love and affection for her.

She really was his favorite person in the world.

“I love you too,” it didn’t feel like enough, when it came to expressing the depth of his feelings for her. They were entangled; one being split into two bodies. He was not sure if he really believed in soulmates; but he did know that she was the love of his life.

Lucy swept a few tendrils of dark hair that had flopped forward out of his eyes, the smile on her face telling him that she knew everything he wanted to say without him needing to utter a word. He kissed her again, this time soft and deep, and started to move slowly within her. 

She moaned sweetly into his mouth, hand squeezing his shoulder as he drew out until only the tip remained inside her, then pushed back in until his balls slapped audibly against her skin.  

He set a steady pace, Lucy’s hips raising to meet his on every thrust. He continued to kiss her, open mouthed and hungry, eagerly consuming each of her lovely sounds while gifting her his own. Aiming himself purposefully, he ensured that each long stroke of his cock was rubbing right against her g-spot, pubic bone gliding against her clit. Lucy’s fingers tightened against his shoulder, likely leaving little crescent marks in their wake. The thought made him groan deeply; the idea of her marking him had always done it for him. 

With one hand, he cupped her breast, teasing and lightly pinching her nipple, and she gasped out, walls tightening around him, and he felt the pleasure shooting through his cock intensify. 

She was soft and sweet under his hands, and when he broke from kissing her for a moment to just look down into her face, his breath caught at the sight of those giant green orbs staring back at him, half lidded with lust, but glimmering affectionately. Her legs tightened around his waist, as if trying to bring him in even closer to her somehow. As if they weren’t already as physically close as it was possible for two people to be. 

Her face shifted on a particularly deep thrust, head tipping back slightly and a sigh leaving her lips. He could feel her walls pulsing around him, clutching around his cock like a vice. And she was so warm and wet, it was making his head feel fuzzy. 

“Close, Tommy,” she warned, even though she didn’t have to; he could read her body like a goddamn book. 

He doubled his efforts, letting go of her breast to reach down and circle his thumb around her clit, just in the way that he knew she liked it. Slow and lazy. She whined, eyes scrunching closed as her face started to be overtaken by pleasure, and he had no choice really but to kiss her.

He felt her walls clamp down around him hard, and then she was coming around him hotly, legs spasming around him, moans coming from somewhere low in her chest. 

Tommy groaned. Few things were as good to him as making Lucy come. Her entire body responded to it, back arching, eyes closing, hands scrabbling for purchase on his back or shoulders, legs tightening and jerking around his hips, cunt squeezing him so tight it felt like she was trying to pull his very soul from him.

He continued to fuck her through it, prolonging her high while chasing his own. He was intimately aware of just how heavy and full his balls felt, aching to spill inside of her. A twitch went through his cock, and they tightened. Tommy groaned, pace picking up. 

Lucy broke their kiss, peppering her lips across his cheekbone and finding his ear. He shivered at the brush of them against the lobe. 

“Are you going to come for me, Tommy?” she asked sweetly, and his eyes widened. Normally he was the one with more of a proclivity for whispering dirty things into her ear.

“Always so good to me; always take such good care of me,” she continued to croon, voice an octave lower than normal, and he groaned weakly, a tingling starting at the base of his spine. “You feel so good. So big.”

“Ah…” he grunted, body jerking, cock twitching hard at that, then swelling.

“I love you so much…”

He cried out; it might’ve been a curse, might’ve been her name, it was impossible for him to know. Any higher functioning he’d been capable of flew right out of his head, jaw going lax and hips sheathing himself all the way in and stilling as the first pulse of his orgasm rocketed through him. 

His balls tightened with each large load of seed, cock throbbing as it pushed it out of him and into her. He groaned weakly, emptying himself deep inside of her.  

Fucking hell, she always made him come so hard. 

When it was over, he slumped down on top of her, still being mindful to not put the entirety of his weight on her. His arms went around Lucy’s waist, head pillowing itself on her chest, still rising and falling with her heavy breaths. She was stroking at his hair while hugging him to her, a few kisses pressed into the crown of his head. 

Neither of them said anything for a long while. They didn’t need to. Instead, they just basked in the afterglow, warm and comfortable wrapped up in one another. 

Finally, once his eyelids started to grow heavy, Tommy raised himself up slightly. It would do no good to fall asleep here, both for the sake of their backs, and because the likelihood of a family member waltzing in through the front door in the morning and finding them naked on the couch was not out of the realm of possibility. 

Lucy blinked up at him, cheeks still a little rosy, expression sleepy and satisfied. “What?” she asked with a quiet laugh, when he just stared at her.  

“You’re so beautiful,” he said softly, touching her cheek, which flared red under his hand. Her eyes darted down, bashful.

“No…”

“Oi,” he scolded lightly, hooking his fingers under her chin and angling her head up until she looked at him. “You are,” he insisted, leaving no room for argument in his voice, kissing her forehead. “You are.”

“You’re a softy.”

“Mm,” he hummed in mild agreement, pecking her lips. “Don’t tell anyone.”

She just laughed, then shrieked lightly in surprise and joy when he pulled out of her and stood up, bending and scooping her up into his arms bridal style and carrying her towards the stairs and to bed. 

For a moment, nothing outside of the two of them existed. Not the vendetta. Not his family. Not even Birmingham. It was just them. Happy. 

But nothing lasts forever. 

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[madhattervanessa]

Kill You To Try (Chapter 1)

Summary: Between old and new issues, you let your own health drag. Not everyone seems to be okay with it.

Warnings: grief, prescription pills

Words: 2629

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Series Masterlist

-

I need a hero! I’m holding out-

You’re abruptly ripped out of your dreamless sleep and reach out to blindly grab your phone from the nightstand.

“What’s wrong?”

You rub the sand out of your eyes with your other hand. As you open them, you blink up into the darkness.

“Need you to come down, I have some trouble with a horse.”

“Are you in the stables?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be right there, Lee.”

You end the call and let your hand with the phone fall onto the mattress. You follow the grain of the wood in the ceiling with your eyes as you feel your pulse slowing down from its sprint.

It’s strange, not waking up in your bed.

Then again, you have not been sleeping in anything you could call your own bed for the past year.

You sigh and detangle yourself from the suffocating sea of thick duvets. As you swing your feet over the edge of the bed, the moist sheen of sweat on your skin makes you shiver. 

You drag your shirt off on the way to the bathroom.

You grab the bar of soap from the shower and bend over the sink. As you start washing yourself, you risk a cautionary look in the mirror. 

Your eyes are rimmed with red, the bags underneath a prominent purple, and the lines on the sides of your face are a testament to your tossing and turning throughout the night.

You close your eyes and breathe in the fresh pine smell of the soap.

After drying yourself with a towel, you wander back into the bedroom.

Mindlessly, you pull on your underwear, faded jeans, and a faded but thick sweater, before you roll on your socks and grab your boots as you make your way out of the room.

Downstairs, you hear the hiss of running water from the kitchen. You knock on your way in and let your eyes wander over the generous baskets of produce and the breakfast spread on the kitchen island.

Gabriel, the Dutton’s personal chef, looks over his shoulder from where he is washing produce in the sink.

“Good morning. Since when have you been back?” 

You shuffle into the kitchen, the scent of fresh herbs and wet vegetables washing over you.

“Few days ago. D’you have any coffee?”

He dries his hands on the towel hanging from his shoulder, offering a quick smile. 

“Definitely. Why don’t you grab some breakfast, too?” He gestures towards the breakfast spread, the eggs still steaming.

“God bless you, Gator,” you murmur and take a seat at the wooden kitchen island. As you lean onto the smooth wooden counter, the smell of bread and butter fills your nose. You spy a leftover plate from what must have been Lee's breakfast.

You reach for a thick slice of bread to pile some eggs on. Just as you chew on your first bite, your travel mug is set down next to your arm. You open your eyes to Gator's scrutinizing look and wipe some butter from the corner of your lips to your mouth.

“Jesus, girl, when’s the last time you ate?”

You hum and swallow before reaching for the coffee.

“Don't ask. Wasn't your food, anyways," you mutter before continuing to scarf down your breakfast with quick, eager bites.

Gator sighs and lingers at the counter.

"Well, I'm glad you're back to appreciate it. Lee just scarfs down everything and leaves. Don't get me started on the others."

You wipe your hands off on your pants and start pulling on your socks and boots. After swallowing your last bite, you meet his eye.

"Like father, like sons. They don't know how good they have it a lot of times, Gator."

You take another sip of the piping hot coffee, rolling your eyes in delight before screwing the lid shut.

"Can I leave my plate?"

"Of course. Just grab some fruit before you go."

"Thanks," you mutter. He pushes an apple into your hand and clasps your shoulder before turning back to the sink.

You bite into it and grab your mug. On your way out, you pull on your hat and jacket.

The morning air sends a shiver down your spine. On your way to the barn, you chew your bite of the apple.

Your steps are cut short when you see a shadow from the corner of your eye. The apple falls to the ground as Lee bumps into you, both of you apologizing to each other as you stop.

"Oh-sorr- Jesus Christ, kid. You look like shit."

You glare at Lee, unamused by his honest words this morning, as if you hadn't previously been aware of your greasy bedhead.

"You called me. I'm here.

"Right. Follow me." He clears his throat, awkwardly pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. A move that seems to be genetically imprinted on all of the Dutton kids. You drop your frown and follow Lee through the stable door.

The light inside is still dim, just a few pale yellow rays of sun manage their way through the windows, tinting everything in a gentle, warm hue that only seems to intensify the mellow fragrances lingering inside: Dry, sweet hay and musky manure, the smell of the leather saddles and warm, mellow horse fur.

It makes your heart squeeze. You missed it all, you realize, startlingly, as you look around until you find one of the horses already out of its box.

Lee gently envelops the horse's nose in his hands before walking over to its side, murmuring something soothing. The grayish gelding whinnies quietly before snorting and whipping his head towards his stomach.

"What made you call me?" you ask. Your boots click on the ground as you approach the horse you now recognize as Cisco, a young horse that had joined the herd just months ago. 

"He was sweating bullets and bein' restless when I came in." You study Cisco's eyes before opening his mouth to check his gums. When you finish, you muffle a yawn in the crook of your elbow and gently trace your hand over Cisco's neck. 

You pat it soothingly as you let your other hand glide over his side, feeling for anything unusual.

"I thought it might be Colic. But I wanted you to check now that you're back."

You hum in agreement and let your hands scan Cisco's shoulder, the crest, and his spine before reaching toward his stomach. You get a bump against your back for it, the morning air filled with the dull sound of hooves scratching against the concrete floor of the stables. 

"I'm thinking Colic is right on the money, Lee", you sigh and turn to look at him over the horse's back. "I'm going to have a look for any build-up but one of you guys has to make sure he moves around today, it will help against his stomach cramps."

Lee scratches the back of his head, already cringing openly.

"I need them out today."

"Well if you don't need me out on the pasture I can do it."

He nods and leaves with a muttered, "I'll leave you to it."

You watch him go, your hand ceaselessly repeating the back and forth on Cisco's back as you watch the first lights in the bunkhouse turn on, just in time for Lee to open the door.

You turn back, muttering some more encouragement to the sick horse before you go to work on him.

-

"Good morning."

You puff your cheeks before exhaling slowly. The air billows into small clouds in front of you.

"Mind your breathing. Use it to ground yourself, darling."

With the words, the memories of soft morning air, soft cushions on the ground and the smell of myrrh come flooding back, too.

You wish you could call her. Your throat feels tight at the thought.

"Morning."

You pull your hat a bit lower, mindful of the purple bags underneath your eyes that feel like your face is being weighed down. You roll up your whip over your elbow, fiddling with the flaying ends of it, twisting every strand.

"What's poor Cisco in for?"

The rhythmic pounding of Cisco's hooves in the sand echoes on the ranch.

"Colic."

"D'you need anything? Your case, or something?"

"It's fine, I'm almost done. Just needed to get him moving."

You click at the horse, encouraging him to keep moving. Rip's stare is burning holes in the back of your head. He kicks against the wooden post he's leaning against, grating against your already stretched-thin nerves.

"Don't you want to talk about it?"

You contain your laugh in a humorless, short huff.

But you smother the bitterness. Rip doesn't deserve your sour mood this morning. 

It might just be the sleepless nights, anyways.

"I ain't ever seen you like this, Bones."

"If you keep talking, you can run laps, next. I won't spare you the whip, either."

The high, grating sound of his whistling, and the warm laughter that follows, snap your nerves. 

You let your whip whirr through the air and precisely snap the fence next to him.

"Fuck-!"

You lift your chin, satisfied by the curses behind you as you follow Cisco with more encouraging clicks, turning with him until you can sneak a look at Rip.

The sight of his spilled coffee makes you smirk. Your eyes meet and you twirl the whip over your head again in a pretty circle.

He cusses, clutching his hat as he crouches down behind the fence, anticipating the next hit.

You don't let it come, just to see him squirm again. When he straightens up, he kicks against his coffee cup in the sand and throws another dagger of a look toward you before turning his back on you, leaving you behind, his hands no doubt balled into fists in the pockets of his jacket.

You gnaw at the raw inside of your cheek, biting at it until you can taste blood again.

-

When Lee finally returns, you watch the other farmhands file out towards the stables, too.

Rip is holding a new cup of coffee but doesn’t dare look at you.

The young farmhand next to him, however, does, chewing with his mouth open as he lets his eyes travel up, down, and up again.

It’s a whole thing with new farmhands, has been since you were twelve and suddenly nestling more weight on your hips.

He looks painfully young, dragged out of college young.

Probably the only reason he’s here anyways. Nothing fits him right, not even his silly little hat.

Except maybe for that fat grin of his.

“Who’s this pretty young thing!”, he hollers. Before you can say anything, a harsh slap is already delivered to the back of his head from Lloyd. 

You let the whip whirl over your head anyways, you have to. It’s the law. You would rather die than leave it to the men around the farm to enforce respect for you. You receive more welcome and friendly hollers that speak of admiration from the men you already know from the past few years in response. It warms your chest and you mock a curtsy before turning back to what you were doing. 

You hear Lee hiss something to the boy before nudging him along. The kid stumbles, kicking up dust.

“Dropped you some coffee at the stables, Bones!”

“Thanks, Lloyd!” 

“You need any help with the horse?”

“I’m fine! Calluses are still there!”

That makes Lee laugh and you spot John in the distance, smiling, too.

You tip your hat at the Dutton patriarch before making Cisco approach you, gently feeling for tension in his stomach again.

-

"Should I like that you're still here in the stables?"

"You better be likin' it, Lee", you grunt. Cisco huffs, twitching at the loud voices approaching.

You listen to the sound of the men filing in, putting their own horses away. You peek out from where you're braiding Cisco's mane.

"Any more medical emergencies I should know about?"

"Nah." Lee smiles at you as he passes. "How's this guy?"

"Getting the full treatment, washed and styled, ya know, stuff all of you guys could definitely use", you tease back.

He barks out a laugh in response, shaking his head as he takes his saddle into the back.

You hear Lloyd berating someone in the front, no doubt laying into a new farmhand or something.

Steps grow closer and you smile to yourself.

Lloyd is like a distant, older uncle, always with some warm, wise words he will gruffly mutter before he laughs at you, with his whole face, cheeks, and wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. 

You turn your head, ready to rib on him, too, only to find Rip shouldering his way into the box. He is crowding you, despite staying an arm's length away.

Everything in your chest shrivels up and you turn back to concentrate on what you're doing. You carefully fiddle with the hair in your fingers, taking extra care to add to your braiding, left over the middle, then right, brushing more hair into the other strands.

"Is this how it's gonna be, now? We're not talking anymore?" 

You open your mouth to answer but think better of it, biting your lip before shutting your mouth. Rip is good at this, making you argue with him until you run out of steam. He lets you take a pound of flesh until you roll over and give up.

"You look like a walking corpse."

"You're so charming, Rip."

"Stop deflecting."

"I'm not."

"You are."

God, you still fight like you are fourteen, bickering over who gets the best horse out of the stable. 

With the braid finished, there is not a lot you can do to avoid him, but you keep fiddling with the end of it for a little longer.

You hear him shifting. The heat is just rolling off of his body, permeating the air between the two of you.

"I called the Doctor. Got you some pills."

"I don't need medication, Rip. I need my fucking- goddamn peace."

"Yeah, that's just how I remember you. Wanting to be alone at all times. Real fuckin' like you."

Don't turn and yell at him, don't.

Just breathe.

Deep breaths.

You turn around to face him, uncaring of the others still milling about the stable as you get up into his face.

"Don't talk to me like that."

"It's the only way I get an answer out of you since you've returned."

You frown, still biting at your lip, tearing the skin.

"How about you just give me some space?"

"You've been so off, I'm thinking you need someone to stop giving you space", he hisses back before straightening up, his fingers scratching his jaw before he looks at you again, utterly defeated. "Just... take the pills. Talk to-" he sighs. "Talk to someone. Okay? Promise me."

His hands are warm as they gently squeeze yours before he lets them go. 

You swallow around the lump in your throat- but you can hardly feel it. It's like you're floating in the air, outside of your body, looking down on the situation happening. Rip glances over into the stables as he reaches into the inside of his jacket.

He pushes the pill bottle into your hand, making sure to fold your fingers around the plastic. The warmth of it, the sincere, searching eye contact- it snaps you right back into your body and you flinch like you have gotten whiplash.

You yank your hands out of his and flee the scene, leaving the pill bottle in the soft hay next to Rip's feet.

It's on your bedside table when you return to bed that evening.

-

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[abiiors]

leaves fallen sparse 🍂 // ross macdonald x reader

promptober '23 - day 13

a/n: another dad!ross fic <33 cw: none, just fluff wc: 900

when april first learns to walk, it’s the beginning of summer. she’s a fast learner; crawling one day and then pulling herself up the next before walking towards an extremely astonished ross and throwing herself in his arms. 

he catches her, of course—teary-eyed and ecstatic and looking at you with the biggest smile ever which you’re sure you mirror. by the time autumn rolls around, april has mastered the art. and you’ve mastered the art of keeping her out of trouble.

every morning, she toddles to the backyard, finding the perfectly crunchy leaves to step on and giggling when they make a loud noise. ross points out new leaves to her while you join them with a steaming mug of coffee. today, however, the ground is littered with significantly more leaves than usual. 

“ross!” you call out, ruffling your daughte’s hair subconsciously. “the yard needs some raking, i think. d’you have time?”

he walks out minutes later, looking effortlesslely handsome in a hoodie and jeans. ross bends down, placing a kiss on your head before placing one on april’s head; mother and daughter rewarding him with matching smiles. “i’ll do it,” he says and goes to the shed in search of a rake.

fifteen minutes later, april is on a little blanket in one corner of your backyard. it’s a crisp autumn day—not too cold and not too warm—and you have decided to make a little picnic out of her breakfast. she hums to herself—something that sounds suspiciously like the theme to cocomelon—while happily munching on her apple and curiously following ross’ every move. 

“daddy clean?” she asks, pointing at the rake in his hands. her eyes are wide, your excited little baby who has a million questions about every single thing. you’re sure she wants to ask about the rake, she just doesn’t have the words for it yet. 

“he’s removing the leaves, baby,” you tell her, wiping apple crumbs off of her hands when she’s done. then an idea strikes. “you wanna help him?”

“help?” she perks up and nods vigorously, tiny pigtails bouncing up and down. 

instantly, she’s on her feet, not even waiting for you to tell her how she can help. but you decide to let her figure it out. 

april watches ross; watches him gather a bunch of leaves before tossing it onto the sizeable pile he has got going on not too far away from her. then she looks around, and toddles to a stray leaf as soon as she spots it. 

“i help!” she announces it proudly and tosses the leaf onto the pile. both you and ross watch in awe. 

“oh, my darling,” ross coos, tossing the tool aside and swinging her up into his arms. “so clever, bub.”

april giggles when ross blows a raspberry on her stomach, her matching set of dimples on full display and you melt in place—misty eyed and perhaps the happiest you have ever been. he just looks so completely in love with her, content and full of joy like you’ve never seen him before. 

“leaf!” she yells loudly, pointing at another one by your foot and you quickly blink the sentimental tears away. you pick up the leaf under april’s watchful gaze, tossing it onto the pile just like she had. it’s a sizeable pile now, definitely more than you’ve got in the last few days. definitely big enough to entertain a toddler…

“ross, set her down,” you tell him excitedly, calling her over when he does so. his face brightens a second later as he realises what you’re doing. 

“c’mere baby,” you tell her, “hold my hands. both of them, good girl!” 

april waits with baited breath right next to the pile. ross walks up behind her, poised and ready for your cue. you can already feel the excitement in your stomach, the anticipation of how she would react. 

“now,” you giggle and hold her hands as ross lifts her a few inches above the ground and helps her jump on the pile. 

a loud crunch rips through the stillness of the morning. for a second april stands in the pile, stunned and utterly still and panic shoots through you. 

shit shit shit. what if the loud noise scared her? what if she wasn’t ready for the small jump? what if—

april laughs so loudly that you startle a little. panic quickly melts into utter adoration as she claps her hands together, laughing giddily. 

“more, daddy, more!” she turns to him again, arms raised for uppies so he can help her jump again. ross obliges happily. 

the crunch is not as loud this time, but it doesn’t matter to april. as soon as the she’s done giggling and clapping her hands a second time, she’s back to raising her arms. 

“oh you love it, don’t you bub?” ross kisses her tiny head, picking her up once again. april is too busy jumping to answer him but he’s too busy doting on her to care. 

judging by her face, you know this will now be a part of her daily morning routine. but you and ross are happy to give her whatever she wants when you get rewarded with blissful moments like these and april’s little giggles. 

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[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #20

Masterpost

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Next

Warnings: briefly mentioned past torture

Ambrose said snow would be falling soon, and Elliot was terrified. The weather was colder here than his old master’s land. The wood floors wouldn’t be so bad when winter came, but snow was snow and snow was deadly.

Once, his old master had thrown him outside as a punishment. He nearly died from the cold and ice, and had to beg until he passed out to be let back in. The doctor said it was a miracle of the gods he hadn’t lost any fingers or toes. 

Elliot had more clothes than he’d ever had in his life now, but would it be enough?

He had two blankets, woolen socks, gloves and mittens, a great big coat, everything. But the fluttering hollow of anxiety inside him wasn’t satisfied. 

He got up early, before dawn, to sneak wood into his room. Ambrose didn’t come in often, so he hopefully wouldn’t notice the pile of extra wood in the corner.

What else would he need? 

Elliot remembered the tiny closet his old master locked him in. It was the best place to be in that horrible house when snow fell. It warmed him up because it was so little and stuffy. Ambrose didn’t have a closet that was both big enough for him to sit in and small enough to trap heat.

Elliot stole a blanket from the linen closet and lined his wardrobe with it. If it got cold enough, he could hide from winter inside it.

He began to squirrel away food and water under his bed. It was bad of him, but he needed it. He couldn’t take another winter hungry and freezing. Elliot had gotten two glass jugs and filled them with water. He also wrapped up some smoked and salted pork Ambrose had stored away downstairs. He tucked several apples into a small sack, and stole a jar of pickled veggies and a tin of nuts from the storeroom. Master Ambrose had made dozens of jars and had been smoking and salting meat for ages. He wouldn’t notice anything wrong. 

___________________

Elliot thought he was being sneaky, but Ambrose knew something was off right away. It just took him a few days to figure it out. 

He was going to use those two jugs to make mead, but oh well. Elliot’s little stash was all shelf-stable, so he wasn’t going to discourage him. 

The wood wasn’t a problem either. In all honesty, Ambrose probably should do the same thing. It would save him a lot of trips outside.

Ambrose didn’t have to wonder for long why Elliot was so twitchy lately. He kept glancing out the window at the sky, poking around in the fireplaces, making hot drinks and steaming meals.

He didn’t want to think about why Elliot was so scared of the cold. Ambrose was certain it stemmed from something horrible. Elliot’s quirks were almost always some coping mechanism to avoid pain.

Ambrose didn’t know how cold it would get this year. But Elliot would be fine, even without his secret cache of food. He wasn’t going to try and talk him out of his fear, it didn’t work like that. Winter would always have some level of danger, so there was no use reasoning with him. Ambrose could only hope Elliot would relax when he realized he would be alright.

___________________

The snow fell down gently, in large flakes. It was pretty, but the bubbling anxiety in his chest kept him from watching for long. He got through his chores as quickly as possible and retreated to his bedroom.

He closed the curtains. He didn’t want to see the proof of winter looming outside. The room was warm and toasty and he was content to curl up and wait. If he had to spend all season in here, then so be it.

“Sweetheart,” called Master from behind the door, “I made some hot chocolate. I’m going to toast some marshmallows downstairs. You can join me if you want.”

Hm. That did sound pretty nice. He pulled a blanket over his shoulders and peeked out into the hall. It didn’t seem cold. 

He made his way downstairs, and there was a roaring fire in the dining room fireplace. Ambrose waved at him from a chair sat in front of the fire. He felt a little more settled, and he eyed the steaming mugs of hot chocolate and the tray of cheese and crackers. 

Ambrose was, in fact, toasting marshmallows. He ate one right off the stick, and Elliot found himself smiling as he went to sit next to him.

Ambrose handed him a prepared stick with a marshmallow on it. It was fun to toast them, and Ambrose showed him he could plop one into his mug and it would get all melt-y.

It was pretty hard to remember how scared he was when they were eating snacks and sipping on sweet drinks all afternoon. 

Maybe winter wouldn't be so bad this year.

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