#Chapter Thirteen

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part thirteen: passenger princess

word count: 1.6k

warnings: none

twelve | thirteen | fourteen

The next morning, Lando pulled up to the curb outside her apartment building in a car that, by his standards, was modest. A sleek, black Audi RS5 — not one of his usual hypercars, certainly nothing that screamed money the way some of his other rides did. But still, he caught the way her eyes widened just slightly when she stepped outside and spotted it.

Noted.

She hesitated for a second, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder before walking toward the passenger side.

“This is… a nice car,” she said as she climbed in, running her fingers lightly over the smooth leather interior.

Lando smirked as he pulled away from the curb. “Yeah? You like it?”

“I mean, yeah. It’s pretty.”

He chuckled. “Pretty isn’t usually how people describe it.”

She shrugged, glancing out the window. “I, uh, really don’t really know cars. Obviously. I mean, I’m sure you can probably tell. This one looks cool though.” A pause. “Fast, I’m assuming?”

“Very.”

She made a thoughtful hum, then—almost absentmindedly—reached for the seatbelt and clicked it into place a second time, as if double-checking that it was secure.

Lando raised a brow but didn’t comment. Instead, he stole a quick glance at her as they hit a stoplight. She looked reserved, like she was still trying to figure him out. 

Which, fair enough. He was trying to figure her out too.

“So...” he started awkwardly, drumming his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. “How’d you sleep?”

She made a face, lips pursing in mild contemplation. “Not terrible.”

“That’s not a good answer.”

“It’s not a bad one either.”

Lando huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Guess I’ll take it.”

For a few beats, there was only the sound of the city waking up around them—traffic, pedestrians, the occasional honk of a horn. Then, casually, she asked, “Do you do this often?”

“Do what?”

“Drive your friends to class.”

You idiot, she mentally facepalmed herself. What kind of a question even is that? 

Lando smirked, eyes flicking toward her. “No. You’re the first.”

That seemed to throw her off. “Oh.”

He could practically see her debating how to respond to that, and for some reason, it amused him. He let the silence stretch a little longer, let her stew in it before adding, “You should feel special.”

That made her huff a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “I’ll be sure to brag about it to my classmates.”

Lando smirked. Yeah, he liked this. The slow push and pull of it. The way she wasn’t quite sure where to place him yet.

He shouldn’t be enjoying it as much as he was.

They fell into another brief silence, the kind that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable but still carried something clearly unfamiliar. She was still adjusting to him. He was still adjusting to whatever this was.

“So… you don’t drive or somethin’?” he asked, cutting through the quiet.

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“Why’s that?”

“Never got around to learning, I guess.”

Lando raised a brow, sparing a glance at her before switching lanes seamlessly. “Never?”

She gave a small, sheepish shrug. “I mean, I get the concept of driving, obviously. I just… never had the time. Or the skill, for that matter. Not my thing, I’ve learned.”

Lando clicked his tongue, amused. “You’re missin’ out, you know.”

“I think I’m surviving just fine without it.”

“Surviving,” he echoed. “But not thriving.”

That made her laugh. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Lando smirked, but there was something else in his expression—something bordering on curiosity. He didn’t know why, but the thought of her not driving was oddly... something. It made her seem a little more untouched by the world he lived in.

And for some reason, he liked that.

Before he could dwell on it too much, they pulled up near the university. He idled by the curb, glancing over at her.

She hesitated for a second before reaching for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride, Liam.”

He nodded. “Anytime.”

She lingered just a beat longer, like there was something else she wanted to say, but instead, she just gave him a small smile before stepping out.

Lando watched as she disappeared into the crowd of students, exhaling slowly.

He shouldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t have let him.

But maybe she breathed a little easier with him around.

The first few drives were awkward in the way that new things always are. She didn’t quite know what to do with herself, and neither did he.

Lando had never been one for small talk, and she—well, she wasn’t exactly shy, but she was still guarded in that way people were when they weren’t sure what to make of someone yet.

So, at first, the car rides were quiet. Not uncomfortably so, but just enough to make the silence noticeable.

She’d fiddle with the strap of her bag or stare out the window, while he kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting lazily on the gear shift. He never pushed her to talk, and she never forced a conversation when there was nothing to say.

But then, gradually, things shifted.

It started small—little observations, little questions that didn’t seem to mean much on the surface. She learned that Lando wasn’t much of a morning person, but he hid it well. That he always had a coffee before heading anywhere, but he never really finished the whole cup.

One morning, she was fidgeting with the strap of her bag when she casually mentioned, “You drink a lot of coffee.”

Lando raised a brow, eyes still on the road. “You work at a coffee shop.”

“Yeah, but you don’t even get anything different. Always a spiced black coffee.”

He smirked. “And?”

She huffed. “And that’s… boring.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s simple. Gets the job done.”

“You could at least try a latte. Maybe an espresso macchiato. Something.”

Lando gave her a sidelong glance. “Didn’t take you for a coffee snob.”

“I’m not! I just think it’s a waste to keep drinking the same thing over and over when there’s so much out there that you could try.”

“Right,” he drawled, but the next time he stopped by Brews & Books, he ordered a macchiato just to see the way she lit up in satisfaction. He pretended not to notice when she gave him a subtle, knowing smile.

One evening, after her shift, Y/N climbed into the car and sighed, tilting her head back against the seat.

“Long day?” Lando asked, pulling away from the curb.

She made a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “You have no idea.”

“Try me.”

She huffed but didn’t hesitate to launch into a story about a particularly difficult customer, waving her hands for emphasis as she spoke. Lando listened, offering the occasional smirk or amused hum, but mostly, he just let her talk.

“Some guy came in today and asked if we had any books on taxidermy.”

Lando glanced at her, amused. “And?”

She huffed, slumping slightly in her seat. “And I don’t know why we do, but we actually had two.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You sound distressed.”

“I am distressed. Who’s coming into a cozy book café and thinking, ‘You know what I need? A book about stuffing dead animals.’”

Lando smirked. “Hey, at least they’re reading.”

She shot him a look, and he found himself biting back a grin.

She rolled her eyes at him before exhaling dramatically. “Anyway. That was my day.” Turning her face to see him better, she added, “How was yours?”

Lando arched a brow. “You want to hear about my day?”

She shrugged. “I mean, you always listen to mine. Fair’s fair, no?”

He could’ve given her a lie—could’ve made something up about a business meeting or a gym session. 

Hmm, let me think: drug deals, a back alley brawl, and a private execution all in time for dinner with my gang of co-criminals.

Instead he settled on, “S’alright. Nothing special.”

She gave him a look. “Boo. That’s vague.”

“That’s the point. Obviously,” he deadpanned, the ghost of a smirk upturning the corner of his lips. Y/N rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway.

The rides kept happening. Sometimes he’d show up unannounced after her shift, sometimes he’d send a text a few minutes before her class let out. It wasn’t always planned, but it was consistent. And that was what mattered.

He learned that she liked the window down, just a crack, no matter how cold it was outside. That she was a little clumsy when she was tired—nothing dramatic, just small things like fumbling with her seatbelt or nearly dropping her phone when she got in the car.

One evening, after picking her up from a late shift, he noticed the way she rested her head against the seat, eyes slipping shut as soon as they hit the first stoplight.

“You can sleep, you know,” he said, keeping his voice casual. “I won’t let you wake up in a ditch.”

She smiled sleepily. “That’s reassuring.”

But the next time she was exhausted, she actually let herself drift off.

It was subtle, the way things softened between them.

She started greeting him with a tired but genuine smile in the mornings, a quiet, “Hey, Liam,” as she settled into the car.

He started recognizing when Y/N was in a mood—when she was stressed about school, or irritated about something that happened at the shop. He never asked directly, but he’d say things like Long day? or You wanna grab a coffee before I drop you off? and she’d answer without thinking, without that usual hesitation.

And Lando… Lando didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Because he didn’t do things like this. He didn’t let people take up space in his life if they weren’t necessary, and yet here she was.

And somehow, it didn’t feel like an inconvenience at all.

a/n: was this too boring?

[thedaselcor]

Arthur woke to Merlin thrashing, convulsing through some sort of night terror. He held Merlin close, and tried to keep him from injuring himself through the spasms, but he was entirely uncertain whether that was even the right thing to do.

He noticed, as the minutes went on, that Merlin had been getting increasingly warmer. With growing terror he realized that Merlin was incredibly hot, burning up as if the dreams themselves were causing some sort of incredible magical fever. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he’d felt so powerless. It was a relief then, if a surprise, when Morgana knocked on their door and entered as soon as Arthur was able to stammer some sort of assent.

Morgana walked in, with a confidence and certainty of action Arthur couldn't remember ever seeing in her before. The room seemed to drop in temperature as she crossed in, and, in moments, she brought a hand to Merlin’s chest and one to his face. Arthur could feel the cold radiating off her. Merlin’s temperature crashed drastically as he woke with a start to the cold shock that rippled through from the point of Morgana's contact, and he breathed in sharp and deep like a man just saved from drowning.

“More like the pyre…” Morgana said, responding to the thought Arthur had never voiced.

Merlin panted as he assessed the situation, assessed the room around him, came back to reality, blue eyes betraying an equal measure of absolute understanding and complete bafflement that Arthur could only hope would be promptly explained

[eyydhyeet]

Kindergarten

STIK Chapter Thirteen

[boonalina]

Excerpt from Chapter 13 of my

LMK Successor AU:

'It was rare to see Wukong look genuinely angry.' 

Want to know what Mk is saying? Want to know the context?? If so then click the link to read the Successor AU and find out!

[tumbleweed-writes]

Death and the Lady: Chapter Thirteen: Chibs Telford X Reader

PREVIOUS CHAPTER HERE

Tag List: @youngadult9016 @mrsfilipchibstelford @mamawiggers1980 @ravennaortiz @liveinsteadofdreaming @redwoodmaya

========

18+ Only please. Smut ahead.

Chapter Thirteen: Where the Heart Lies

Her hand felt delicate in his. Of course the longer he knew her the more Chibs Telford realized that Y/N Y/L/N was far less demure than she appeared at first glance. She might appear at first glance to be so prim and proper, but she was far more fierce and strongwilled than anyone really gave her proper credit for.

Her determination was disregarded as her just being too stubborn for her own good and at times written off as a sign of immaturity to those who weren’t willing to attempt to work through the walls she placed up. Her fierceness was written off as her simply having a smart mouth and never knowing when to shut up and stop being so hostile. 

Chibs had found though that he appreciated the stubbornness and the wit. He’d admired these traits in her from their first meeting, and had only grown to adore this facet of her personality as the months wore on. 

He was perfectly content coaxing her to trust him and let go of her need for control. He was happy to put up with the occasional sass and even willing to allow her to give him a hard time. He was willing to encourage her to not build walls around herself and isolate her heart. He allowed her to be vulnerable without judgment, thankful she trusted him enough to be open with him.

Still, even with as strong willed as he was aware she was; he couldn’t help but to focus on how fragile her hand felt against his as she led him down the hallway back to her bedroom.

His heart began to pound in his chest though the blood flowing through his veins began to fill in a lower region of his body. His body was already eagerly and joyfully anticipating what she was asking of him.

He let out a shaky breath at the thought of what she’d asked of him.

He felt ridiculous admitting it, but the notion of what she had asked of him made him feel a sense of anxiety. A nervous energy began to bubble up in his gut along with the lust coursing through him. 

He felt foolish for feeling anxious at the thought of taking her to bed and loving her at her request. 

He was far from a blushing virgin. He was more than sexually experienced. He would like to think that he was quite gifted in that department. He had enough experience under his belt to know how to pleasure a woman. He was confident in his sexual prowess.

He knew though of course, that quite a bit of his experience involved less of the act of loving and more of the simply primal act of fucking. Bedding the croweaters did not require such tenderness nor gentleness.

Sex with a croweater was just that; sex. There was no feeling behind it. He didn’t want to cherish them and hold them close to him. He didn’t want to protect them and make it clear to them that he adored them with every last ounce of his heart. 

Bedding a croweater was usually more of an act of finding release. There were no soft kisses, no gentle touches, and no words of adoration passed between lovers.

It was more of a pure physical act. There might be some occasional dirty talk but the end goal was always the same. Find release and then move on. Kisses and touches could be rough and desperate and movements could be harsh. There was no love there. His heart had not been involved in the process of bedding a croweater. 

Chibs Telford knew that this was no romp in bed with a sweetbutt who honestly cared less about him and more about the fact that she had attracted the attention of a patched in member of SAMCRO.

He knew that what Y/N was asking from him was an act he’d not engaged in in such a long time.

He knew that his estranged wife was probably the last person he’d attempted to make love to.

He shoved the thought from his mind not wanting to focus on any thought of Fiona at the moment.

He’d begun to realize that thoughts of his estranged wife did not fill him with the same aching sense of longing that had once overtaken him. He felt a fondness for the life they’d had and a care for her, but his heart had begun to pull in a different direction. Thoughts of Fiona filled him with a sense of guilt more often than not nowadays.

It was an equally exciting and terrifying realization to have that his heart was shifting and changing. 

Chibs was certain he was following her too closely as they neared her room and to be honest it took everything in him not to attempt to scoop her up and throw her over his shoulder to get her there a little quicker. 

He silently told himself that throwing her over his shoulder could be reserved for a future time.

He was also tempted to kick his shoes off and perhaps lose a few articles of clothing as they made their way to her bedroom. He pushed back the temptation telling himself that she would be none too amused if he left a trail of clothing down the hallway especially considering his gun and knives would have to join this discarded clothing.

She turned to face him as they finally reached her bedroom, they entered the room, he kicking the door shut behind them. 

Her lips met his, his hands sliding along her body once again taking in the curves he’d been dying to caress from their first meeting. Caressing her and holding her was a privilege she’d allowed him as their relationship had grown more serious. It was a privilege he was taking full advantage of.

Her hands slid along his body caressing him in return not helping but to always enjoy the feel of him. She knew that she could easily describe him as being sturdy and strong. When she thought of his form she associated him with a sense of dependability and security.

He reluctantly parted his lips from hers, he moving away from her embrace. He reached down to slide his kutte from his body gently folding it and placing it where it rested most nights he slept over; over the red velvet living chair in the corner of her room. 

He avoided her gaze as he placed his gun and knife over the kutte. He hated to admit that it made him feel uneasy to reveal the weapons to her. He always feared that it would be a reminder of just who and what he was for her.

He knew her past with the club might make her feel a sense of unease when she allowed herself to think too long and hard about the fact that the man she was allowing to be by her side was very much an outlaw. 

He’d realized her memories of being around the club were filled with more bitterness than sweetness. He was hoping to ease her back into his world and feared pushing for too much and making her pull away. 

He knew of course that her past with Gunner might aid this sense of unease and bitterness. Chibs had recently begun to wonder if Gunner had lorded his status as a Son over her head to intimidate her. She had been so young then and so vulnerable; the thought floated around in his mind. He imagined that the Tacoma Son had been quite proud to show off any means he had to harm Y/N to her, as a little reminder to keep in her place when he perceived her as being too difficult. The man had proudly declared that he’d flashed a gun at a woman more than once the few times Chibs had been unfortunate enough to overhear Gunner’s bragging over his past sexual encounters.

Chibs felt sick having to admit that he’d begun to wonder if any of the horrifying stories he’d heard in the past from Gunner had possibly featured Y/N as unnamed the sexual partner in question. The thought made his stomach turn considering that he’d realized Gunner’s propensity for rough sex apparently did not always involve a partner that consented to violent acts. If he knew then what he knew now; he had a feeling he would have been less inclined to sit by and let Gunner run his mouth so smugly. 

Chibs pushed the thought from his mind not wanting to focus on the asshole when he was about to experience this moment with the woman he adored. He had already promised himself that Y/N would never know that pain again. She’d certainly never know it from him. 

Y/N kicked off her shoes and socks as Chibs focused on removing his rings lining them along her dresser allowing the silver cross he wore around his neck to join the rings.

He kicked his own shoes and socks off before he made his way back over to her his lips sliding along hers.

She felt her knees grow weak against his kiss and was certain she might easily collapse to the floor if he was not so lovingly holding on to her keeping her pressed close against his body.

She allowed him to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding along hers with skill, the act working a moan from her lips.

She placed a hand against his back allowing her other hand to mess his hair. He pulled his lips from hers sliding them across her cheek working them down her neck. He nipped at the delicate skin of her neck determined to leave evidence of his affections behind.

He smirked as she let out a soft gasp at the action, her knees feeling all the more wobbly.

She pulled back from him her voice soft suddenly feeling far more bashful than she’d ever felt about the act of sex in her life. “Bed?”

“Aye, bed sounds perfect, Hen.” He replied, tempted to tease her that they didn’t need a bed. He’d gladly take her on the floor or against a wall.

He held in the remark though reminding himself that it would be best saved for a different time. He was suddenly reminded of that night on her sofa when he’d gone down on her after she’d opened up to him about her past. He remembered his determination to show her exactly how she deserved to be treated by a man. He was still determined to do just that.

He knew that he needed to make sure she was comfortable. He needed to be sure that she knew that the act of loving her was all about making sure she felt as good and as secure as she possibly could.

They laid back against the bed he lying by her side. His hands reached out to embrace her, his lips sliding along hers, the kiss feather light allowing her to be the one to deepen it this time around.

He let out a soft moan as she pulled her lips from his pressing them against his cheek. He closed his eyes, soaking up the affection the act still filling him with that cozy sense of warmth. He’d recently realized the warm feeling he had anytime her lips pressed against one of the scars embedded along his cheeks was a sense of feeling adored and accepted. It was a feeling he’d not thought he’d ever have again in his life.

His hand slid down her side as her lips moved along his jawline pressing soft kisses to his skin. He opened his eyes as he let out a soft content sigh, his hand sliding underneath the soft cotton of her shirt. He gently caressed her skin as her lips slid along his neck.

He felt a soft moan leave his lips the words leaving him as she nipped and sucked along his pulse line making it clear she intended to leave a few marks of her own along his skin. “Yer, so fuckin soft, Hen. Warm an perfect.”

She felt a soft moan of her own leave her lips. She was tempted to shrug off his comment and insist to him that no one was perfect. There was something about the certainty of his words though that told her that he was convinced she was perfection and that was enough to make her not want to shake off his praise.

She ran a hand of her own up his shirt relieved he’d not worn layers of shirts today. It seemed that she only had one long sleeved shirt and an undershirt to contend with as she caressed his skin lovingly.

He sighed, his hand still caressing her side sliding it along her back pressing her closer to him. He rubbed soothing circles into her back as she continued to press sucking kisses against his neck.

She pulled from his neck her voice soft. “Can I take this off?”

He furrowed his brow, it taking his lust hazed brain a moment to realize what she was asking. “Aye, ye can.”

She began to pull his shirt up he sitting up to aid her in pulling both it and his undershirt up and over his head.

He laid back down his stomach churning, he was not entirely thrilled with his torso. He knew that in the years since his banishment from Belfast he’d neglected his health. He drank too much, smoked far too much, and ate a poor diet. He had not really seen a reason to take care of himself. That meant his midsection had grown wider than he would prefer. He also knew his face carried more weight than he’d like.

The insecurity he felt over his physique was not noticed by Y/N her eyes scanning his bare torso landing on the tattoo over his heart.

She slid her fingers across it, her voice soft as she read the name; Kerrianne. “Told you, you’re sweet.”

He felt a smile spread across his face, the comment making his worries about his less than fit form leave his brain in an instant.

She leaned up her lips sliding along his, her hand pulling from his chest sliding along his back, her touch loving and far more gentle than anyone had ever been with him.

He pulled from her lips his hand running along the hem of her shirt it his turn to ask. “Can this come off?”

She nodded her head sitting up allowing him to pull the shirt up and over her head. He tossed it across the room to join his discarded shirts.

He moaned at the sight of her torso, his eyes landing on the white lace over her breasts. He resisted the urge to bury his face against her lace covered tits the way the lower region of his body was insisting he should do. 

He wanted to yank her bra off and take one of her tits in his mouth. He wanted to suckle at the skin making her nipples harden. He wanted to suck and kiss the delicate skin leaving love bites in his wake. He wanted to massage her breasts taking in how soft they truly were. He wanted to slide his dick along her soft smooth skin cumming against her skin. He wanted to watch her breasts bounce as she rode him out. 

He swallowed the lump developing in the back of his throat putting a lid on his hormones. There would be plenty of time to do every single filthy thing he wanted to do involving her breasts later. Right now he needed to take his time with her and worship her body. 

She pressed her lips to his, the kiss brief the words that left her taking him by surprise. “Remember that thing we talked about a moment ago? The thing you teased me I haven’t given you the privilege of doing yet?”

He nodded his head eagerly, his heart and his cock jolting at what she was hinting at. “Aye, I recall it.”

She spoke her voice soft as she pressed her lips along his chest. “I want to suck you off, Filip. You made me feel so good the other night when you ate me out. I want to make you feel good too. Can I suck your cock?”

He groaned at the words, his response spilling from his lips. “Shite, Hen. Aye, do it, Love.”

She gently pushed him down to rest on his back, her body moving over his. She straddled his hips, he groaning at the image. He grunted as she teasingly rocked her hips against his, a soft gasp leaving her lips. He groaned, rocking up against her his hands placed at her hips enjoying the delicious friction they were building up.

He cursed their jeans for separating the lower regions of their bodies from building up the friction he wanted to create. He wanted to rip those jeans off her body and feel her hot center through her panties. He could imagine her panties growing so damp with need as she grinded against him. 

She leaned down her lips pressing to his a moan leaving him at the feel of her lace covered breasts pressing against his torso. He ran his hands along her back toying with the clasp of her bra. He wanted nothing more than to unclasp it and feel her bare torso against his own. 

He did not have the opportunity to unclasp it though as she moved down his body, her lips sliding along his torso, her lips pressing along the million dollar tattoo at the center of his chest she making a mental note to ask him about it at a later date. 

 He reluctantly allowed her to slide down his body, her lips soft against his skin, he knowing the promise of what she was about to give him was enough for him to wait to reveal her breasts.

He moaned as she slid her lips down his stomach pressing soft kisses along the scar along his belly; another gift from Jimmy O’. 

She placed a hand over the obvious bulge contained in his jeans giving it a squeeze, the action making him grunt.

She slid her hand along his belt making quick work of unfastening it. He groaned as she unfastened the belt unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. He managed to aid her in pulling the denim from his body without kicking her in the process.

The jeans were tossed aside her lips pressing to his thighs a soft moan leaving his lips as she slowly pressed her lips along his skin avoiding his boxer clad cock. She took her time pressing soft teasing kisses to both thighs, her movements far too slow. He whined as she finally pressed her lips against the bulge in his boxers. 

The kisses didn’t last nearly long enough but he didn’t have long to mourn their loss as her fingers slid underneath the hem of his boxers. She gazed up at him, her voice soft. “Is this okay, Baby?”

He groaned, nodding his head eagerly at the words leaving him. ‘Aye, Hen.”

She pulled the garment from his body, he lifting his lips helping her remove his boxers. They were dropped over the side of the bed to join his other clothing.

She moaned at the sight of him standing at full attention, her voice teasing mirroring what she’d said the night she’d given him a handjob. “Still impressive, Filip.”

He groaned, his cock twitching at the praise. He parted his lips to reply but only managed to let a moan leave his lips as she pressed her lips to the underside of his cock pressing gentle kisses to the velvety skin.

She spoke, her voice filled with admiration. “You have a gorgeous cock, Filip.” 

He grunted, unable to form words as she ran her tongue along his cock tracing the veins, her hand reaching down to caress his balls gently massaging them.

He felt a strangled moan leave him as he reached down pushing her hair aside giving him full view of her as she wrapped a hand around his cock her tongue running along his tip lapping at the precum leaking from the slit.

She took his tip between her lips, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock. She hallowed her cheeks lowering her mouth taking more of him. He gripped down at the bedsheets with the hand not currently holding back her hair as she began to bob her head. 

She stared up at him, maintaining eye contact as she bobbed her head, her hand still massaging his balls.

She moaned around his cock as she took him deeper with each bob of her head engulfing his cock in the wet heat of her mouth. He grunted her actions, working praise from him. “Fuck, Hen, fuckin perfect, Love. Takin my cock like this, oh, shite. Fuck yes, take it so fuckin good.”

She pulled her lips from his cock stroking him his cock slick from her treatment, her voice teasing her lips swollen. “I love this cock, Filip. Can’t wait for you to bury it in me. It’s going to make me feel so good, Baby.”

“Fuck, Hen. It is, I’m gonna make you cum on this cock.” He grunted his balls aching at the words he having to admit he was an absolute sucker for dirty talk both giving and receiving.

She took him back between her lips bobbing more enthusiastically, her cheeks hallowing. He groaned, unable to take his eyes off her his voice still so full of praise. “Christ, Love. Look at ye. Ye look so fuckin prim and sweet, but ye love suckin my cock. I can fuckin tell ye love this.”

She moaned around him giving him the affirmation that she did in fact enjoy this. She could admit that she’d not quite been fond of oral in the past or at least she’d not been fond of giving it to most of her past sexual partners. 

Most of the guys she’d gone down on were too forceful and seemed to not always care about her comfort. They seemed to think that porn was a guidebook for how to react when a girl went down on them. She didn’t exactly appreciate it when a guy tried to slam down her throat to the point that she wanted to vomit. Sore throats and having to take a guy’s release because he didn’t bother to warn you was not ideal nor enjoyable.

There was something about giving head to Chibs that just felt so rewarding and pleasurable. He was so adoring and so lovely with her. She had to appreciate the fact that she was clearly pleasing him. It was a turn on to know that she was able to make him feel this good.

She took him deeper breathing through her nose and relaxing her throat, the act making his eyes practically roll into the back of his head. He groaned as she took him so deep the praise leaving him. “Fuckin, perfect, Hen. So fuckin gorgeous, Lass. Shite.”

He whined as her hand left his balls but the disappointment was short lived as she slid a hand down her body unfastening her jeans just enough to slide her fingers underneath the waistband of the denim.

He groaned as she moaned against his cock it taking his lust hazed brain a moment to realize she’d slid her fingers underneath her panties and was currently touching herself.

He spoke his voice thick with lust at the realization of just what she was doing. “Fuck, look at ye, Love. Touchin that sweet pussy while ye suck my cock. Does havin my cock in yer mouth get ye that wet?”

She moaned around his cock her fingers teasingly sliding along her slit she toying with her clit the bud aching at the stimulation.

She pulled her lips from him, her voice teasing. “I’m so wet, Filip. I’m so ready for you.”

He groaned not having a chance to respond as she took his cock back between her lips bobbing her head.

He grunted, beginning to rock against her ever so slightly, his grip on her sheets remaining tight, resisting the urge to rock against her face as eagerly as he wanted to. He told himself he could fuck her mouth later if she’d allow it. Right now he was doing his best to chase his release and treat her with care without getting too lost in lust. 

He spoke his voice thick with need, his balls drawing up closer to his body, the stimulation and the knowledge that she was touching herself bringing him closer and closer to orgasm. “Gonna make me cum, Hen. Shite, yer gonna make me cum so hard, Love.”

She moaned around his cock bobbing her head with even more enthusiasm gagging around him as she took him as deeply as she could the blow job, easily growing sloppy.

He grunted his body tensing, his pelvis thrusting more freely, his balls aching the words leaving him his accent growing so thick his words were nearly intelligible as he came his load shooting from him in hot spurts . “Fuck, perfect, Hen, Shite, Lovely Girl, Makin me cum. Fuck yes. Mo ghràidh.”

She took his release moaning around his cock surprised to find that she did not mind taking all he had to give her and felt no desire to spit his release out the same way she’d felt with some men. The taste of him was at least not unpleasant, it was far more tolerable than some of her past experiences in this act. 

She allowed him to ride out his orgasm continuing to bob her head, her fingers continuing to slide along her aching clit and her soaking slit.

He groaned, his body feeling heavy and satisfied as the last of his release seeped from his aching cock.

She pulled from him pressing soft kisses to his oversensitive cock it softening and resting against his belly.

He groaned, it taking him a moment to recover from his orgasm and for his body to feel less like putty.

He leaned up resting on his elbows a groan leaving him when he realized her hand was still down her jeans and she was still playing with herself.

He spoke, his voice gentle and lazy despite the fact that he very much knew that he still had plenty of plans with her tonight. “Come here, Hen.”

She moved up his body, Chibs gently taking a hold of her arm pulling her hand from her jeans. She whimpered at the loss, her clit throbbing. Her hips rocked chasing the stimulation she’d been so happily enjoying.

He pulled the hand she’d had pressed against her pussy up to his lips. He took her fingers between his lips suckling greedily at her wetness, the action making her moan.

He spoke as he pulled from her lips his voice husky with need. “Fuckin’ sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, Hen. Jus’ as sweet as ye.”

She whined as he reached out, unfastening her jeans and working them down her legs. He groaned glancing down at her pink cotton panties spotting the wet patch along the front of them revealing that she was as soaked as she’d told him she was.

He was tied between wanting to yank her panties off or wanting to rid her of her bra.

He made his choice, unfastening her bra with one hand, tossing it across the room. He stared down at her bare breasts praise leaving him. “Perfect breasts, Hen. Shite, better than I imagined.”

She didn’t have time to tease him over the admission that he’d imagined her breasts as he eagerly leaned forward taking a nipple between his lips suckling.

She whined her head falling back as he attended to both breasts sucking, licking, and kissing. He slid a hand down her torso, his fingers sliding under the waistband of her panties. His fingers slid along her slit, his voice muffled against her breasts. “Ye really are fuckin soaked, Hen. Shite, this all fer me?”

“Uh huh.” The words barely managed to leave her as his fingers slid along her slit teasingly sliding along her clit before sliding back down.

She rocked her hips against his ministrations, Chibs rewarding her by dipping one finger into her entrance quickly followed by another.

She whined as he thrust his fingers into her curling them just right to hit her in an angle she could rarely manage to find on her own. 

She rode his fingers unashamed of the moans that left her lips as he continued to finger her his lips focusing on her breasts.

She whimpered as he spoke against her breasts. “Feels so good ‘round my fingers, Mo ghràidh. Christ, yer gonna feel like heaven round my cock. Not gonna ever want to leave yer pussy.”

He reached forward with his other hand yanking her panties down to her knees wanting to watch in full view as his fingers thrust in and out of her.

He moaned at the sight of it she obediently parting her legs for him giving him more room to work with. He stared down at her the sight gorgeous; her legs spread for him, his fingers sliding in and out of her soaked with her.

He buried his face back against her breasts suckling them as he fingered her.

Her head fell back, his name leaving her lips, he continuing to murmur praise against her breasts, his fingers continuing to thrust in and out of her. “Fuckin, gorgeous. Perfect tight pussy, fuckin wet and hot. Perfect, Hen. Made me feel so good, gonna keep makin me feel good once I bury my cock in ye.”

She gasped, her body flushing knowing no man had ever managed to make her feel this amazing with his fingers alone and the praise he was giving her made the pleasure all the more palatable. She’d never imagined herself having a praise kink but there was something about pleasing him and being admired for it that made her wetter than she was certain she’d ever been in her life.

She managed to speak her voice a broken whine. “Gonna feel so good, Filip. Want you so bad.”

“Ye got me love, always.” He remarked continuing to please her knowing he wanted to make her cum on his cock. He knew he had to wait longer than he might have had to wait had she met him in his twenties.

He groaned knowing had he met her in his twenties they would have been absolute sex addicts. He had a feeling that had he known her in his twenties then neither he nor she would have ever left the bed or whatever surface they could manage to find. He had a feeling had he met her years ago he would have knocked her up several times over by now or at the very least had to buy stock in a condom company as to not have dozens of wild little Telfords running around causing havoc.

He continued to finger her, they both moaning at how wet she was. The sound of just how soaked she was as his fingers slid in and out of her was audible and would have made her feel embarrassed if she wasn’t so lost in the pleasurable sensations washing over her. 

She spoke her voice shaky uncertain if she was begging to cum or begging him to bury himself in her and never leave. “Please, Filip, fuck, Baby, please.”

He groaned knowing that she wouldn’t have to wait much longer. He could feel himself starting to perk back up his refractory period ending.

He was shocked that his cock was perking back up this quickly. He had a feeling the woman he was currently pleasing was a perfect inspiration for the lower region of his body to get back into the game so quickly.

He spoke, his fingers finally pulling from her as he realized he was finally ready. “Ye ready fer me, Hen?”

She nodded her head sliding her panties down the rest of the way tossing them across the room.

"Want you, Filip." The words left her she feeling needy as she rolled onto her back, her legs spreading for him eagerly.

He groaned at the sight, unable to stop himself from speaking. “Look at ye, Love. So fuckin eager fer me.”

He pressed the fingers he’d had buried in her to his lips, cleaning her taste from them, a pleased moan leaving him.

He spoke as he moved over her reluctantly pulling his fingers from his lips. “If I wasn’t so eager to bury my cock in ye, I’d eat ye out right now.”

“There’s always later.” She remarked, the comment working a giggle from him.

“Aye, there is definitely later.” He agreed a moan leaving him as his cock slid along her soaked center. She was so soaked that it made his cock ache almost painfully.

She spoke a sigh leaving her, her lust filled brain clearing enough for her to motion towards the nightstand. “Condoms in the drawer.”

He groaned reluctantly, pulling away from her enough to reach into the nightstand finding several boxes of condoms, her cheeks flushing as she explained., “Bought them a few weeks ago when it hit me that we were headed in this direction…it was before I saw your dick. I didn’t know what to expect and I wasn’t about to just try to casually ask you what size dick you have?”

He snorted at the comment nodding his head finding the appropriate size. “We can dump the ones that don’ fit at the clubhouse. Lads’ll appreciate free rubbers. I’ll drop em off without em knowin the source. Migh’ give the smalls to Half-Sack.”

She rolled her eyes giving his shoulder a playful nudge. “Please, don’t mention your prospect when your dick is this close to being inside me.”

He giggled at the comment, tearing the foil packet open, working eagerly to slide the condom over his aching cock a groan leaving him at the action and the realization of what he was about to experience.

He tossed the package of condoms aside, turning his focus back to her. He took himself in hand positioning himself against her, opening his words soft and filled with reverence for her. “Christ, yer fuckin beautiful.”

She spoke the words sliding from her lips without hesitation. “So are you.”

He snorted at the comment, shaking his head. “I still think ye need glasses, Hen. Ye think I’m pretty I worry bout yer vision. Shite, the state of California lets ye drive…we let ye drive a Hearse and yer blind ‘nough to think I’m pretty.”

He didn’t give her a chance to protest as he did his best to make sure he was positioned against her just right. “Ye ready, Hen?”

“Yes, please.” She replied knowing she’d never been so certain that she wanted a man inside of her before in her entire life.

He pressed his lips to hers the kiss light as he thrusted his hips forward pressing himself inside of her slowly inch by inch.

She gasped her arms wrapping around him, her head falling back a gasp leaving her. She moaned knowing she was right to assume he would be capable of providing a pleasant stretch at his size. 

He groaned as his cock was enveloped by her snug heat, his cock aching remembering how wet she was underneath the barrier of the condom.

She gasped his name as he finally pressed all the way within her, her body taking him to the hilt. She slid her hands along his back enjoying the wonderful stretch of her body adjusting to his thickness. He pressed his lips against her face pressing them to every bit of skin he could reach, praise spilling from his lips. “Fuckin perfect, feels amazin’ Lass. Mo leannan.”

She whined the words leaving her they broken as she struggled to speak through the blinding pleasure washing over her. “Feels amazing, Filip.”

He kept still for a moment wanting to give her time to adjust to the feel of him, his lips continuing to press to her skin, her hands sliding up and down his back.

She rocked her hips slightly giving him the hint that she was more than ready her voice soft. “Please, Filip. Love me.”

He groaned at the comment, a voice in the back of his head exclaiming I do love you.

He bit back the words, he rocking his hips against her gently, groaning at the sensation of her center around him. He was overwhelmed with the realization that he could not remember if any past lover he’d had at least in the past decade had felt this incredible wrapped around his cock. 

She whined at the sensation not helping but to realize no man had ever been this gentle with her before. She’d had very few lovers who had approached sex with a sense of ease and tenderness. Most of her past experiences managed to be rushed, rough, or clumsy. 

She wasn’t going to claim that she had not had good sex before. She’d had at least a small amount of decent lovers who managed to get her off. There had been a couple of guys who managed to figure out how to make her feel good though it was a rare treat. She was sure most of her experiences of her late teens and twenties at SAMCRO’s clubhouse had been hazy and less about tenderness. 

Experiences with Gunner had held zero tenderness to them. She shoved the thought from her mind refusing to allow the man to taint what she was experiencing in the moment with Chibs.

She could admit that sex had never felt quite this satisfying before and she was astounded by the knowledge as they’d barely gotten started. 

He began to thrust in and out of her moving at a slow pace both wanting to appreciate the sensation of making love to her. He found himself wanting to move slow with her, remembering her request to love her.

He found himself determined to show her exactly how a man should have been making love to her all this time. He wanted to fuck away any memories of the awful sexual encounters she’d had with Gunner. He wanted to fuck away any of the experiences she’d had with any man in a kutte during her years hanging around with SAMCRO. A possessive voice in the back of his head told him that he wanted to show her that he was the only man in a kutte who should have the privilege of being inside of her. 

He found that he even wanted to out-fuck any man who she’d known in her time in New York. He wanted to ruin her for other men because she’d already ruined him for any other woman without being aware of it. 

He spoke his words needy and adoring. “Yer so perfect, Hen. Shite, never thought I could have this. Wanted ye from the second we met. Fuckin saw ye that firs time and couldn’t stop starin at ye, couldn’t stop thinkin bout ye. Had to have ye.”

She whined remembering the lust that had washed over her the moment he’d peered at her over his sunglasses upon their first meeting in the crematorium.

She was certain if someone had told her that the strange Scottish Son who had come along with Jackson Teller and a few other Sons to complicate her life, would one day not only be in her bed but have his dick buried in her, she would not believe it.

She managed to speak her voice soft. “Oh, Filip. Fuck, wanted you too, didn’t want ot admit it, but my body knew it wanted you. You feel so good.”

“Aye, how do I feel, Hen?” He dared to ask continuing his thrusts the words strained it taking everything in him not to just give into lust and fuck her hard up into her headboard.

He wanted to slam into her ensuring she’d not be able to walk the next day without remembering his dick inside of her. He wanted to flip her over and take her from behind spanking her backside. He wanted to lie on his back and have her ride him so he could watch his cock disappear into her tight heat. 

He held back knowing he’d have plenty of opportunities to take her in every position she’d allow. 

She spoke, her nails digging into his back, her head falling back, her eyes sliding shut as she soaked up the pleasure. “You feel so big, amazing.”

He nipped at her neck knowing he had already probably left several love bites along her skin so what was another?

He continued to thrust in her, his eyes unable to leave her features. He was certain he’d never seen a more stunning sight; her head fallen back against the pillows, her skin flushed with arousal and damp with sweat, her lips parted sweet moans leaving her, her eyes fluttering caught between wanting to sink into pleasure and wanting to watch him.

He rocked into her eagerly, her legs wrapping around his hips, her hips tilting back allowing him to thrust at a deeper angle.

He grunted at the deeper angle knowing that he was not lying to her earlier. She did feel like heaven and he was almost certain he never wanted to leave her tight body. He was quite certain she could ask him for anything in this moment and he’d readily agree to it without hesitation.

He was once again overtaken with the knowledge that he’d do anything for her. It was a realization that should make him nervous, but all he felt was a sense of ease and comfort.

He knew she’d never ask him for anything that would betray his trust or his loyalty to the club or any of his brothers. She wanted him as he was, SAMCRO, his tragic past, the complicated life he’d left in Belfast, the danger that he was capable of, and the danger that might follow him.

She wanted him. It was a beautiful realization knowing Y/N wanted him. 

He was once again taken with the desire to be worthy of her wanting him. He didn’t feel nearly deserving of her affection or her desire. 

A voice in the back of his head exclaimed that she could do a hell of a lot better than him. She could date some nice normal guy; someone like Deputy Hale.

It would be so easy for her to find a good guy after dealing with all the horror dating bad guys had subjected her to with Gunner. 

She’d chosen Chibs though. It was a shock to him but he was thankful she’d chosen him. He was astounded that she’d chosen Filip the outlaw with the complicated past who wore evidence of that past along his face. 

He was in awe that she’d chosen him and seemingly adored him.

She whined her fingers digging into his back the longer he thrusted her hips rocking against his overwhelmed with how good he felt.

She had a feeling with as overwhelming as this was, if it had been any other man she might have tapped out.

She was once again overtaken with the awareness that sex had ever felt so good with a guy. Her past encounters after leaving Charming had been unsatisfying.

She knew she and her traumas were partially to blame. After her violent relationship with Gunner, she had not quite felt comfortable in most sexual situations. 

The few boyfriends she had in New York had realized she was jumpy and closed off in the bedroom and cold and distant outside the bedroom. She’d struggled to relax during sex enough to actually feel good. 

With Chibs it was so easy to relax. She had to wonder if it was just that he knew about her past and knew exactly how to approach all of this without freaking her out. Or perhaps it was just simply that she trusted him so deeply. She knew he would never harm her.

She knew it was a contradictory thought; the dangerous outlaw would not hurt her. She was well aware of what he was capable of by seeing what little she’d been forced to see of his rap sheet. 

She trusted in her heart though that Filip Chibs Telford would never harm her. This was the man who had been so gentle with her from the start. She knew what was in his heart. She knew she was lucky enough to be in his heart.

She gasped, her voice pleading. “More, Filip, Please.” 

He groaned, willing himself to speed up his pace, his thrusts growing a little more frantic, struggling to keep his pace and the rhythm that seemed to be pleasing her.

She whined her hand sliding down her body finding her clit. She caressed the bundle of nerves rubbing tight circles into it, the sensation increasing everything she was feeling.

Chibs groaned it hitting him what she was doing. He gazed down at her hating that he couldn’t angle his body enough to fully appreciate the sight of what she was doing. He made a note to get her to do this again when he got  her to ride his cock. 

“Fuck, Hen. Touch that clit fer me. That’s my Lass.” he groaned, encouraging her.

She rubbed more rapidly the combination of her fingers against her clit and his cock sliding in and out of her making her slide closer and closer to the edge.

She moaned his name, the sound urging him on his cock aching. He was certain his name never sounded so perfect on anyone’s lips. He could remember how overjoyed he’d been when she’d told him she would prefer to call him Filip during that first proper phone conversation they’d had. 

She moaned all the more, her clit throbbing as her end approached closer and closer by the second. She felt it building within her so close she could almost grasp it. It felt as though a spring was coiling tightly within her bound to release at any moment. 

Chibs moaned his voice low and full of adoration encouraging her. “Come on, Hen. Cum fer me, Love. Let go fer me.”

She moaned, her body shuddering as she fell over the edge shockwaves washing over her. Her fingers continued to rub circles into her clit as she came, her center contracting around his cock causing him to groan.

His thrusts sped up all the more growing sloppy his cock throbbing as his end drew nearer and nearer.

She whined moving her fingers from her clit, it quickly becoming overstimulating. She gasped her hands sliding along his back caressing him as he continued to thrust chasing his own end. 

Her body felt heavy and sensitive underneath him, the feel of him sliding in and out of her almost too much. She resisted the urge to pull from him wanting him to find his release in her. 

He groaned his voice thick and slurred the closer he got to the edge. “Gonna fuckin cum, Shite, Lass.”

She spoke encouraging him to reach his end, wanting so badly to please him as much as he’d pleased her. “Please, Filip. Cum.”

He groaned his end hitting him hard, his last thrusts desperate and clumsy as he slid over the edge releasing into the condom. His body jerked his cock pulsing as he fell apart. His release spilled into the condom with far more force than he’d anticipated. A voice in the back of his head marveled that he’d not cum with this much force since his earliest sexual encounters. 

She rocked her hips against his encouraging him working her pelvic floor to help work his end the action making him groan her name leaving his lips along with a few low curse words. 

He moaned it hitting him this was the second time he’d cum tonight, the thought making a pleasant shudder run through his body.

He collapsed against her thrusting weakly against her, rocking the last of his orgasm into the condom, his cock twitching as he spilled the last drops of himself.

He pressed lazy kisses against her skin as he came down from his orgasm. He found himself unwilling to pull from her just yet wanting to soak up the feeling of her underneath him, her arms wrapped around his waist.

She kept a tight grip on him, apparently just as eager to keep him within her and over her, the sensation making her feel safe and adored.

He groaned as his cock began to soften, it slipping from her against his will. He reluctantly rolled off of her, she allowing him to do so.

They laid on their backs, their breathing heavy and their bodies soaked in sweat.

She spoke weakly waving off towards the nightstand, her hand feeling heavy. “There should be tissue somewhere…for the condom.”

He nodded his head lying there for a moment trying to find the will to move his body feeling so heavy and relaxed.

He reached out, grabbing a tissue, removing the condom and tying it off. He tossed it in a little wicker wastebasket by the bed before he collapsed back into the bed.

He opened his arms for her, relieved as she scooted close to him, her head resting against his chest.

She wrapped an arm around his waist finding it easy to sink against his embrace, her body feeling so relaxed a sense of security washing over her.

He found the bedsheets as the cool room began to make them both feel clammy. He spoke his voice drowsy, he wanting to check in on her hoping he’d managed to love her the way she’d requested. “How’re ye doin, Hen?”

“Perfect…you?” She responded, unable to deny the giddy drowsy feeling washing over her.

“Perfect.” He replied, his eyes growing heavy, struggling not to give into the desire to pass out his body feeling satisfied and he feeling completely at ease.

She felt her own eyes grow heavy, she overcome with how adored and secure she felt at the moment. She couldn’t remember feeling this at ease with a man before in her entire life. The words left her lips before she could stop them. “I love you, Filip.”

She felt her stomach drop as soon as it hit her just what she’d blurted out. She shot up in bed certain that she had just screwed everything up.

A voice in the back of her head exclaimed that she was an idiot for blurting this statement out like this. What if he didn’t feel the same? The voice claimed that he couldn’t be in love with her. In her experience she wasn’t the kind of woman men loved. It was too soon for declarations of love, a voice taunted her. She was most likely coming across as a clingy mess. Men hated clingy. 

Chibs widened his eyes, the words washing over him. He gazed up at her stunned by her reaction to her declaration of love.

He sat up gently reaching out for her terrified that her reaction meant she regretted saying the words.

A voice in the back of his head told him that she could not actually love him. He was not the kind of man that was deserving of something so pure. He’d done so many awful things and was not the kind of man women wanted to give love to. 

Y/N spoke hoping to do some damage control. “I am a big girl and can take it if you ….don’t feel the same, or aren’t there yet. I just, I can’t hide how I feel. I promise this isn’t just the fact that you gave me an amazing orgasm talking. I love you. How could I not? I-uh. So, you don’t have to feel pressured to say it back because I said it. I’m fine if you aren’t ready to say it back.”

Chibs furrowed his brow, thrown off by her comments. How could she not realize he loved her? How could she think he couldn’t?

He pressed his lips to her temple, his voice gentle. “Look at me, Hen.” 

She turned her head to face him cringing fearing the worse. He spoke, his lips pressing to hers, his voice reassuring. “How could I not love ye, Hen? I don’t know if ye noticed, but I’m a wee bit crazy fer ye. Pretty sure I offered to kill fer ye.”

He cringed at the last part of his statement; he was not quite sure if bringing up his offer to kill Gunner was welcome when she was clearly feeling vulnerable.

He spoke again soothing any possibility that he’d made this so much worse. “I love ye, Y/N. I have already said I love ye to ye…I technically said it firs, Hen. Ye were jus asleep the firs time I said it.”

“I was?” She blurted out, he nodding his head, his cheeks darkening somewhat.

“Aye…it was ah…after that fuckin incredible handjob ye gave me a few weeks back. I promise that was not my orgasm talkin, Hen. Ye made me cum hard, but I swear to ye that I was speakin from the heart and not my dick. I promise, I love ye.”

She spoke the words leaving her before her lips pressed to his. “I love you, Filip.”

He smiled against the kiss he reluctantly pulling back the words leaving him. “I love ye too.”

He managed to pull her back against him, settling down into her bed, his lips pressing to the top of her head as she rested her head against his chest.

He held her against him, his words soft as he allowed sleep to flood his system exhaustion hitting him. “I love ye, Mo leannan.”

She spoke, her own eyes growing heavy, the words spilling from her without hesitation or shame. “I love you.”

The thought washed over her making her feel secure and cozy as sleep took hold. He loved her. Filip Chibs Telford loved her. 

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

Chibs groaned reluctantly, pulling from her embrace and her warm bed his aching bladder making it clear that he would not be able to hold off needing to pee much longer.

He found his boxers on the floor sliding them on the air conditioning flipping on making her bedroom icy.

He was certain that she’d practically ran to the bathroom an hour or so ago. He had only woken briefly long enough to hear her grumble something about UTI’s and how peeing after sex was the best way to avoid them. She was half asleep, the comment being clearly not meant for his ears. 

He was so drowsy though that he was unsure if he’d heard her correctly.

The run to her bathroom and back into bed had been quick; she clearly wanted to get back to the warm bed and back to his embrace.

He walked his movements slow and careful not to wake her as he went into her master bathroom shutting the door behind him before he flipped on the lightswitch.

He took care of business washing his hands, the cold room and the overhead lights making his brain wake up more than he would prefer.

He groaned, wanting nothing more than to slide back into bed with her and embrace the comfort of sleep.

The file sitting out in her living room was a sirens call though. His mind could not pull from it the need to see just what Agent Stahl had shown Y/N too tempting to ignore.

He shut off the light in the bathroom blinking trying to adjust to the darkness around him as he left the bathroom making his way through her bedroom thankfully without causing any noise.

He made his way down the hall, his stomach in knots as he approached her living room.

He felt his stomach turn as he spotted the file even with all the clutter she complained about in her home; past heirlooms from the generations that had lived here before her.

He sat down on her sofa thankful she’d forgotten to turn off the lamp on the table before she’d asked him to take her to bed.

He reached out his hands shaking as he opened the folder, his eyes scanning the police reports, nothing featured within them a surprise.

At least Stahl had not doctored some fake reports in an attempt to make him appear to be more brutal than he knew he was.

He felt his stomach churn knowing that there was far more that he’d done than was featured in these reports. These were just the actions he’d been caught doing.

He felt his stomach churn all the more, spotting the mugshot of his estranged wife within the folder.

He remembered the arrest as she’d been handcuffed by his side and shoved into the back of a police car beside him. He’d been cursing up a storm and throwing out expletives about the arresting officers insulting their loyalty to the crown calling them dirty loyalist pigs.

Fiona had been so calm though; elegant even in the back of a police car. She had said nothing, only occasionally telling her husband to calm himself. 

They’d been arrested for a brawl. There was always fighting in the streets back in those days. His twenties were a haze of bombings, bullets, and fists. He had thrived in the violence and the chaos.

He had loved the chaos. He had found a home in the horror of it all. He had found a cause to dedicate himself to and he was willing to die for it. He was a loyal man when he found something to fight for, even back then. 

He was certain that he’d die at any moment and he’d been at peace with it. He had told himself he’d be dying for a cause he believed in.

When Kerrianne had been born in his thirties he no longer was at peace with the thought of dying for the cause. His baby had shifted his heart. He was no longer as filled with rage and pure spite. He was still loyal to the cause but he was less quick to fly off the handle without a second's notice. He had learned to hold back the need to fight first and ask questions later. He was more prone to sit back and observe.

He knew his hesitance to fly into a rage had made him appear weak. His loyalties to the cause had been joined by loyalties to his baby.

Jimmy O’ had used this appearance of weakness to push Chibs from the cause. All it took was the suggestion of disloyalty and weakness and Jimmy O’ had been given the go ahead to dispose of Filip Telford. 

Chibs was unsure if Jimmy O’ had also been given the go ahead to take Fiona and Kerrianne for his own, or if that had been a personal choice that had just been tolerated from the Army Council. 

Chibs knew Jimmy O’ had won over favor with the Army Council. He was proving to be a smart and resourceful soldier to the cause. He’d earned leadership of his own crew who he ran with an iron fist. He didn’t care about risk or danger when it came to his actions. He was willing to cost lives for the cause and the council only saw it as Jimmy O’ being dedicated and capable of bringing out that dedication in others. 

They saw him as someone who was willing to get his hands dirty and deal with the day to day tasks that were required of the cause. 

Chibs knew that Jimmy O’ was still in favor with the Army Council. He only had to answer to them for any of his actions. He was still running his own crew. He was still involved in recruitment and he was good at it. He had found himself a cushy position in the True IRA.

Chibs frowned at the photo of Fiona overtaken by the thought that her first love had always been the cause. He was sure she’d loved in order; the cause and then him. Then when Kerrianne had come along she’d loved her of course, though she’d not been entirely pleased to be pregnant seeing it as a hindrance in her fight for the cause.

She had been a good mother though; she’d loved their child. She had remained a loyal soldier though.

He at times had wondered if it had been so easy to believe in the cause and fight for it because he associated the fight for a free Ireland with his love for Fiona. He had loved her therefore her passions had become his own.

He knew of course that he was unable to blame her for the path he’d taken. She had introduced him to the concept of a free Ireland, but he’d been the one to listen so intently and practically trip over himself to become involved. He’d been loyal to the cause. He could admit he’d found an outlet for his anger in it. He fell into the promises of the True IRA hook line and sinker. Fiona had been an encouragement of his dedication to the cause, but he’d made the choice on his own.

He was overcome with mixed feelings at the sight of Fiona’s mugshot. A few years ago he would have wanted to take the photo and keep it close to him. He would have cherished the captured image of her even if it had been taken in a moment of such chaos.

He found that he had no desire to cradle it close to his heart though. He felt no need to cherish the image. He found that gazing upon it only filled him with sorrow and a mix of feelings he could not place. He did love her; though he’d found that it was not that deep longing love he had always assumed he felt for her. He cared for her. He did not want to cherish an image of her though and long for her to be by his side. 

It was a shock; not feeling the longing that he’d become so familiar with when it came to thoughts of Fiona. 

He picked up a mugshot sitting alongside it, a younger version of himself staring back up at him.

He felt his heart twist at the image. The man in the photo looked like a stranger. His face was free of the scars Jimmy O’ had left him with. He was in his twenties in the photo. He was far too thin, his hair dark and free of the hints of silver that had developed over the past few years. His mouth was fixed into a scowl and his gaze was intense and dark. He’d been young and so filled with an immature and honestly unearned sense of pride. 

Chibs jerked almost dropping the photo as a soft voice sounded out beside him. “What are you doing up? I’m missing my in-bed furnace. I need someone to shove my feet against when I get too chilly.”

He gazed up at the owner of the voice, his heart lifting at the sight of her. The sight of her was a welcome distraction from his trip down memory lane.

She’d found a nightgown from her dresser, this one a long pale green silk gown with thin straps and white lace along the trim. He admired the sight of her, sure he’d never get enough of seeing her in a nightgown.

He had found that he enjoyed lying by her side at night, the soft silk of her nightgowns pressed to him the material soft against her curves. 

She sat down beside him, her stomach turning at the open file in front of them and the photo of his estranged wife sitting out. 

An insecure voice in the back of her head told her he’d been gazing at it longing for a woman he could not have.

She shoved the insecure paranoid voice back as Chibs spoke nodding down to the mugshot he was holding in his hand. “Jus rememberin how young I use to be. Shite, look at me. Fuckin full of piss vinegar and cum.”

She rolled her eyes at the last part of his statement. She gazed at the photo in his hand studying it closer than she’d allowed herself to do in front of Agent Stahl. “You look like you were an intense guy.”

“Aye, I was. I had a fuckin loud mouth too…never knew when to shut up until I learned the hard way.” Chibs admitted staring down at the photo of himself.

She dared to ask, unable to shove back her curiosity. “What was the hard way?”

“Fuckin bomb almost took me out. Was helpin plant some explosives with an older lad…he was more experienced than me, but I didn’t care. I was too cocky and runnin my mouth, not listenin to his warnings...one of em got set off and I was at least smart nough to hear it and run. Thank god the one that went off was weaker than it shoulda been. Wasn’t hooked up righ so it was a small fire more than anythin… Still got knocked flat on the ground, broke my damn arm. Taught me to shut up more often. I learned to listen and not assume I knew what I was doin. I learned to take direction a wee bit better. I learned to sit back and let people act before I jumped into action and got myself a world of hurt….I was still an angry lad of course, but I was less stupid in my rage. It was a hard lesson to learn, but it probably kept me alive.” He admitted not wanting to meet her gaze at the mention of bombs.

He spoke again, shaking his head a soft sigh leaving him. “It was a miracle I survived my twenties. Belfast in the eighties and early nineties was somethin else. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have survived it…and I didn’t care….not till my Kerrianne was born. She made dyin in fer the cause seem less noble.”

Y/N dared to speak, trying not to focus on the mention of his deeds in Belfast knowing it was something she might never feel at peace with but it was his past all the same. “She was four the last time you saw her?”

He cringed, nodding his head, the memory feeling so fresh still. “Maureen Ashby…she was a lass that hung round SAMBEL…datin our club pres…she an Fiona were close…she managed to sneak me by a market she knew Kerrianne would be at with Fiona…I was only able to see em from far away…Jimmy O’ never let em out of his sight without one of his lads nearby. I was able to see her for a moment…watch her smelling the flowers…She was so tiny…head full of curls and my nose and ears…She was carrying this wee stuffed animal…a white teddy bear. It should have been comfortin…but it was jus torture. Seeing my baby knowin I couldn’t go near her. She was a baby when Jimmy O’ attacked me. I loved her…loved her so much it hurt. I loved bein a Da. I thought it was a chance to be better than my own Da…I wanted so much fer her, had so many dreams fer her…Maureen promised to give her photos of me as the years went by…let her know I exist, let her know I love her. Don’t know if she jus told me that to comfort me. It would probably be too dangerous…lettin Kerrianne know her da is out there and he loves her. Jimmy O’ wouldn’ stand fer it. Even if he allowed it I’m sure he told her I ran off to America and abandoned her like some sort of arse, running from his family and the cause. Sometimes I dream bout my baby…memories of her. It hurts. I hate it.”

He paused, his throat growing tight he shaking his head. “Pretty soon after that tensions between the True IRA, SAMBEL, and SAMCRO started gettin too much and hinting they might fall apart…sendin a lad over to patch into SAMCRO and help deal with the Irish was a suggested way to ease tensions. I was a perfect candidate given my involvement with the cause and the MC. They knew where my loyalties would lie. I took the chance to get the hell out of Belfast…ain’ been back since.”

She wrapped her arms around his upper arm, her head resting against his shoulder as she spoke. “I’m sorry.”

He furrowed his brow, tempted to tell her that she did not need to apologize for bringing up the memory. 

She spoke, her head turning to press a kiss against his arm. “For what it’s worth…I hope Kerrianne does know you’re out there. I hope she knows you love her…if you didn’t love her you wouldn’t keep her so close to your heart.”

He felt a small smile cross his lips knowing she was referencing the tattoo across his heart. His daughter’s name in celtic print. “Aye, it's all I can do.”

They sat in silence for a moment, she daring to speak. “What do you want me to do with the file…do you want it?”

He frowned, understanding that she was not exactly asking about the file itself nor the police reports. This was about the mugshot of his estranged wife. 

He could feel the tension in her body as she continued to hold on to his arm. She was testing him, waiting to see where and with whom his heart laid. 

He felt the words leave him without hesitation. “Fuckin burn it, Hen. Ain’ nothin in there I need.”

He paused, not missing the chance to tease her. “Though…we can save one of these mugshots of me…ya can frame it to put by yer bed…or I can get ye a locket and ye can size down one of the photos to keep in it. Ye can show it off when people ask bout yer boyfriend…really give em a shock. We can put one of yer mugshots on the other side of the locket…make it real romantic.”

She rolled her eyes at this comment, the tension leaving her body a giggle leaving her the sound a relief to him given the tension of the conversation. “I think if I want a photo of you by my bed or in a locket, I would prefer you to look less pissed off…and more sober judging by a few of those mugshots I spotted in there.”

“Aye, fine. I do think there is a photo in there of me was when I was fuckin shitefaced. Pretty sure I’m flippin the bird at the camera…I look like hell in it. I got picked up with fuckin Juice fer some shite, I don’t even remember it, I think I was fightin though…maybe breakin and enterin too. I jus remember the hangover more than anything. It aint the one we have hangin in the clubhouse though I was pretty stoned in that one  and I’m flippin the bird in it. That one was from Kern county. Pretty sure I was on a run with Tig and Bobby in that one, or on the way back from a run. I had a wee bit of a joint with Bobby and ye can see it in my face…Got pulled over and ran my mouth, cops weren’t amused.” He admitted recalling a few of the mugshots in the file. He knew those were the milder offenses on his record. 

He paused an idea entering his brain, unable to avoid the temptation to tease her.

“ Still gettin ye a mugshot of me…ye know fer yer fridge or somethin…or in yer office…really make Skeeter cringe.” He teased not wanting to admit that he was pretty tempted to make good on the offer.

She shook her head standing up, her voice drowsy. “I am both starving and exhausted…we literally did not eat dinner…and don’t you say that you fed me your cock.”

He snorted at the comment biting his tongue to keep any smart comments from leaving him.

She spoke nodding at the file. “If I get you the matches will you burn that damn file in the fireplace in the dining room? I have some leftover Chinese takeout in the fridge that I can heat up for us and some beer too.”

He chuckled standing up from the sofa as he spoke, tossing the mugshot down on the file more than eager to burn it to ashes. “Aye, takeout and burnin my criminal record. Sounds like a good night in.”

She shook her head, her lips pressing to his cheek before she headed to the kitchen. He called out behind her the words leaving him without hesitation. “I love ye.”

“I love you too.” She replied over her shoulder the comment filling them both with ease.

He gazed down at the file shutting it knowing that he’d been telling her the truth. There was nothing in that file he wanted nor needed.

He knew where his heart laid.

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Thirteen

(AO3 counterpart here.)

It didn’t take long for the other Clans to arrive, but by the time they did, a wail sounded off, growing louder and louder until it reached ear-piercing levels, then abruptly stopped. When Fireheart looked, a massive, square-built red car squatted beside the burning forest, and humans swarmed out of it, yelling to each other. He and his Clanmates watched in fascination as they pulled out something long and brown, like a titan of an adder, and a stream of white water spewed from its mouth, attacking the fire.

“You live!” came a familiar voice. Fireheart turned and beamed at Rainpath, who was hurrying up to him, already-huge eyes wider than his paw with anxiety. “A blessing upon blessings, Fireheart. Are all your Clan safe?”

Fireheart’s face fell. “No. One of our elders didn’t make it out with us. Ravenwing’s grandfather.”

“Oh…” Rainpath offered a nose-touch to the taller tom’s shoulder, purring sadly. “I pray he finds StarClan quickly. I cannot imagine your sorrow.”

Fireheart didn’t have it in him to make any assurances that he’d be okay. His eyes went to Ravenwing, who was sagging onto his front legs so hard he could barely be said to be sitting at all. Wrenwhisker was standing across from him and Greystripe, talking quietly. Greystripe answered him, his bushy tail protectively wrapped around Ravenwing’s back end while the black tom leaned against him, his eyes far away and hollow.

Rainpath followed Fireheart’s line of sight and sighed unhappily through his nose. Almost too quiet to hear, he murmured, “Ancestors, heal his heart and gift him thlain* joys hereafter.”

Fireheart gestured with a head-tilt to Rainpath, and the pair made their way through the growing crowd over to their friends. Wrenwhisker looked at the approaching toms and nodded once.

“I heard of your grandfather,” Rainpath said softly, coming to stand by Ravenwing. “ShadowClan mourns him with you.”

Ravenwing didn’t respond. Fireheart carefully wove between Rainpath and his Clanmate, sitting close enough that their fur brushed, and rested his cheek against Ravenwing’s shoulder. Rainpath and Wrenwhisker shared a look of concern that was much more evident on the ShadowClan cat.

The toms sat and stood in silence, watching the rest of the warriors merge patrols into each other as they came to each ThunderClan cat and sniffed them or inquired to ensure they weren’t hurt. A lanky, warm golden-brown tortoiseshell trotted up to Goldenflower, who was standing guard in front of all of the kits with her tail twitching, and said something in a low but pleasant voice that made Goldenflower visibly relax. The tortoiseshell sat down beside her, and slowly Goldenflower sat down too.

“Who’s that?” Greystripe asked, his voice lacking any of its usual casualness.  

“Our matriarch, Morningflower,” Wrenwhisker said. “She was worried about your queens and kits.”

Fireheart purred. “That’s kind of her. Are your own okay without her?”

“Just got the one queen.” Wrenwhisker rolled a shoulder. “She wanted Morningflower to come, too.”

Fireheart watched the matriarchs for a moment before his eyes started roaming at a faint voice, landing on the leaders all standing together off to the side of the crowd.

Well, the toms were standing. Bluestar was seated, her front legs spread out a bit and her eyes flicked from the ground to side-to-side, like she was dizzy. Speckletail stood beside her, speaking with the leaders.

“I think we should make this into a Gathering,” Rookstar was saying. “Get an idea of what to do.”

Blackstar nodded curtly, saying to Bluestar, “Your camp is not safe to return to. Not so long as an ember glows in the forest. We must find a solution for you.”

Bluestar didn’t respond. She opened and shut her mouth a few times, still not looking at the other leaders.

Crookedstar cleared his throat. “Are you alright, old girl?”

“It’s—” Speckletail cut in. “It’s just that the smoke got to her head. She’s been confused since we got out here.”

“Ah,” said Rookstar, a suspecting glint in his eye.

“I can speak for her, if she—”

“I’m fine,” Bluestar said suddenly, sounding cross. She shook her head viciously and frowned at the other leaders, even though her eyes were still hazy. “We’re talking? Let’s talk.”

She gave them no time to respond, turning and trotting for the boulder the leaders always sat on during Gatherings. Speckletail hurried after her, the toms slowly following with glances at each other like they were gauging reactions. Speckletail stood by the boulder as they leaped up onto it, finding the highest point next to Bluestar and watching her closely.

Once they were all seated, Crookedstar yowled like he was imitating a bird. All conversation immediately ceased and every eye turned to him.

“We might as well get to the point, aye?” he said, and turned to Bluestar, though his voice was aimed at the crowd. “I think I speak for all of us when I say, what a relief that you are all alive and well!” He paused. “Well… save one of your own, to which I offer my sympathy and grief. But thank the Three, the Mother and StarClan that it was only one lost.”

Rookstar nodded. “ThunderClan survives.”

“We pray your elder moves to the stars with ease and happiness,” Blackstar added. His head turned to where the humans were still fighting with the fire, then twitched his ear at the slowly intensifying rain. “It seems our Lady Pathcarver looks upon you kindly today.”

Bluestar’s response was a little delayed. “…Thank you three. We’ll… we’ll find somewhere safe to stay in the forest.”

Crookedstar blinked. “While humans and fire swarm the place?”

Speckletail stood on her hind legs and stretched up to Bluestar’s paws, saying in a low voice, “Our emergency camp was in the path of the flames.”

“…Ah.” Bluestar shook her head again. “Then we will have to make do elsewhere.”

“I have an offer,” Rookstar said. “The Barn would be a safe place to stay for a while.”

Bluestar looked at him now in surprise.

He nodded to the question she hadn’t asked. “Barley has his home open to anyone in need. We can send a messenger and escort your Clan to the Barn to wait for the humans to leave and the embers to completely die out.”

“And once you return,” Crookedstar added, “we’d like to give over Sunningrocks to you for hunting grounds.”

Several RiverClan cats made noises of shock.

Crookedstar chuffed and waved a paw. “I know, I know. Outrageous, my fellow swimmers. Leoparddawn will have my pelt when we get back home. But we will survive without Sunningrocks. ThunderClan just lost a massive chunk of their territory, and we can make do with our fish for a while.” He turned to Bluestar with a twitch of his whiskers. “I hope you don’t mind a little charity, old girl.”

Bluestar stared at him with narrowed eyes. His mirth started to slide off his face.

“We accept both of your offers,” Speckletail called, loud enough for everyone to hear. “ThunderClan thanks you for your kindness.”

This seemed to wake something up in Bluestar. Her expression became dizzy again. “Yes. Thank you.”

Murmurs that were louder than likely intended rippled from the crowd, some cats looking at each other in concern. Fireheart caught sight of Darkstripe scowling, like he was annoyed by the events of today more than anything else.

Does he even care that his father’s dead? a snippy little voice asked in Fireheart’s head. He hasn’t said anything yet.

Fireheart didn’t have time to react to it before Crookedstar said, “The Barn will be a fine place to stay, with all that prey running around.” He looked to the other leaders. “Well, shall we not waste time and get ThunderClan to safety?”

“That would be wise,” Blackstar said. He stood. “We apologize—ShadowClan has little to give in the way of help. I offer that we will watch your border closely and alert you when all is well.”

“We’d be grateful for that, too,” Speckletail said, and nudged Bluestar with a paw.

Bluestar’s eyes jerked back from fogginess. “Yes. Yes. ThunderClan needs to get to the Barn quickly. We can call the meeting here.”

The other leaders nodded respectfully to her and slipped down off the boulder, Bluestar following after a pause. Fireheart didn’t miss the curious and troubled looks on the other Clans’ faces, some of them watching her walk with Speckletail, who whispered something in her ear.

“ThunderClan, with us!” Speckletail called.

Rookstar glanced back at Bluestar and crooked his long, long tail, beckoning his Clan to follow him.

“May luck and peace greet you when you get there,” Rainpath said to the ThunderClan toms.

“Thank you,” Fireheart said quietly. He stood and, together with Greystripe, gently nudged Ravenwing to standing and guided him after Bluestar and Speckletail, where the moor and forest cats were gathering. Wrenwhisker walked with them, silent as the mist.

Rookstar said something to a pale grey tom, and the tom nodded before sprinting off up the slope of WindClan territory, turning into a dot in moments.

“Do you think Barley will accept us crashing there?” Fireheart asked Greystripe.

Greystripe twitched his mouth back. “I’m sure he will. I mean, maybe he won’t have a choice, but he’s been friendly with the Clans since he’s been around. And he does always invite guests when apprentices or leaders or seers are going to their ceremony.”

Fireheart hummed thoughtfully, imagining Barley’s confused face when the entirety of ThunderClan arrived on his doorstep. He quietly prayed that things would go over well.

Goldenflower came up past him, crooning to the kits as she guided them into the middle of the growing cluster of cats (that, Fireheart noticed with some joy, was an even blend of the Clans). Morningflower and Brindleface came up behind the kittens, both speaking sweetly between chatting with each other. Brindleface was, thankfully, more at ease, and didn’t seem troubled by all the strangers around her.

Fireheart examined each of the kits. Tawnykit protectively marched with her brother, who had his head low and tail close to his hind legs. Ashkit and Aspenkit padded together, both looking more interested in the walk than terrified of the fire behind them. Trailing behind them, Cloudkit’s eyes were huge and pale with anxiety, and he almost crouched as he walked, his little tail bushy and stuck straight out. Fireheart felt the pull to rush to his nephew and comfort him.

Before he could, a brown WindClan molly came to walk alongside the kits, and with a gentle voice said to Cloudkit, “You look very interesting. What’s your name?”

Cloudkit jolted in surprise and looked at her. Timidly, he said, “My– my name is Cloudkit.” He added after a heartbeat, “Fireheart’s my uncle.”

The molly’s eyes flicked around until they found the uncle in question, who nodded politely to her with a grateful blink. She nodded back before replying, “That’s a good name, Cloudkit. Are you excited to see the Barn? You get to go there before you’re even an apprentice.”

At this, Cloudkit’s puffy fur smoothed out just a little. “…Yeah. I think it’ll be cool. Is it cool?”

“It’s warm, actually,” the molly said. “You’ll be cozy when this rain turns to snow.” She glanced up at the clouds. “Want to know how I know it’ll snow?” At Cloudkit’s more enthusiastic nod, she lowered her head to his level and conspiratorially whispered, “A badger told me.”

Cloudkit gasped. “Badgers can talk?”

“All beasts can.” The molly’s voice took on a faint purr. “WindClan can talk to them, and we’re friends with weasels and buzzards and foxes, and all kinds of creatures. They tell us about the world outside the territories, so we know about a whole lot of things before they come to us.”

Cloudkit’s eyes were still wide, but now they sparkled. “Wooow.”

Fireheart marveled at this molly as she winked at Cloudkit and continued walking alongside him, her tail curled over her back. That’s the first time I’ve heard any WindClan cat emote, and she did it for Cloudkit.

With this, he listened as conversation slowly rose, ThunderClan and WindClan swapping stories and concerns about the forest. None of the moor cats sounded particularly worried or even enthused, but their words were earnest, if curt. More mollies slowed down or sped up to walk with the kits and matriarchs, and soon Goldenflower was mutedly chuffing at a remark from a grey-brown tabby. Fireheart did not participate in any conversation—he stuck close to Ravenwing and Greystripe, content to eavesdrop.

They were halfway up the long, long hill when the pale grey tom appeared through the rainy haze and was sprinting back to the crowd. He slowed down, not even slightly out of breath, and said to Rookstar, “Barley welcomed ThunderClan to his Barn. They can stay there, no problem.”

“Very good,” Rookstar said. He glanced at Bluestar, whose face Fireheart couldn’t see. Whatever the WindClan leader saw, he narrowed his eyes for a splinter of a moment before turning back and walking forward again.

“Your Clan is slow,” Wrenwhisker remarked at last.

“We don’t have a lot of space to practice outrunning lightning,” Greystripe joked, but his words were weakly delivered, his concerned eyes still on Ravenwing.

Ravenwing continued to stay silent. Fireheart walked a little closer to him.

With the clouds, it was impossible to tell how long it took to climb the moorland, but at last the Clans made it to the hedges. One by one, they went under and through it, Fireheart lagging behind to ensure everyone got through safely (and to nose Cloudkit’s ear when the little tom passed him, earning a purr in response). When he followed at last, the black-and-white loner Barley was trotting up to the leaders, his pleasant face almost ashen.

“I saw the fire from here,” he said as he approached Bluestar. “Horrified me. I was so certain you all were dead in there. Did, ah…”

“An elder,” Rookstar said flatly. “Everyone else is alive.”

“Heavens.” Barley sighed and shut his eyes briefly, like he was praying, before opening them again and saying to Bluestar, “Well, it’s good to see my fears were… mostly unfounded. Bring your little ones and mothers on over, we can set you up nice and cozy in the Barn.”

Bluestar didn’t answer him, but she did follow him. ThunderClan’s cats slowly split off from the WindClanners with goodbyes and thanks and many respectful nods to Rookstar, who curtly returned each one.

“Good hunting,” Wrenwhisker said as Fireheart started off with his friends.

Fireheart waved with his tail and continued on, pausing when he got to the brown tabby molly.

“Excuse me,” he said. “What’s your name?”

The molly looked at him with dim surprise, and none of the mirth she’d offered Cloudkit. “Larkbelly.”

“I’m Fireheart,” he said. “Thank you for calming down Cloudkit, Larkbelly. He’s usually so confident, but… this really scared him.”

Larkbelly cocked her head in acknowledgement. “Happy to help. I hear you’re a kittypet. He is, too?”

Fireheart nodded. “My sister gave him to us.”

“Odd sister,” Larkbelly remarked. “But a cute little kit. Take it easy here, Fireheart.”

He bowed his head to her and she turned, making her way over to her Clanmates as they bunched together. Rookstar murmured something to Speckletail, who said something back before splitting off and gesturing with her tail, calling, “ThunderClan, to the Barn!”

WindClan’s patrol turned silently and went back under the hedge, not even talking to each other. Fireheart watched them go, his chest warm and bubbly. He looked up at the sky, where the rain had lightened just enough for it not to get in his eyes.

“Blessings on the Clans,” he said quietly. “However you can reward them, StarClan, do so.”

StarClan did not respond. Oddly, as he lowered his head and followed his Clanmates, Fireheart wasn’t bothered at all.  

*”Thlain”: a thousand, million, infinity; an uncountable number.

[steele-soulmate]

A Girl With No Name, chapter 13, King Peter Steele & Long Lost Princess Daughter OFC, Modern Royalty AU

SUMMARY: When teenaged misfit outcast and street thief Ecatherina “Rose” Harkler sneaks into a party at the royal mansion, she meets the nation’s king, Peter Ratajczyk. The powerful ruler man identifies the sixteen year old girl as his long lost daughter, thought to have died with the rest of his family after a failed assassination attempt on his life instead claimed the lives of his loved ones. Stripped of her teenaged identity and thrown into a world of pretty dresses, undercutting words and unwanted security, Rose uncovers a plot to murder not only her father in cold blood… but herself as well.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: extreme morning sickness, mentions of a family massacre (nothing graphic)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 1313

I was inexplicitly clingy to my stepmother over the following week. My father was quick to take notice and didn’t make any comments, only smiling joyfully at the sight of the both of us growing tighter than thieves as the days passed by happily. I would hug her from behind, placing my hands casually onto her occupied tummy and just lean into her while she marinated meat or chopped vegetables or made chicken noodle soup, which was pretty much the only thing that she could keep down. Her morning sickness mostly struck in the late afternoons, right around the time that we both would start to make dinner.

How are you planning on telling my father? I asked her as she was brushing her teeth the day before my father’s birthday, having just spent the better part of twenty minutes violently sick.

I have a birthday card that I’m giving him tomorrow morning at breakfast, she told me nonchalantly, rinsing and then spitting into the sink. It says ‘happy birthday daddy- I’m still inside mommy’s tummy, but I can’t wait to -’ Here, she broke off once more, making a mad dash back over to the toilet in the half bathroom just off of the laundry room to puke some more.

I stood behind her, corralling her wild red curls into my hands and gently rubbing her back. I was concerned with the amount of bile that she was ejecting, and I wondered if she needed to go and see a doctor.

I tied her wayward curls out of her face and off of her neck in a messy knot with a hair tie that was kept around my wrist, looking up as my dad poked his head into the doorway.

My dad.

I had started addressing the king as my dad, and was immediately rewarded with a sweet smile from him aimed towards me. I had returned the smile and tucked myself into his chest in an affectionate hug.

What’s wrong? he asked me with worry in his eyes. Is Emily alright?

The both of us shuffled into the other’s spot, with the king tenderly cradling his wife as she was violently sick into the toilet. I saw his lips moving as he spoke to her, his eyes brightening at her response before he pressed a whiskery kiss to the side of her head, his hand wrapping around her and resting against her still flat tummy.

What can I do to help? I asked, unbothered by my stepmother spilling the beans on her birthday present for my kingly father.

I’m taking her to the urgent care, he announced with a grim face. All of Emily’s past pregnancies led to her having concerning morning sickness.

Do you want me to stay back with the boys? I asked, eager to help in any way that I could. I can finish up dinner- burgers broiled over the stove and French fries.

Yummy. My dad smiled at me stepping in to help as my stepmother seemed to take a break from puking. I quickly filled a bag with trash from the half bathroom trash can- spent tissues and a sad cardboard toilet paper roll and handed it to her for just in case she happened to have another case of the urpies while on the road. She just smiled up at me before dad began to juggle her and his cane.

Go downstairs and get the car started, I scolded him. I’ll take mom down after you.

Mom.

I let her lean on me as I guided her down the stairs and sat her into the passenger seat, tucking a heated blankie around her before waving them both goodbye.

When I returned to the kitchen, I found Oliver munching on some celery.

Where did mom and dad go? he asked me, offering me a stalk of celery.

Hospital, I answered, accepting the snack. Mom had had some awful acid reflux over the past few weeks.

What does this sign mean? he asked me, and I demonstrated the sign for acid reflux before fingerspelling it out for him. Oh, okay.

Yeah. I took over the meat from the refrigerator, which I then began to shape into burger patties. How have you been doing?

Honestly, it had been interesting adjusting to having an older sister, he confessed. It’s weird seeing dad so happy.

Had he never been happy? I turned the oven and the stove on, opening the freezer and taking out a giant bag of French fries, which I cut open and then set off to the side for the moment being. I got a giant sheet pan out, sprayed some olive oil onto it before dumping the entire bag out onto it.

No, I don’t think he’s really been happy since his first wife and their children were murdered, he told me with a nonchalant shrug. The only reason why he married mom and had my brothers and I was because if he didn’t have a male heir, then the throne would go to Brooklyn’s royal cousin in Slyvio. They’ve been wanting to exploit Brooklyn’s natural resources for centuries, and they’ve been caught doing shady dealings in their quest to gain control.

I nodded- Slyvia was off to the north of Brooklyn, and the country had been plagued with nonstop war for the past six centuries. A small gang of would be liberators wanting to free the people of Slyvia had been found guilty of the murders of my mother, my sisters, my little baby brother and the driver who had been caught in the crossfires. Their trial had been swift and merciless, and upon being found as guilty, the dozen men had been sentenced to death by firing squad.

Understood, I said as I began to broil the burger patties in the massively sized cast iron pan. I just wonder why the killers didn’t go after dad on that unmentionable day.

I was referring to that day when dad became a widower.

Dad has the case files of the trials in his office, Oliver offered me. He thinks that I don’t know, but he sometimes goes in there late at night and just cries.

My heart broke.

But basically from what I understand, dad and the rest of the family had swapped cars at the last possible moment, he continued to chatter as he poured a glass full with water and was sipping at it. He only blames himself.

The crack that was permanently infused into my heart only grew all the more bigger at his words.

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The Mandalorian—

2.05 CHAPTER 13: THE JEDI

[thelifeofthewhimsical]

Chapter Thirteen: The Witch's Warning

The sky was still ink-dark when Persephone slipped out of the farmhouse, her breath rising in thin clouds as she padded barefoot across the cool wooden floor. There was a hush over the fields that she had come to resent.

Each step she took away from the house felt like a quiet rebellion. She hadn’t told Demeter she was leaving. She hadn’t even left a note. Maybe it was cowardice. Or maybe she was done asking for permission from gods who handed her silence in return.

She waited to lace up her boots until she was a few feet away from the entrance of her home. Typically she wouldn’t bother with shoes such as these, but the path through the forest to Hecate’s cabin wasn’t made for comfort.

The wind was quiet, the world not yet stirred awake. A hush hung over the land like a held breath. She wrapped her cloak tightly around herself, fingers cold but steady, and stepped into the predawn.

This was the in-between hour, when night had not quite left and morning dared not arrive. A sacred time, Hecate would say. A time for crossing thresholds.

The forest yawned open to her like an old friend. The trail twisted through shadows and ancient trees whose roots had long since claimed the soil as their own. She walked fast, ignoring the snapping twigs underfoot, the way the silence pressed too heavily against her skin.

​​A sudden rustle to her left made her pause, heart leaping. But it was only a hare, startled by her presence, darting into the underbrush. Still, it reminded her that even the forest watched her tonight—listened to the choices she made. She glanced once over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the shape of her mother’s fury chasing her through the trees. But there was nothing. Just Persephone, and the path ahead.

She followed the long path eastward, where the forest thickened and the scent of damp leaves grew strong. A crow watched her from a low branch, cawed once, then flew ahead as if guiding her. The further she traveled the darker the forest seemed to get, despite approaching daybreak. She was reminded once again of the growing shadows in her dreams.

She needed answers.

Hecate’s cabin appeared slowly through the mist, crouched low against the hillside. The cabin was nestled deep in the shadows, half-hidden by twisting trees and moss-covered stones. Smoke coiled from the crooked chimney, and a faint golden glow spilled from one warped windowpane. Before she could knock, the door opened.

“I felt you coming,” Hecate said. Her face was sharp in the flicker of candlelight, dark eyes full of sleep and suspicion. “This early, too. What’s so urgent, little bloom?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Persephone said, stepping into the warmth. “But I didn’t know who else to go.”

“You always were impatient,” Hecate said, her voice low and amused. 

Her long, dark hair was loose and wild, her robe wrapped carelessly over her shoulders, lined with old symbols that shimmered faintly in the dim light. She closed the door behind her, locking them both inside.

“I need your help. I need to see my future—my real future—”

“Not the one Demeter and Zeus are weaving for you behind closed doors,” Hecate interrupted, a knowing look in her dark eyes. “Your mother has ears in the wind,” the old witch said, moving to the hearth. “And the gods don’t like when you ask questions they haven’t already answered for you. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I’m tired of everyone playing with my future,” Persephone said. “I want to know what they’re keeping from me. I want to know what I’m meant to become.”

Hecate tilted her head, watching her closely now, like one might watch a sapling before deciding whether it would thrive or wither.

“You’ve grown bold,” Hecate murmured, her gaze narrowing. “That frightens them more than they’ll ever admit. Not because you disobey, but because you question. That’s the seed of power in a goddess, you know—not obedience, but defiance.” She smirked slightly. “And that frightens your mother most of all.”

The woman looked at her for a long moment, then slowly began gathering the tools of her craft—black candles, powdered herbs, a bowl carved from stone and stained with time. “Visions are messy things, Kore. They don’t always show what you want. And they never come without cost.”

“I don’t care,” Persephone said. “I need to know what they’re hiding from me. If I don’t claim my fate, they will. Please.”

Hecate paused, fingers resting on a bundle of yarrow.

“This isn’t like reading tea leaves,” she warned, voice suddenly serious. “Visions take something from you. They show what you need, not what you want. And sometimes, they don’t give it back.”

Persephone didn’t flinch. “Let them take what they will.”

“You can’t unsee what’s meant to find you,” she said finally. “Are you prepared for that?”

Persephone nodded, though a shiver passed through her.

The air inside the cabin shifted, thick with unseen weight. The walls creaked softly, as if they too held their breath in anticipation. This was a moment out of time, and it demanded reverence—or reckoning.

The old witch began to prepare the rite. The ritual circle was drawn in ash and salt. Runes etched with charcoal marked the floorboards, ancient and humming with energy. Persephone knelt in the center, eyes closed, heart drumming in her ears.

Her breath felt too loud in her throat. The air was thick with myrrh and smoke. This wasn’t a ceremony; it was a summoning.

Hecate’s voice began low, almost like a lullaby—but the words were not soft. They were jagged and old, full of sharp consonants and syllables that made the air vibrate.

The cabin darkened, as if night had thickened all at once. The fire hissed. The smoke from the herbs turned violet, then black, wrapping itself around Persephone’s body like a second skin.

Her breath caught.

The world fell away.

-ˋˏ ༻ ❀ ❀ ❀ ༺ ˎˊ-

She was somewhere else now. Not sleeping. Not dreaming.

A great cavernous space stretched out before her, lit only by a strange, cold glow that had no source. Stone walls curved endlessly around her, and in the center of it all—a throne.

A throne, carved from obsidian and bone, rose beneath her. Cold seeped into her spine. She sat upon it, her hands pale against the black stone.

Black as the void. Sharp-edged. Beautiful and terrible.

Her fingers curled over its arms, and a crown—heavy and unfamiliar—rested on her head. Her skin felt different here: cooler, more solid. As if her blood had slowed, deepened.

Then came the voices.

Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands.

“Help me…” “She sees us…” “Persephone.”

They came from nowhere. From everywhere.

Disembodied, desperate, reverent.

She could feel the souls, not just hear them. Lost, restless, old. They pressed at the edges of her mind, not to harm her, but to be heard. She turned her head—but there were no faces, no bodies. Just endless cavernous dark and the pleading of souls.

Her mouth opened, but her voice was not her own.

“I hear you.”

And they quieted.

She stood—or tried to—but her body remained on the throne, unmoved. Instead, her awareness stretched outward. In that moment, a terrifying truth whispered itself into her spine, she belonged here.

Then something shifted.

A ripple through the darkness. A figure stepped forward from the shadows beyond the souls. Tall, cloaked in shadow. Male.

He radiated a power that matched hers. Not the cold authority of Zeus, nor the suffocating control of Demeter. This was something deeper. Older.

His presence wrapped around her like gravity. Heavy. Familiar.

She squinted into the gloom, but the vision began to crack like thin ice.

The voices began again, surging louder this time.

Her chest tightened.

Then—

-ˋˏ ༻ ❀ ❀ ❀ ༺ ˎˊ-

She gasped, arching upward, back in Hecate’s cabin, smoke trailing from her lips like breath exhaled from another world.

The candles were snuffed. The fire had gone out. Only the glow of the runes remained, still pulsing softly beneath her knees.

Hecate watched her carefully from the edge of the circle.

“What did you see?” the witch asked.

Persephone’s hands were shaking. She looked down at them, expecting them to still be wrapped in that chill, that strange certainty. But they were her own again. Pale. Small.

“I saw… the underworld,” she whispered. “A throne. Voices calling to me. They were calling to me. Begging. And I—” She swallowed. “I wasn’t afraid.”

Hecate nodded slowly. “Then you’ve touched your thread.”

Persephone looked up, a strange fire in her eyes now.

“It felt like home.”

Silence stretched between them.

Hecate finally stood and extinguished the runes with a sweep of her hand. “Then you must decide what kind of queen you’re willing to be.”

Persephone stood, legs unsteady, but her will iron-strong.

“One who chooses her own crown,” she said. “Even if the gods try to take it from her.”

Hecate exhaled, slowly. “Then your path may not be the one your mother fears… or the one you expect.” The witch nodded. “You’d best start preparing.”

Persephone stepped to the doorway of the cabin and opened it. The early morning mist was thinning, touched now by the faintest light—rosy, hesitant—as if even the sun wasn’t sure it should rise today.

She breathed in deeply, the scent of pine and ash clinging to her cloak, to her skin. Something in her had changed—no, awakened. The cold from the vision still hummed in her blood, but it no longer frightened her. It steadied her. Anchored her.

Behind her, Hecate remained silent, watching. Not with pity. Not with doubt. But with the wary recognition of a goddess who had seen power bloom before—and watched the gods try to strangle it at the root.

Persephone looked down at her hands again. They had always been gentle things. Meant for sowing seeds, for weaving garlands, for brushing away tears. But maybe they were also meant to command.

She closed her fingers into a fist.

The wind picked up, soft but sharp, tugging at the hem of her cloak. It whispered through the trees like it, too, now carried her name.

Persephone didn’t step outside.

She let the door fall gently shut again and turned back toward the cabin’s hearth, its fire now only embers. The silence pressed around them like a closing circle.

Hecate raised an eyebrow. “Changed your mind, little bloom?”

“I’m not going back,” she said softly.

Hecate tilted her head, curious. “Not yet, or not at all?”

Persephone’s voice did not waver. “For now, this is where I need to be. With someone who doesn't lie to me. Who doesn’t try to shape me into something small.”

She crossed the room, unfastening her cloak and hanging it near the fire. Her hands were still trembling, but her spine was straight.

Hecate said nothing for a moment, then began to stir the embers back to life with a practiced hand. Sparks leapt like fireflies, dancing in the dimness.

“You’ll be missed,” the witch said.

“I hope so,” Persephone replied. “Let them feel the absence. Let it unsettle them.”

For a long time, there was only the faint crackle of ash and the quiet stirring of dawn outside.

Then Hecate moved, her robe rustling as she began to prepare tea. “Then we’d best get to work,” she said. “You’ll need more than visions if you mean to survive what’s coming.”

“I don’t want to survive,” Persephone said. “I want to transform.”

The old witch let out a low hum of approval.

“Very well, little bloom,” she said. “Let’s see what grows when the gods aren’t watching.”

Outside, the wind shifted. The trees whispered. Somewhere far off, a crow called once, then again, before vanishing into the mist.

And within the crooked cabin tucked deep in the woods, a queen stayed behind—not to hide, but to learn how to rise.

[amethystskeleton]

(Excerpt from Chapter 13):

Deaton looked up as they approached and a kindly smile crossed over his face at the sight of Liam.

“Hello Liam. It’s been a while.” He said, voice soft. It washed over Liam like the sunrise through an open window and he couldn't stop the relieved grin from crossing over his face as well. It would be alright . Deaton’s eyes shifted off of Liam and focused on Theo who was hovering right behind his shoulder. For a moment there was a long pause and Liam glanced back at Theo. His expression had smoothed over, leaving his face carefully blank and his heartbeat remaining steady. 

“Theo.” Deaton finally said, inclining his head in greeting. The tension broke and Theo nodded back at him, accepting the greeting. 

“Liam suggested that Theo should look over the bodies as well, that’s why he’s here.” Stilinski explained with a wave of his hand. 

[stolendiamonds]

[ericshoney]

The Mafia Boss ~ Chapter thirteen

Sunghoon's POV

As Y/n went upstairs, I took a seat next to Jungwon.

"Yes Hyung?" He calls.

"Find out who she works for." I tell him.

"Already on it Hyung." He replies.

I nodded as he kept typing away, I grab a beer out the fridge and sit down again, Jungwon gives me a side glance.

"Thought you'd slow down on the drinking." I look at him.

"What?" I ask.

"Well now Y/n is back, under your rules, you'd slow down on the drinking." He adds.

"She's not under any rules, just under watch." I respond.

"Oh really? Who's watching her while she showers then?" He responds.

"I'll ignore the sass Jungwon, but she's in the house she can't go anywhere." I reply.

"Oh yeah, sure Hyung. That's total bullshit." He said turning to face me.

"What?" I call with a laugh.

"Face it Hyung, your trying to keep this boss man guard up but really your happy about Y/n being back and that's okay, you wanted her back. But I'll give you a word of advice, don't fuck up and don't hide shit from her." He replies.

"Okay, I'll admit I am happy she agreed to stay and I'm trying my hardest to give her the space she wants. Sometimes I just want to pull her into my arms and kiss her again, I've missed her, but she admitted today that she really only stayed for Bea, because of my drinking." I tell him.

"You have protected Bea for a long time. We understand the past three, hell the past six years have been hard for you." He said, turning back to his laptop.

"Do...Do you think Y/n still hates me?" I ask him quietly.

"No. If she hated you that much she wouldn't have stayed, even for Beatrix. The Y/n we know, if she didn't want to be here would have kicked your ass and took Bea with her." He replies with a short laugh.

"So your saying....what?" I ask.

"Man for a mafia boss you aren't that sharp are you?" He responds.

"Shut it I know business!" I exclaim.

"I'm saying you'll get a second chance, just don't blow or rush her." He tells me.

"Okay, I'll try not too. Wait how do you know so much about dating when you've never had a girlfriend?" I ask.

"TV." He mumbles.

"Oh yeah I should totally take your advice, the teenager who watches TV shows." I reply sarcastically.

"Whatever Hyung, moving on, I've found her." I look at his computer screen.

"Good work, who she work for?" I question.

"She's apart of a group called ITZY, the name ring a bell?" He calls.

"It does, I went with Jake to do a deal on some tech, they wanted way too much money thought they would be smartasses." I tell him, remembering everything that happened a months back.

"Well good thing she's out of Y/n's life." Jungwon said.

"Yeah, I'll tell her in a bit, thanks Won." He nods and closes his laptop.

"No problem and stop drinking so much alcohol!" He shouts as he leaves.

I laugh and look at my now empty beer bottle. I throw it away wondering if I should cut back.

[balshumetsbaragouin]

Chapter thirteen came out yesterday! We are officially over the halfway mark, and things are going to start heating up plot wise very soon! This is the second half of the Danny POV double feature for this week. Wednesday and next Saturday's chapters will be in Valerie's POV. Then it's back to switching.

In this chapter, Danny takes his sick leave, and we follow him over the weekend. Still not convinced to click? Have a sample below:

He stood on the edge of the roof, watching the cars and pedestrians below hustle to park or enter the shops on Main. The standing appointment to meet Red Huntress had drawn him out of the warmth of his nice soft bed on the late fall evening. He glanced down at a patch of grass, hoping Dr. A wasn’t frowning in disapproval at him being out of bed. He needed to talk to Valerie, and he didn’t want to do it over the phone. As long as he wasn’t fighting, she wouldn’t get irritated and try to talk to Vlad, right? He considered it for a moment, watching a family try to force a stroller over the still uneven sidewalk from the fight with the Ops Center, realizing her contacting Plasmius ranked higher than a conversation with his actual parents. He could brush off Vlad, and the man wasn’t likely to do more than take advantage of the last waning days of his illness, but if the powerful ghost woman dropped by Fentonworks to explain to Mr. and Mrs. Fenton that their halfa son needed more time to recuperate... The idea had him pushing down shivers as a gust of wind ruffled his hair. Ugh, no, that’s the worst case scenario. My parents don’t listen to ghost rambles...usually, but she’s strong enough to keep them captive, and coherent enough to make them pay attention. It’d be hard to brush her off. How is “Technus’ mom visits Vlad” the best case scenario here? The couple below got the stroller up onto the concrete and pushed it towards a toy store.

That store had dumped all its electronic wares over the last three weeks, sending even the non-wiggling stuff elsewhere, and smashing everything that moved. All that was left were simple things like wooden blocks or hot wheels. He checked the time again on his cell, frowning when it showed five after the hour. Val was never late—

“Sorry, I had to wrangle the bridge between Elmerton and Amity.”

“The...drawbridge came to life?” He turned around, taking in the harried look on her face and the soot and dust covering her armor. The debris disappeared as he watched, swept away by some mechanical process of the suit. It was eerie...and neat. Tucker would love a chance to scan the abilities of the new suit.

“Yeah, well not the bridge itself, that’s just concrete and metal. The control station is made of a bunch of computers and electronics, though, and it developed a mind of its own. It didn’t do anything dangerous, I mean it didn’t try to slam the road down on passing boats or toss cars into the river, but it was still a hassle. I had to spend the last hour scrubbing out every crack and crevasse on that thing before it stopped pouting and did its job.” She started trying to brush off the remaining grime, her face a mix of disgust and frustration.

“Wait, you’re filthy because you got put on cleaning duty?”

[the-cosmic-blogger]

AND CH13 OF ADJUSTING IS FINALLY FINISHED!! READ ON, MY FELLOW READERS!!!!

And here's the whole series for a refresher!! :3

[aurora-by-jacqui-natla]

12. SHADOW AND LIGHT

THE CULLENS HAD OPENED THEIR HOME TO a total of twenty-six vampires, and I was one of them. It was a rare privilege to be welcomed into their home, and I felt grateful for the opportunity. The Cullens were known for their generosity and hospitality, but this gathering was unprecedented in its scale. Their house, usually so serene and secluded, was now buzzing with activity. Vampires from different covens, each with their unique gifts and backgrounds, mingled and conversed in the spacious rooms and lush gardens. All here for one common goal.

As I stood outside with Bella, watching the interactions unfold, I felt a sense of wonder. The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the scene, and the tranquil sounds of nature blended with the soft murmur of conversations. Ingram was playing with Renesmee, his shadow tricks creating fascinating shapes and figures that danced in the fading light. Renesmee's laughter rang out, a sweet, joyful sound that seemed to uplift everyone around her. Jacob, always protective and caring, looked on like an older brother keeping an eye on his younger sibling, his expression a mix of amusement and affection.

While Bella and Jacob were focused on Renesmee, I was solely focused on Ingram. The smile on his bearded face was one of genuine delight, and it was clear that he took great pleasure in entertaining the young hybrid child. Ingram's shadows danced and twisted in the air, evoking gasps of delight from Renesmee. Each time she reached for one, it would morph into a new shape, slipping just out of her grasp. Ingram's control over his ability was masterful, a testament to the centuries he'd spent perfecting it. His eyes sparkled with genuine affection as he played with Renesmee, who was now giggling uncontrollably.

"You like him," Bella said, leaning over to me.

"Don't you?" I responded, keeping my eyes on the playful exchange between Ingram and Renesmee. His shadow tricks were mesmerizing, each one more intricate than the last, and Renesmee's laughter echoed around the yard like music.

"Sure, he's great," Bella replied, her tone light but her eyes scrutinizing. "But that's not what I meant."

I turned to face her, raising an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Bella gave me a knowing smile. "You know what I mean. You like him."

I looked away, trying to hide my reaction, but Bella saw right through me. She chuckled softly.

"It's okay," she said, her voice gentle. "It's natural to be drawn to someone like Ingram. He's kind, talented, and he's got that mysterious edge that's hard to resist."

I sighed, knowing she was right but not wanting to admit it. Ingram had been nothing but kind to me since my arrival to the Khotlers, and his talents with shadows were indeed fascinating. But it was more than that. There was a depth to him, a story behind those dark eyes that I wanted to uncover.

"Have you talked to him?" Bella asked, nudging me with her elbow.

"A little bit here and there," I admitted. "I mean, we've exchanged pleasantries, but nothing more."

"Well, maybe it's time to change that," she suggested, her eyes twinkling with encouragement. "Life is too short—or too long, in our case—to let opportunities slip by."

I knew she was right. Gathering my courage, I took a deep breath and stepped forward, walking towards where Ingram and Renesmee were playing. As I approached, Ingram looked up, his smile widening when he saw me.

"Hey," I greeted, trying to keep my voice steady. "Having fun?"

Renesmee grinned at me, her eyes sparkling. "Ingram is teaching me how to make shadow animals!"

"Is he now?" I said, smiling back at her before turning my gaze to Ingram. "That sounds amazing. You're quite talented."

Ingram's eyes met mine, and I felt a spark of connection. "Thank you," he replied, his voice deep and warm. "Would you like to join us?"

I hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. "I'd love to."

As I settled down beside them, Ingram began to demonstrate a new shadow trick, his hands moving gracefully through the air. I watched, captivated, as the shadows formed a delicate butterfly that fluttered around us. Renesmee clapped her hands in delight, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Your turn," Ingram said, turning to me. "Try to catch one."

I looked at him, surprised. "Me? I don't know if I can," I said, feeling a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

"Of course you can," Ingram assured me, his eyes twinkling with encouragement. "Just focus and reach out."

Taking a deep breath, I extended my hand towards the shadow butterfly. It flitted around playfully, just out of reach, but I kept my focus steady. Slowly, almost tentatively, the shadow began to respond to my movements, drifting closer until it rested on my palm. A thrill of accomplishment surged through me.

Renesmee cheered, clapping her hands. "You did it!"

Ingram's smile widened, his expression filled with pride. "See? I knew you could."

Feeling buoyed by his confidence, my hand glowed purple and the shadowy butterfly also glowed in the same shade of purple. Renesmee watched the purple shining butterfly with wide eyes, her fascination evident. "That's so beautiful!" she exclaimed, reaching out to touch it.

Ingram's eyes flickered with curiosity as he observed the interaction. "Interesting," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "Your talent is quite unique."

I blushed at the compliment, feeling a warm flush spread through me. "Thank you," I said softly. "I'm still getting the hang of it."

"Oh, crap!" Jacob suddenly shouted. "I'm supposed to be training the new members of the pack!"

Renesmee reached her hands out. "Bye-bye, Jakey."

Jacob grinned, pausing just long enough to give her a quick, affectionate wave. "See you later, Nessie." With that, he disappeared into the trees, leaving behind a sense of urgency that had momentarily disrupted the tranquil atmosphere.

"Hey, Renesmee," Bella called out. "Let's go inside."

"No... Just a little longer, please?" Renesmee's voice was plaintive, her eyes wide and pleading.

Bella smiled indulgently but shook her head. "It's almost time for your lunch."

Renesmee sighed but didn't argue further. "Okay, but we can play again later, right?" she asked, looking up at Ingram with hopeful eyes.

Ingram nodded with a warm smile. "Of course, anytime you want."

Renesmee beamed at his response, then turned to me. "You'll join us too, won't you?"

I nodded, touched by her enthusiasm. "I'd love to."

With that assurance, Renesmee finally allowed Bella to lead her back inside.

"Bye, Ness," I called after her.

Renesmee cheerfully waved over her shoulder as Bella guided her towards the house. Once they were out of earshot, an unexpected silence fell between Ingram and me. The soft chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves filled the air, creating a serene backdrop for our conversation. I felt Ingram's eyes on me and turned to find him watching me with an amused expression.

"You're good with her," he remarked, his voice a mix of admiration and curiosity.

I shrugged modestly. "She's easy to be around. Full of life and joy."

Ingram nodded thoughtfully. "She brings out the best in everyone."

I couldn't agree more. As we stood there, a comfortable silence settled between us. Ingram turned to me, his expression thoughtful. "You have a remarkable ability, you know," he said, his tone sincere. "The way your light interacts with shadows... it's something I've never seen before."

I felt a flush of pride mixed with a hint of embarrassment. "Thanks," I replied, looking down at my hands. "It's not always easy to control, though. Sometimes it feels like it's more trouble than it's worth."

Ingram's gaze was intense, his eyes never leaving mine. "Every gift has its challenges," he said softly. "But it's those challenges that make us stronger. That push us to grow."

His words resonated with me, and I found myself nodding. "You're right," I admitted. "I just need to keep practicing."

Ingram smirked. "You know, George would like you."

The name drop came with a sudden surprise. "George?"

"My creator," Ingram replied and continued. "He loved the idea of taunting humans by making them believe that he was a prince from Hell. He led on humans, including myself, in love with the occult, asking them to sacrifice everything they held most dear in exchange for his supernatural assistance, because he liked to see how far humans would go for their goals even though he had the power to take it all by force."

I stared at Ingram, absorbing his words. There was a gravity to his tone that made me shiver. "That sounds... macabre," I said cautiously.

Ingram chuckled, though there was no humour in it. "It was. George was fascinated by the human condition, by the lengths people would go to achieve their desires. He believed it revealed the true nature of their souls."

I hesitated before speaking again, choosing my words carefully. "Did you...did you make a deal with him?"

Ingram's eyes darkened, and he looked away, the shadows around us growing thicker. "Yes. I was a fool, blinded by ambition and curiosity. I sacrificed my humanity for the power he promised. And in return, I was bound to him, serving his whims for centuries."

A heavy silence hung between us as I processed his confession. "How did you break free?" I asked softly, sensing that this was a painful topic for him.

He looked back at me, his expression hardening. "I didn't. He grew bored of me eventually, and I was cast aside. But in that rejection, I found my freedom. I swore never to let anyone control me again."

His story struck a chord with me. We all had our burdens, our pasts that shaped us into who we were. "I'm sorry you went through that," I said sincerely. "But I'm glad you're free now."

Ingram's gaze softened, and he gave me a small, appreciative smile. "Thank you. It's...a relief to talk about it. To share it with someone who understands the weight of their past."

I nodded, feeling a connection forming between us. "We all have our scars," I said quietly. "But they don't define us. It's how we move forward that matters."

Ingram reached out, his hand hovering near mine. "You're wise beyond your years," he said, his voice tinged with admiration.

I smiled, a warmth spreading through me. "I've had a lot of help along the way."

He finally let his hand touch mine, a gentle but firm grasp that sent a thrill through me. "Perhaps we can help each other," he suggested, his eyes meeting mine with a hopeful glint.

I squeezed his hand, feeling a sense of certainty in that moment. "I'd like that," I replied.

Just then, Ethan's voice boomed suddenly, breaking the intimacy of the moment. "I'm gonna go hunting," he announced, his tone filled with the usual bravado that often masked his deeper feelings.

Ingram let out a reluctant growl, his face showing a mixture of frustration and nervousness. I glanced at him, noticing how the sudden interruption had thrown him off balance.

"But you just went hunting three hours ago," I protested, hoping to keep the conversation with Ingram on track.

Ethan shrugged, a wide grin spreading across his face, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I'm looking for a good place to hunt," he said. "I've heard that the Quileutes own parts of the land, so I'm looking for a new spot."

I nodded, understanding his need to feed and his restless nature. "Okay, let me know if you find anything," I said, watching as he disappeared into the trees, his figure quickly swallowed by the dense forest.

Ingram and I were left alone once again, the silence stretching between us like a taut wire, filled with unspoken words and emotions. I turned to him, my eyes searching his face for any sign of what he was thinking, hoping to pick up where we left off.

"I've noticed a pattern of behavior from him lately," I remarked, my eyes scanning the room for any signs of deceit or hidden motives. Ethan's frequent absences and cryptic remarks had not gone unnoticed.

Ingram nodded, his gaze following mine, as if trying to piece together the puzzle that was Ethan. "Do you think he's hiding something from us?" he inquired, his voice laced with suspicion and a hint of concern.

I shook my head, my mind racing with possibilities, each one more troubling than the last. "I can't imagine what he would be hiding," I replied, my tone tinged with uncertainty. "If anything, it would have been obvious." The doubt lingered in the air, a shadow over the trust we had built.

But as I pondered the idea of secrets, I felt a sudden jolt of electricity coursing through my hand. I turned to see Kate, my eyes glowing with a fierce purple light as she gripped my hand tightly, screaming at the electric shock and at her. I could hear Ingram snarling at whoever was doing it.

As Kate released her hold, the electric shock disappeared and I realised that she possessed a power beyond anything I had ever seen before.

"She's a maxima, alright" Kate chuckled, her smile both mischievous and proud. Then, she looked at my wrist where the Lunaris Mark was. "And fought the werewolves. Badass for a newborn."

He moved closer to me, his posture protective. "Enough, Kate," he said firmly, his voice low and dangerous. "You've proven your point."

Kate's eyes sparkled with amusement, but she took a step back, raising her hands in a gesture of peace. "Relax, Ingram. I was just curious about her abilities."

Ingram's glare softened slightly, but his stance remained guarded. "Curiosity can be dangerous," he replied, his eyes never leaving Kate. "Especially when it comes to Violet."

I felt a rush of warmth at Ingram's protectiveness. He was standing up for me, and it made me feel valued in a way I hadn't experienced in a long time. Kate's playful demeanor faded, and she nodded in acknowledgment of Ingram's warning.

"Understood," she said, her tone more serious. "I didn't mean any harm."

Ingram's expression remained stern, but he nodded. "Good. Let's keep it that way."

With a final nod, Kate turned and walked away, leaving Ingram and me alone once more. He turned to me, his eyes softening with concern. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gentle.

I nodded, still feeling the residual tingles from Kate's touch. "I'm fine. Just surprised, that's all."

Ingram sighed, his tension easing as he reached out to take my hand again. "Kate can be intense, but she means well. She's just... curious."

"I get that," I replied, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "I can handle it."

He smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. "I know you can. You're stronger than you realize."

The compliment made me blush, and I looked down, feeling a bit shy under his gaze. "Thanks, Ingram. It means a lot coming from you."

He lifted my chin with a gentle finger, forcing me to meet his eyes. "You don't have to thank me, Violet. I'm just telling the truth."

For a moment, we stood there, the world around us fading away. Ingram's presence was comforting, his strength a source of reassurance. I felt a connection with him that was deeper than mere attraction; it was a bond forged from shared experiences and mutual understanding.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice breaking the silence. "Do you want to go for a walk? Get away from all the noise for a bit?"

I smiled, grateful for the suggestion. "I'd love to."

Hand in hand, we walked towards the edge of the garden, the sounds of laughter and conversation fading behind us. The forest loomed ahead, its shadows deep and inviting. As we stepped into the cool embrace of the trees, I felt a sense of peace settle over me.

Ingram led the way, his steps sure and steady. "This place is beautiful," he said, his voice a low murmur. "It's easy to forget the world outside when you're here."

I nodded, taking in the serene surroundings. "It is. The Cullens have created something special here."

"They have," Ingram agreed. "And it's a privilege to be part of it, even if only for a short time."

We walked in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the distant call of a bird. Eventually, we reached a small clearing, and Ingram paused, turning to face me.

"I want to know more about you, Violet," he said, his eyes earnest. "Not just your abilities or your past, but who you are. What makes you tick."

His words took me by surprise, and I felt a swell of emotion rise within me. "I... I want to know more about you too, Ingram," I confessed. "There's so much I don't understand, but I want to."

He smiled, a warm and genuine expression. "Then let's take the time to learn about each other. No rush, no pressure. Just... us."

I nodded, feeling a sense of contentment settle over me. "I'd like that."

We eventually found a spot, a small clearing bathed in dappled sunlight filtering through the dense canopy above. Settling down on the soft, mossy ground, we began to talk. Our conversation meandered through various topics, eventually landing on our childhoods. We shared stories and memories, laughing at the antics of our younger selves. The details were sometimes fuzzy, but the essence of our pasts shone through. Occasionally, we would pause to demonstrate more of our powers, marveling at each other's abilities and the ways they had grown over the years.

As we were engrossed in our conversation, Lenore, Ingram's raven, appeared out of nowhere and landed gracefully on his shoulders. She cawed loudly, a clear sign of recognition and excitement at seeing me again.

"Hi, Lenore," I greeted the raven warmly, my voice filled with affection.

Lenore squawked in response, flapping her wings slightly. Ingram chuckled at her antics, gently stroking her glossy feathers. I couldn't help but smile at the sight. I extended my hand, and Lenore leaned forward to nuzzle it, her beak brushing against my fingers in a tender gesture. A soft chuckle escaped my lips, the moment filled with a serene joy.

Suddenly, our peaceful moment was interrupted. I heard the unmistakable sound of someone sprinting through the dense woods. The rapid, urgent footsteps rustled the underbrush and broke twigs underfoot. The sound grew louder, heading straight towards our clearing. My senses heightened, and I glanced at Ingram, who was already alert, his eyes scanning the trees. We stood up, ready to face whatever was coming our way.

[nightfall-by-jacqui-natla]

13. GABRIEL

IT HAD BEEN A FEW DAYS SINCE I FIRST stumbled upon the coven, yet my curiosity had only intensified. Alana's response to my inquiry regarding Ethan's father had ignited a fire within me, compelling me to uncover their hidden secrets. What were they concealing? What had befallen Ethan's father? Was he a creature of darkness like my own worthless father, or had he met a tragic end, leaving Alana to mend her shattered heart?

I knew I needed to delve deeper, and my initial move was to locate the leader, Gabriel. As I roamed the vast mansion, I couldn't help but be awestruck by its magnificence. It was the type of place that would have caused a stir in Forks, with high school students vying to attend a party there. Yet, in this enigmatic British vampire coven, it was just another ordinary day.

The mansion was a labyrinth of opulence and mystery, with its grand chandeliers casting a soft glow on the marble floors and intricate tapestries adorning the walls. Each room I explored seemed to hold its own secrets, whispering tales of the coven's ancient history and the power that coursed through their veins.

As I wandered through the corridors, my gaze landed on a portrait adorning the wall. The painting depicted a group of eight individuals, clad in different hues of black, positioned against a somber grey backdrop. Their ruby eyes shimmered under the illumination, evoking memories of the newborns and Victoria from my history. Yet, there was a peculiar allure to these silhouettes, a mysterious quality that captivated me and refused to release its hold.

Immersed in the artwork, a profound sense of reverence and curiosity enveloped me. It was as if I had been transported back to the innocence of childhood, where every facet of the world was a source of marvel and intrigue. Fixated upon the countenances of the eight vampires, an unyielding determination surged within me, compelling me to unravel their concealed truths and delve into their past.

Suddenly, it struck me like a lightning bolt. The truth sank in, and my thoughts spiraled with inquiries. Gabriel and the Volturi guards were depicted in the painting, with four of them standing out in my memory - the ones that spoke to Victoria about the newborn army. They were the ones responsible for Bree's death, the ones who had interactions with Bella and the Cullens. Why did Gabriel possess a painting of them displayed on the wall? What set them apart from the rest?

As I stared at the painting, a sense of unease washed over me. Gabriel had always been a mysterious figure, to me, but now it seemed like there was a darker side to him that I had never known about. The fact that he had a painting of the Volturi guards, who were known for their ruthless ways, raised even more questions about his true intentions.

I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something sinister going on, something that I had been oblivious to all this time. Was Gabriel somehow connected to the Volturi? And if so, what did that mean for me and the others who trusted him?

I knew I had to confront Gabriel about the painting, to get to the bottom of this once and for all. But as I made my way to his office, a sense of dread crept over me. What if the truth was too much to handle? What if Gabriel wasn't who he claimed to be?

But I couldn't let fear hold me back. I had to know the truth, no matter how painful it may be.

I inhaled deeply, my nerves tingling as I cautiously distanced myself from the captivating painting. Suddenly, a masculine voice resonated through the air, causing me to startle. I pivoted on my heels, my eyes meeting Gabriel's figure in a sleek black suit and polished shoes. A gentle smile graced his pale countenance, radiating warmth.

"Are you alright?" he inquired, concern lacing his words.

My trembling voice directed his attention towards the painting. "I stumbled upon this...this artwork."

Gabriel's gaze followed my gesture, his smile fading into a pensive expression. He crossed his arms, his eyes fixated on the ground, lost in contemplation. It was evident that he held some knowledge about it.

"Violet," he began, his voice steady and resolute. "Though you've only been here for a short while, I already consider you a part of our family. I believe it's time I share their story with you. I was once a member, but what I was then pales in comparison to what I have become."

Uncertainty clouded my mind, but I nodded eagerly, yearning to unravel the mysteries. "Alright. So, who exactly are they to you and why do you have a painting of them?"

Gabriel took a deep breath and began to explain. "They are called The Volturi. The largest and most powerful coven of vampires. They enforce the laws of the vampire world. They are led by Aro, a charismatic and cunning leader who possesses the ability to read thoughts. His closest allies are Marcus and Caius, both formidable vampires in their own right. Together, they maintain order and ensure that the vampire world remains hidden from humans."

Gabriel paused, his eyes filled with a mixture of nostalgia and regret. "I was once a member of the Volturi, serving as one of Aro's most trusted guards. I believed in their cause, their mission to protect our kind and maintain the balance between vampires and humans. But as time went on, I began to question their methods, their thirst for power and control."

He glanced at the painting, his gaze filled with a hint of sadness. "This painting represents a turning point in my life. It depicts the three leaders of the Volturi, but it also serves as a reminder of the darkness that consumed me during my time with them."

As I listened to Gabriel speak of their power, I couldn't help but be intrigued. "But how do they maintain order?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

"The Volturi have a strict set of laws that all vampires must follow," he explained. "These laws are not written, as that would be a serious offense. Instead, they are passed down orally from one vampire to another."

"Vampires have laws?" I asked dumbfoundedly, recalling the night when Victoria conversed with the cloaked Volturi vampires.

The cloaked girl had referred to us newborns, myself included, as 'illegally created'.

I was one of Victoria's creations.

"The Volturi do not offer second chances," the girl's words reverberated in my mind.

Gabriel nodded solemnly, his eyes filled with a mixture of caution and fascination. "Indeed, they do," he confirmed. "The Volturi's laws are designed to maintain order and ensure the secrecy of our kind. They cover a wide range of aspects, from feeding habits to interactions with humans and even the creation of new vampires."

My mind raced with questions as I tried to comprehend the existence of such laws within the vampire world. "How do they enforce these laws?" I asked, my voice filled with genuine curiosity.

Gabriel's expression turned serious as he continued to enlighten me. "The Volturi are the ultimate authority among vampires," he explained. "They have an elite group of enforcers known as the Guard, who are responsible for upholding the laws and punishing those who dare to defy them."

A shiver ran down my spine as I imagined the consequences of crossing the Volturi. "What happens to those who break the laws?" I inquired, my voice barely above a whisper.

Gabriel's gaze grew distant, as if he was recalling a painful memory. "The Volturi are ruthless in their pursuit of justice," he replied, his tone filled with a mix of fear and respect. "Punishments can range from imprisonment to execution, depending on the severity of the offense. They show no mercy, especially when it comes to those who threaten the secrecy of our kind."

I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the thought of the Volturi's power and the consequences that awaited those who dared to defy them. "But what if someone disagrees with their laws?" I asked, my voice tinged with a hint of rebellion.

Gabriel's eyes met mine, his expression filled with caution. "Disagreement is not tolerated," he said firmly. "The Volturi's word is law, and to challenge them is to invite destruction upon oneself. It is a dangerous game to question their authority."

As I absorbed Gabriel's words, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of awe and trepidation towards the Volturi. Their power and unwavering control over the vampire world was both terrifying and intriguing. I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to live under their rule, constantly bound by their laws and living in fear of their wrath.

Then, I was curious about how Gabriel had become a part of this world. "So, how did you become a part of the Volturi?" I asked.

And so, Gabriel began to recount the story of his rebirth, the origin of his existence as a vampire. As he spoke, I couldn't help but be drawn into the dark and mysterious world of the Volturi, where laws were enforced by those who acted like royalty, and secrets were kept hidden from the human world.

"My full name is Gabriel Khotler," he began, his voice laced with a hint of mystery. "I was raised in the embrace of a devoutly religious family, but as I grew older, I felt the pull of adventure tugging at my soul. And so, I became a messenger, traversing the length and breadth of Europe with a sense of purpose that only the open road can provide."

His eyes flickered to the man with the brown hair and pale skin, a shiver running down his spine. "It was in Volterra that my journey took a dark turn. Demetri, a hunter of the Volturi, tracked me down and brought me before their council."

He gestured towards the imposing figure in the center of the painting, his black hair cascading down his back like a waterfall of shadows. "Aro, the leader of the Volturi, saw something in me - a toughness, a potential, a smarts - that he believed would make me a valuable addition to his coven. And so, he turned me into a vampire."

Gabriel's eyes glinted with a fierce intensity as he spoke of his newfound powers. "I wasn't gifted at first, but soon I discovered the ability to move things with my mind. It was a power that made me a force to be reckoned with, and I quickly became enemies with Felix, a fellow member of the Volturi."

He nodded towards the emotionless man to the left of Aro, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Marcus often tried to calm us down, but our fights would rage on for days."

Gabriel's voice grew softer as he spoke of his darker deeds. "I hunted and fed on humans, heedless of the laws that forbade such actions in Volterra. And I even took part in a war against the Romanian Coven, a conflict that lasted for centuries and left countless lives in its wake."

"There was a war?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued.

He fell silent, his eyes distant as he relived the memories of his past. "Yes, there was a war," he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "And it was a war that changed me forever. The Romanian Coven was the original ruling coven before the Volturi overthrew them. Back then, vampires did not conceal their true nature. They reveled in their immortality, openly revealing themselves to the people of Romania."

"Humans were delivered to them, and if they were pleased enough, the Romanians would choose to change them. But when the Volturi came to power, the Romanians were usurped after almost a century of warring against each other. The Volturi saw this as a threat to their own authority and sought to bring the Romanian Coven under their control. And so, the war began.

"It was a brutal conflict, with both sides unleashing their full power and fury upon each other. The streets ran red with blood, and the skies were filled with the screams of the dying. Their downfall originated from their underestimating the advantage of supernatural abilities that existed in some vampires, which the Volturi had collected.

"After their downfall, the remaining members attempted to destroy them and take back their power by gathering over a hundred recruits, thinking that their number would overcome the Volturi's talented members. It was then Aro displayed Alec's and Jane's destructive powers and massacred the entire army."

He pointed to Jane and the dark-haired boy beside her. She was the one who said that the newborns were illegally created and they don't give second chances. He also told me that they were twins at age twelve, so far the youngest to have ever turned into vampire s.

Gabriel's voice grew more intense as he recounted the horrors of the war. "I fought alongside my then coven, driven by a thirst for power and vengeance. I was ruthless, merciless in my pursuit of victory. But as the war dragged on, I began to question the righteousness of our cause. The cost of our actions weighed heavily on my conscience, and I found myself torn between loyalty to my coven and the desire for peace."

"In the end, it was a devastating defeat that forced me to confront the darkness within myself. The Romanian Coven was decimated, their leaders slain, and their territory annexed by the Volturi. I was left broken, haunted by the memories of the war and the lives I had taken. It was then that I made a vow to never again succumb to the darkness that had consumed me."

Gabriel's confession hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the price of power and the consequences of war. And as I looked into his haunted eyes, I saw a man burdened by his past, seeking redemption in a world that had known only bloodshed and betrayal.

Over centuries passed, and I became repulsed by the Volturi and their 'meals', prompting me to depart." Gabriel air-quoted the word 'meal'.

"And that was the last the Volturi ever saw of you," I remarked, to which he simply nodded.

"A few weeks later, I found myself back in England, spending nearly five hundred years among various small covens, only to leave due to their unwavering thirst for human blood. Eventually, I established my own coven in secret, away from the prying eyes of the Volturi. Living peacefully with my wife and coven members, this is the life I prefer. But if the Volturi ever decide to wage war, I will not hesitate to defend my family and our way of life.

"I have seen enough bloodshed and destruction in my long existence, and I will not stand idly by while the Volturi try to control us all. I may be peaceful by nature, but I am also a warrior when necessary. And I will fight to protect what is mine, no matter the cost. The Volturi may be powerful, but they do not scare me. I have faced much worse in my long life, and I will not back down now. So let them come, if they dare. I am ready for whatever they may bring."

His story was one of both wonder and woe, a tale that captivated the imagination and broke the heart. He had lived two lives, one as a messenger of humanity and the other as a creature of the night. It was a tragedy that he had been taken by the Volturi, forced to become the very thing that Christians despised. But despite the darkness that had consumed him, he had found happiness in the end, a family to call his own.

I listened intently, my mind racing with questions. "What made you leave? And why do you keep this painting?"

Gabriel's expression grew solemn. "I left because I realized that the Volturi's actions were not always just. They were willing to sacrifice innocent lives for their own gain, and I could no longer be a part of that. I wanted to protect, not harm."

He gestured towards the painting. "I keep this as a reminder of the choices I've made and the path I've chosen. It serves as a constant reminder of the darkness that exists within me, and the need to always strive for redemption."

I couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and sympathy for Gabriel. His past was filled with complexities and struggles, and yet he had managed to find his own path, one that aligned with his values and beliefs.

Gabriel's intense stare bore into me, his eyes holding a mysterious depth that intrigued me. "Is there anything else you'd like to inquire about?" he inquired, his tone gentle yet firm.

I shook my head, feeling a mix of admiration and curiosity towards him. "No, I just wanted to learn more about you," I murmured softly.

A faint smile played on Gabriel's lips, a hint of warmth breaking through his usual serious demeanor. "Feel free to ask me anything in the future," he offered, his voice laced with kindness.

And just like that, Gabriel turned and walked away, leaving me to ponder the complexities of his past and the strength of his character.

As my attention shifted, I found myself once again captivated by the mesmerizing painting of the Volturi. Their icy countenances and unwavering gazes seemed to penetrate my soul, evoking a sense of both fascination and trepidation. The names Felix, Jane, Demetri, and Alec reverberated through the corridors of my mind, conjuring vivid recollections that danced before my eyes like fleeting specter.