#i know there was a previous tag list but it’s been a very long time

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 19 - We Loved Each Other Then

Summary: The Gilded Cage. Kate and Arthur attend an exclusive garden party hosted by the Mayor of Saint Denis. As the night progresses, their mutual desire intensifies.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter /

A/N: This is a long one folks, and I must admit I’m very proud of it. 15k words! Technically this chapter is unfinished, but I've been in a slump lately so I want to publish what I do have instead of making everyone wait (for god knows how long it'll take me to finish this)

TW: Slight NSFW. Adult content 18+.

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist @eternalsams @lunawolfclaw  @yallgotkik

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

Story Tags: Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Caretaking, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

Bang!

Shot and a miss. Exhaling sharply, Kate repositioned her stance, squaring her shoulders as she steadied her grip on the revolver. Her thumb gently pulled back the hammer until it locked with a soft, almost inaudible click. Closing one eye to better focus, she zeroed in on her target—a cluster of glass bottles that dangled from a weathered tree branch, swaying gently in the breeze like strange, delicate ornaments. The soft clinking of glass was a stark contrast to the tense silence that enveloped her. She exhaled slowly, steadying her breath, and squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

Yet another miss. 

From behind her came a faint chuckling, disrupting the quiet concentration. Frustrated, Kate lowered the revolver and turned around to face Arthur. He stood a few feet away, a bemused expression on his face, his hands nonchalantly resting on his gun belt as he observed her attempts.

"It’s useless," Kate grumbled with irritation. "I’m just no good at hitting moving targets. Why can’t I stick to my bow?"

The revolver felt foreign and cumbersome in her hand, more a symbol than a tool she could claim mastery over. Although she knew the basics of shooting, her true proficiency lay in close-quarters combat—wielding lighter, more agile weapons that felt like natural extensions of her body, not the cold, impersonal steel of the gun she now held.

Arthur’s chuckle softened as he walked towards her, an understanding smile playing on his lips. "The world’s changin’, Kate," he began, gentle yet firm. "These days, everyone’s got a gun, and out here, bein’ quick on the draw can mean the difference between life and death. It’s not just about being able to shoot, but being able to do it under pressure."

He reached for the revolver, his fingers deftly opening the cylinder to check the empty shells. "Let’s reload and try again," he suggested, pulling a handful of bullets from his belt. "You’ll get the hang of it."

The afternoon had stretched long and hot, the sun a relentless observer as Kate and Arthur stood in the secluded clearing. They’d been at this for hours—ever since the day Kate made that promise to Arthur, he had been adamant about her shooting practice. The sessions began with large, immobile targets that seemed forgiving, but as the days wore on, the challenges increased. Now, they were onto the smallest, most unforgiving targets of all: glass bottles swinging unpredictably from a gnarled oak branch.

Kate had managed to clip the tree itself a few times, its bark chipped where her bullets had strayed. But the elusive bottles, dancing in the gentle breeze, remained intact. Frustration was evident in her stance, her shoulders tense and her grip on the revolver overly tight.

As she prepared for another attempt, Arthur closed the distance between them. His presence was a palpable heat at her back, his chest touching her as he leaned in to adjust her stance. "Keep both eyes open," he murmured, his voice a low rumble near her ear, sending a shiver down her spine despite the warmth of the day. His large hand slid down her arm to adjust her grip gently. "And give your dominant arm some slack to brace for the recoil," he instructed, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin, causing her to inhale slowly.

Her heart hammered in her chest, the closeness of his body overwhelming her senses. The rough timbre of his voice, the heat of his breath tinged with the scent of gunpowder and the wild, earthy musk that was uniquely Arthur, filled her with a dizzying mix of concentration and desire.

"But the target keeps moving," Kate protested weakly, almost a whisper.

Arthur's hands then moved from her arms to her waist, his fingers splayed wide over the fabric of her shirt, anchoring her. "Watch the movement," he advised, his lips nearly grazing the shell of her ear. "Don't turn your body, just pivot your arm."

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Kate tried to focus on the swaying targets. Arthur's hands on her hips spread warmth through her body, it was comforting yet arousing. 

“And always shoot on empty lungs,” his deep voice was low in her ear.

With a determined exhale, she squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

The shot rang out, a sharp crack in the quiet of the clearing. Wood splintered from the tree, just a hair's breadth from a bottle. A near miss. She let out a frustrated sigh and turned to face Arthur, his proximity suddenly more pronounced as she looked up into his eyes, their blue depths flickering with amusement and something deeper, more intense.

“I’m starting to think you’ve given me an impossible task just to watch me suffer,” she said with sarcasm and a playful challenge.

Arthur's smile was slow and knowing as he took the revolver from her hand. “It ain’t impossible, darlin',” he spoke, voice deep and reassuring. “Just takes some practice.” His fingers brushed against hers as he took the gun, sending a spark of electricity through her. He stepped back, leaving a cold void in his wake where his warmth had been moments before, his eyes never leaving hers as he prepared to demonstrate.

Arthur glanced back, with hint of a challenge as he readied himself. "Watch closely now," he said, voice low and teasing. He raised the revolver, his posture relaxed and confident. Within moments, he swiftly pulled the trigger three times in quick succession.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Each shot rang out, sharp and clear. One by one, the bottles exploded into shards of glass, glinting as they scattered in the afternoon sun. He turned to Kate with a triumphant smirk, holstering the gun with a flourish that made her roll her eyes.

"Show-off," she chided, her annoyance mixed with reluctant admiration. She crossed her arms, watching as he basked in the glory of his flawless performance. He was enjoying himself, and there was something incredibly attractive about his playful confidence.

Since settling into Shady Belle, Arthur's days were a whirlwind of activity. He was constantly on the move—securing provisions for the gang, filling the camp's coffers, and executing the myriad of tasks Dutch dictated. Moments of leisure were few and fleeting, often just quick exchanges over dinner where he'd share the day's events with Kate, or the precious few minutes each night when they could find solace in each other's arms on their cramped cot. For Kate, these snippets of time together were bittersweet, underscored by a yearning for more—more time, more closeness, more of a life beyond the relentless demands of gang life. Their commitments left scant space for the intimacy and tenderness both desperately needed.

Arthur chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "Just proving a point, sweetheart. It’s all in the technique."

Kate's competitive spirit flared up, a playful glint appearing in her eyes. "Alright, then. If it’s so easy, how about a challenge?" she proposed, her tone light but her gaze intense. "Bet you can't handle my weapons as well as I can."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Is that so? What's the wager?"

"If I hit the next target, you'll let me teach you about my knives. And not just the basics—I mean really learn them," Kate stated confidently, her previous frustration now fueling her determination.

Arthur’s smile widened, "alright, you’ve got yourself a deal," he replied, his voice tinged with genuine eagerness. “But if you miss, you have to spend the whole day practicing with the revolver, no complaints." He teased.

Arthur's fascination with Kate's weaponry wasn't just about adding another skill to his repertoire; it was deeply personal, a gateway into understanding the complexities of the woman he loved. Her weapons weren't merely tools of survival—they were relics of her past, each one carrying stories of necessity and regret. He had seen her wield them with terrifying precision, her movements as fluid as they were lethal, during the chaos of a raid. It was a side of her that mingled brutality with vulnerability, revealing the depths of strength she possessed.

This was more than just a friendly wager; it was an opportunity to connect with Kate on a level they seldom explored—the raw edges of their pasts that they both tended to shield from the world.

Kate grinned, excitement coursing through her veins. She picked up the revolver again, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. Arthur stood a respectable distance away this time, watching her intently but not crowding her.

She took a deep breath, allowing herself a moment to find her center. With a steady hand and a clear mind, she aimed at a new bottle, swinging gently in the breeze. She remembered to keep both her eyes open, and follow the bottle with the pivot of her arm. Time seemed to slow as she focused, the world narrowing down to her, the gun, and the target.

Bang!

The bottle shattered, the sound of breaking glass music to her ears. Arthur let out a holler, “atta girl!” He encouraged with a clap of his hands. She lowered the revolver, turning to face Arthur with a victorious smile.

"Looks like you’ve got some learning to do, cowboy," Kate teased, her eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and victory as she deftly holstered her weapon. Arthur's stride was confident as he closed the distance between them, his grin broad and unabashedly proud.

"I never doubted you for a second," he murmured, his voice a low rumble as he leaned in to brush a soft kiss against her forehead. A blush crept across her cheeks, the warmth of his lips igniting a flutter in her chest.

Emboldened by his affection and her own burgeoning confidence, Kate reached up, her fingers playfully catching the edge of his neckerchief, pulling him closer. Her lips met his in a bold, teasing kiss that quickly deepened as Arthur responded with equal fervor. His hands found the small of her back, pulling her tightly against him, his touch firm yet tender.

"I do have a good teacher," she whispered against his lips, her breath hitching as his kisses migrated from the corner of her mouth down to her jawline. His lips traced a burning path down her neck, each kiss planting the promise of deeper pleasures. The slight scratch of his stubble against her skin sent a thrill through her, her laughter mingling with a soft moan.

Arthur's voice was husky as he spoke, each word laced with tantalizing arousal. "Maybe it's time I teach you some of my other skills..." His implication was unmistakably suggestive, his desire clear in the deepening timbre of his voice.

"Arthur!" Kate's exclamation was half shock, half delight, as she playfully attempted to wriggle free from his embrace. Yet, the heat building within her belied her protests, drawing her closer instead of pushing her away. Arthur knew how to be a delicious tease.

"What? You started it," he taunted, his breath warm against her ear, his feigned innocence betrayed by the intensity in his eyes. "And you do look damn good shooting that gun, sweetheart."

He captured her lips once more, his kiss deep and consuming, leaving her breathless. "We only have a few hours of daylight left, and you did lose a bet," she reminded him, her voice thick with need. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate rummaged through her saddlebag, her fingers finding the familiar, worn texture of a small, leather pouch. Pulling it out, she untied the strings with practiced ease and rolled open the flap, revealing an assortment of small, meticulously crafted knives and other tools. Each piece was uniquely made from various animal bones, their handles polished to a smooth finish, reflecting the dying light of the sun.

She laid the collection out on a nearby stump, each weapon catching the light as she arranged them in order of size and function. The smallest was a fine-pointed push dagger, designed for precision work, while the largest, a jaw-bone club, bore the marks of many uses. Between them lay a variety of throwing knives, daggers, arrow-heads and an intricate bone-handled tomahawk, the edge sharp and deadly.

Arthur noticed that among the weapons, there was one that was not. A red feathered headband lay neatly folded and intact, as if it were a precious relic. Kate gently placed the object back in the leather sack before he had time to ask. She continued to pick up her first blade. 

“This one was my favorite,” Kate said, glancing up at Arthur to ensure he was paying attention. She picked up the tomahawk, turning it in her hand to show off the craftsmanship. “Made this from the bone of a bear I tracked many years back.”

Arthur stepped closer, his fascination evident as he surveyed the array of meticulously crafted tools laid out before him. The sunset cast a milky-orange glow on the blades, enhancing their lethal allure. "They’re beautiful," he said, his tone rich with admiration not just for the weaponry but also for Kate's adeptness as both a hunter and an artisan. "You used that tomahawk during the skirmish with the Lemoyne raiders, didn't you?"

Kate nodded, her movements fluid as she placed the tomahawk back onto the weathered stump that served as their makeshift table. She picked up one of the smaller throwing knives. "I used some of these too. I gave my firearms to the Marstons, so these were my best option for long-range," she explained, her voice carrying a hint of pride. 

At the time of the raid, Kate had long abandoned her old weapons. Her bow had remained unstrung for some time as she traveled through the west. But now, she couldn't deny the nostalgia and sense and pride that came with her craftsmanship, and being able to use her tools to hunt and protect the gang. 

Arthur observed intently as she expertly balanced the blade on her pointer finger, the blade catching the light and glinting sharply. It was a diminutive weapon, its blade no longer than his pinky, yet its design spoke of deadly precision. With a practiced flick of her wrist, Kate caught the blade deftly between her fingers and offered him the hilt.

He took it carefully, aware of the fragility and lethality it embodied. "They’re made from deer bones. They break pretty easily, but they're light and effective for throwing. If you hit a target deep enough, the bone usually breaks off, leaving the sharp edge embedded inside," Kate detailed, painting a vivid, albeit grim, picture of the knife's capabilities.

Shivering slightly, Arthur imagined the sensation of such a weapon puncturing flesh, a reminder starkly similar to the bullet wound he once nursed on his shoulder.

Kate’s next demonstration involved a push dagger, ingeniously crafted from elk ribs. She held it up for him to see—the ribs had been sharpened into a trio of protruding points, while the connecting bone fit snugly between her knuckles. When she made a fist, the weapon resembled the ferocious claws of a panther, ready to strike.

Arthur chuckled, his intrigue peaking as he compared it to a familiar weapon. "Like brass knuckles but with blades," he observed, his expression a mixture of awe and humor.

Kate’s smile widened, her eyes sparkling with amusement at his comparison. "Ah, so you are familiar with the art of ranged weapons," she teased, enjoying the easy banter and Arthur's genuine interest in the deadly crafts she had mastered.

She placed the weapon down and Arthur followed the gesture, placing the fragile yet deadly throwing knife down with ease. 

Arthur listened intently as Kate shared the origins of her unique weapons, each piece not only a tool of survival but also a work of art, reflecting the cultural heritage and personal histories entwined with her past. The weapons, with their meticulously crafted blades, ornately decorated handles, and leather-bound grips were testaments to the traditional skills passed down through generations.  

“It’s impressive, how you created these from the materials you have around you. They remind me a lot of the weapons Charles has made,” he commented, his eyes scanning over the array of weapons.

“Yes, Charles's mother was Indian, if I remember correctly,” she responded, linking her knowledge to the familiar. “I learned a lot from River, many years ago. His ability to work with what the land offered was incredible,” Kate continued, her voice carrying a tone of deep respect mixed with a trace of sorrow.

She carefully lifted a knife whose handle bore intricate carvings that spiraled around its length, creating patterns that danced in the orange light. “This one’s inspired by a Lakota design,” she explained, a softness entering her voice. “It signifies one’s role as a hunter within the tribe. It was River’s favorite pattern.” Her fingers traced the carvings tenderly, as if each line connected her back to moments long passed.

Arthur sensed the complexity of her emotions as she mentioned River. Although she had spoken of him before, it was always with a certain reservation, as if he were both a cherished memory and a chapter long closed. It was evident that River had been a significant figure in her life, someone who had shaped her understanding of the world and her place within it. Yet, there was an unmistakable hint of sadness, a lingering sense of what might have been if not for the harsh realities that eventually drove them apart.

He admired her for the strength it took to make such a choice, to step away from someone who had been a cornerstone of her existence. It spoke volumes of her resilience and the burdens she carried, choosing survival over a shared path that led to destruction. 

Her fingers brushed over the intricate carvings on the handle of a knife that seemed to hold countless stories. "You must miss him," he said softly, his tone respectful and curious, aiming to bridge the gap between their shared experiences and her concealed past.

Kate's eyes briefly clouded with a mix of fondness and sorrow, her voice carrying a weight as she replied, "I do, every day." She paused, her gaze settling on the old, weathered pouch that lay beside the weapons—containing the headband from her time with River.

Arthur sensed the depth of her connection. "Think you'll ever see him again?" he asked, cautiously aware of the emotional terrain he was navigating.

Kate paused, her eyes clouding with a mix of hope and realism. "It's unlikely," she finally said, voice tinged with resignation. "Our paths diverged too sharply. His fight was different from mine, tied to a place and a people I could no longer stay with."

Her memories of River were laced with both fondness and sorrow. Arthur sensed there was much more she held back about the man who had played such a pivotal role in her past. The man who had once stood by her side, shielding her in ways Arthur was only beginning to understand. He wanted to know more—not just about the weapons or the skills she had acquired but about the bond that tied her to River, the bond that still tugged at her heartstrings

Arthur explored further, the question revealing his deep interest in every layer of her past. "Could he have ended up on a reservation? With the other Natives?" His inquiry was gentle, probing without overstepping.

Kate responded with a wry half-smile, a mix of respect and sadness in her tone. "River? On a reservation?" she chuckled softly, more to herself than to Arthur. "He would rather have died than let himself be penned in like that. River was too free a spirit; he couldn’t stand being confined, not by anything or anyone."

Arthur nodded, appreciating the fervor of her words. "Sounds like he was one of us then," he remarked, drawing a parallel between their own restless spirits and the boundless life River had led. "Always searching for freedom in a world that’s too eager to cage the wild ones."

Kate's eyes softened, reflecting a bittersweet nostalgia. "Yes, in many ways, he was," she agreed. "River was more than a survivor; he was a guardian, a steadfast ally. He didn't just teach me how to live through each day; he showed me how to live with purpose, even when it seemed the whole world was against you."

Arthur’s voice lowered to a contemplative murmur, resonating with the gravity of their shared loss and the battles they’d fought, both internally and against the world. "Sometimes, dying does seem easier than living, doesn't it?" he mused, his eyes briefly tracing the outline of the weapons before returning to meet hers, acknowledging the weight of the life they had chosen—or perhaps, that had chosen them.

Shifting their focus back to the lesson at hand, Kate handed Arthur a small dagger with a handle wrapped in rawhide for grip. The blade, polished to a gleaming shine, was affixed to the handle with sinew. 

“The weight is perfect for close-combat. The natives prioritize harmony with their tools, believing each piece should feel like an extension of the body.”

Arthur tested the weight, giving a few practice swings that cut through the air with a satisfying swoosh. “Almost feels alive,” he remarked, genuinely impressed.

Kate chuckled, watching him handle the dagger with an awkward yet keen interest. “They also believe that the weapon chooses the warrior, not the other way around.”

Arthur's expression shifted between concentration and hesitation as he rolled the dagger between his fingers, feeling the weight and balance of the weapon. "Do you think this one's choosing me, then?" he asked, half-joking yet intrigued by the notion.

"Maybe," Kate replied with a playful glint in her eyes. "Or it might just be testing you, seeing if you're worthy." Her tone shifted to one of challenge. "I want you to try and strike me with it," she dared.

Arthur looked up sharply, his eyes wide with surprise and a flicker of alarm. "You outta your mind woman?" he responded immediately, his voice firm.

"Why not? You don’t trust my ability to handle myself?" Kate teased, her tone light yet probing, watching him closely for his reaction.

Arthur's awe was palpable; he shook his head, a mix of admiration and concern etched across his face. "Kate, I've no doubt you'd make short work of me with this. But there’s not a chance in hell I’d raise a hand against you, even in a game," he declared earnestly, his deep affection and respect for her shining through his words.

Kate's face softened, touched by his sincerity and the depth of his care. She knew he meant every word, his gentle nature ever-present in their interactions. Yet, the challenge remained, and she was not quite ready to let it go. Standing up, she took the dagger and held it with a confident grip.

"Alright, if direct combat isn't on the table, then let's try something different." Her voice was laced with excitement, a new game forming in her mind. "I want you to try and take it from me," she declared, positioning herself in a stance that was both inviting and defensive, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes.

Arthur watched her for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his face as he accepted the challenge, ready to engage in a different kind of dance with Kate—one that involved wit, speed, and perhaps a little cunning.

The sun traded shifts with the moon and soon the playful contest between Kate and Arthur quickly escalated. The night air thick with the thrill of their chase. Arthur, larger and stronger, found himself surprisingly outmatched by Kate’s swiftness and agility. Her body danced around him, a lithe and teasing presence that ducked beneath his outstretched arms and spun away from his grasping hands with the grace of a trained warrior.

"Is that all you've got?" Kate teased, her voice breathy and light, a stark contrast to their intense exertion. She darted close, her body momentarily pressing against his as she feigned a strike, then spun away before he could react, her laughter mingling with the rustling leaves.

Arthur's heart raced not just from the chase but from the electric touch of her body against his. Each brush of her hand, each time her body aligned with his, sent a jolt of desire through him, making the game far more tantalizing. "You're quicker than you look," he grunted, feigning annoyance but secretly delighted by the challenge and her laughter.

The dance of evasion and pursuit continued, their movements a blur of shadows under the moonlight. Kate's speed had her slipping through his fingers like water, but each failed attempt only drew him closer, their bodies colliding with increasing frequency, the shared heat palpable between them.

"You’re going to have to do better than that, cowboy," Kate chuckled, her eyes alight with mischief as she narrowly evaded another of his attempts.

"Trust me darlin’, I’m just getting started," Arthur replied, his voice low and teasing. His strategy shifted from capture to simply prolonging their closeness. His hands lingered, his touch a deliberate stroke against her side or the small of her back, drawing her closer, feeling the rise and fall of her breath.

Finally, Arthur managed to corner her against the rough bark of a tree. His body pressed firmly against hers, his hips instinctively rolling against Kate's, eliciting a shudder from deep within her. In that charged moment, her focus faltered, her grip on the dagger loosening enough for him to snatch it away, tossing it aside as their bodies melded in the shadows.

His breath was hot against her neck, his voice husky with desire. "Got you," he whispered, not just in victory but as a promise of what was to come. His lips found hers, hungry and insistent, his kiss deepening as if he could consume her soul.

Kate responded with fervor, her body arching against his, her hands pulling him closer. The rough tree bark pressed into her back, but all she could feel was Arthur, his body aligned with hers in a perfect symphony of desire.

Their kiss was a clash of passion and need, their bodies a tangle of limbs and whispered promises. Arthur's hands roamed, exploring her with a mix of reverence and urgency that made her head spin. Kate's fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, her own moans mingling with his in the cool night air.

As they finally parted, breathless and flushed, the world seemed to stand still. The forest around them was silent, holding its breath as if in reverence to the passion displayed. Their eyes locked, a silent agreement that this was just the beginning, a prelude to a night where they would explore the depths of their desire without restraint.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

It was late in the evening when Kate and Arthur rode into Shady Belle. They had shared a makeshift dinner beneath the sprawling branches of the bottle tree, where empty glass bottles dangled like bizarre fruit, catching the last light of day. Their plan upon arriving had been simple: a brief moment to clean up followed by an early retreat to Arthur’s room for a private continuation of the day's intimacy.

The camp was bathed in the tranquil hues of yellow moonlight as they returned. A few of the gang's members were scattered around a dying fire, their silhouettes illuminated by the occasional flicker of flames. They nursed bottles of whiskey, attempting to quench their thirst amidst the humid evening air. Over the murmurs of conversation and the crackle of the fire, Javier’s guitar strings hummed with the melodies of his homeland, his voice a gentle undertone that added to the night’s calm.

Kate and Arthur dismounted with practiced ease. They were just untying their saddlebags when Dutch and Hosea approached, their figures emerging from the shadows. Hosea, ever the gentleman, tipped his hat to Kate, offering a warm but weary smile. Dutch, however, had that all-too-familiar intensity in his eyes, a prelude to the storm of plans brewing in his mind.

Placing a firm hand on Arthur's shoulder, Dutch drew him slightly aside, his voice low as he outlined the contours of yet another job. The quiet of the evening was pierced by his hushed, strategic directives, which seemed to hang heavy in the sticky air. Arthur's face, caught in the flickering light of the nearby campfire, was a mask of resignation—a stark contrast to the relaxed demeanor he had held moments earlier with Kate.

Kate stood a respectful distance away, her expression a blend of disappointment and resignation. The romantic evening they had envisioned was slipping away, superseded by the gang's relentless demands. She watched as Arthur nodded slowly, his shoulders set in a familiar slouch of burdened acceptance.

Arthur caught her eye, his expression apologetic. He mouthed a silent promise to her, "Soon," his voice almost audible in the quiet night. Kate nodded, her smile weak but supportive. “I’ll wait for you,” she mouthed softly, her voice barely above a whisper, lost in the crackle of the campfire.

With a kiss on the snout of her mare Lorena, she bid her a goodnight. Her companion whinnied softly and slipped into the darkness to find her friend. Kate turned on her heel and made her way toward the manor, the old structure loomed ominously against the night sky, its walls weathered and weary from years of neglect. The wooden floorboards creaked under her feet as she stepped onto the porch, the sound echoing hollowly in the empty hallways. 

The manor's interior held a silence that seemed to swallow sound, turning the chatter and music from outside into distant whispers. As Kate reached the foot of the staircase leading to the room she shared with Arthur, a faint, unsettling cry echoed from the depths of the old house. She hesitated, her hand on the banister, half-expecting the sound to be a trick of the wind. When the cry came again, followed by a clear, unmistakable sniffle, it was evident someone was in distress.

With a quiet tread, Kate moved toward the back of the house, her steps careful on the creaking floorboards. The hall felt longer than usual, shrouded in shadows that made the familiar feel foreign. She considered the possibility it might be Jack; the boy was often put to bed early, though it was rare for him to be left alone. The thought of him crying in the dark, possibly after an argument between John and Abigail, tightened her chest with empathy.

Softly, she called out, "Hello?" Her voice felt too loud in the oppressive quiet, and she rounded the corner with a gentle wariness.

The back room was dimly lit by a flickering oil lamp set upon a battered coffee table. The weak light cast long, dancing shadows and revealed the outline of a figure curled up on the couch. "Are you alright?" Kate's voice softened as she stepped closer, her eyes adjusting to the dim light.

At her inquiry, the figure stirred and sat up, revealing herself in the wavering glow. It was unmistakably Molly O’Shea, her disheveled head of bright red curls and puffy green eyes framed her pale face in the ghostly light.

As Kate entered the room, the dim lamplight cast long shadows, deepening the somber atmosphere. Molly sat up from her huddled position on the couch, hastily wiping away tears and attempting to compose herself. Her voice was faint, slightly tremulous. “Hello, Kate,” she managed to say, the surprise evident in her tone. It was clear she hadn't expected company, especially not Kate's.

Kate had always held a soft spot for Molly since the days at Clemens Point. Back then, Molly had divulged crucial information that ultimately saved Arthur’s life—a gesture of bravery that had not gone unnoticed by Kate. Since then, she had made efforts to draw Molly out of her shell, inviting her to join the circle of women at camp for coffee or late-night chats. However, Molly usually kept to herself, often found alone with a book or lost in thought near the edge of camp.

“I’m sorry for barging in,” Kate began, her words tumbling out as she navigated her awkwardness. “I heard someone crying and thought it might be Jack. I was worried that maybe he—”

“It’s alright,” Molly cut in, her voice a mixture of resignation and faint irritation.

A heavy silence hung between them, filled with the unspoken complexities of their acquaintance. Kate, feeling both intrusive and concerned, hesitated before taking a step closer. “Is everything okay?” she asked softly, her tone laced with genuine concern.

Molly turned her gaze away, her eyes shadowed by the flickering lamp light. She took a deep breath, her posture stiffening slightly under the scrutiny. “Couldn’t be better,” she replied with a sharp edge of sarcasm.

Kate recognized the defensiveness in Molly’s response. Known around camp for her sharp tongue and aloof demeanor, Molly was often perceived as ornery or distant. Yet, Kate couldn’t help but remember the act of kindness Molly had shown, an act that hinted at a depth not often displayed. Molly was an enigma, wrapped in layers of self-preservation and subtle grace. Despite the brusqueness, Kate felt a pull of empathy, a desire to bridge the gap between them, to understand the elusive woman before her who was so integral, yet so misunderstood, within their gang.

“Should I go get Dutch?” Kate suggested, she wasn’t entirely familiar with the complexities of their relationship. But he was the only one Molly preferred to talk to. 

Molly's eyes glistened with unshed tears as she dismissed the notion with a humorless laugh, shaking her head. "No, Kate. It wouldn’t make any difference," she said, her voice a mix of resignation and bitterness. 

Kate sensed that there was something deeper going on between them, “do you want to talk about him?” She approached the subject lightly.

Molly was silent for a minute, her mind racing with uncertainties and the suffocating loneliness she felt. With a sigh she turned her gaze back to Kate’s. "I left everything behind for him—my family, my home in Ireland... all for what? For him to ignore me as if I’m nothing more than a ghost."

Kate felt a pang of sympathy for Molly. It was clear how much she had sacrificed and how deeply she was hurting. She moved to sit beside her on the worn couch, the cushions sagging under their combined weight, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I’m so sorry. It’s not right, what he’s putting you through."

The young Irishwoman took a shuddering breath. “I just feel like I’m going crazy,” she whispered meekly. 

Kate squeezed her shoulder, “Molly, you are not crazy.” 

Molly looked at her, a mixture of surprise and relief in her eyes at the acknowledgment of her pain. "I love him, you know? Really love him. Gave him everything, thinking it meant something to him."

Kate's voice was gentle, her eyes warm with empathy. "I know how much you've given, and you deserve so much better than this. I'll speak with Arthur and see if he can have a word with Dutch. Perhaps he can help him see things more clearly."

Molly exhaled slowly, her expression resigned yet touched by Kate's kindness. "Thank you, Kate. I don't have much hope left, but I appreciate your effort," she murmured.

Kate gave Molly's shoulder a gentle rub with her thumb. "You're not alone here," she reassured her. "We're family, and we take care of our own. I'll do whatever I can." 

Rising to leave, Molly called her name softly, “Kate I–” Kate paused at the doorway. “I’m–” the words caught in her throat and she heaved a sigh, “oh, nevermind. Goodnight then.” 

Kate turned back with a soft smile. "Try to get some rest, okay?" she suggested gently, Molly replied with a faint smile that quickly faded back into sorrow.

Weary from the day's events, Kate ascended the stairs to the room she shared with Arthur. Her movements were mechanical as she shed her gun belt and boots, each thud against the floor echoing her exhaustion. Peeling off her clothes, damp with sweat from the day's labors, she reached for a cloth in the wash bin. The cool water was a small relief as she wiped the grime from her skin.

She then slipped into one of Arthur’s shirts, the fabric still carrying his scent. It enveloped her like a comforting embrace, grounding her amidst the swirling thoughts of the day. The soft, familiar smell brought an immediate sense of comfort, weaving memories of Arthur around her in the dimly lit room.

Exhaustion tugged at her as she approached their small cot. It creaked under her weight, the sound a stark reminder of the makeshift comfort they shared. The cot, cramped with Arthur’s broad frame, somehow always felt just right with him by her side. The intimacy of their shared space was a small sanctuary in their chaotic world.

Lying back, she gazed through the broken balcony window, watching the moon ascend in the night sky. Its light cast ghostly shadows across the sparse room, the silvery glow a silent companion as she waited for Arthur. Kate's eyelids grew heavy, her mind adrift between wakefulness and sleep, holding onto the promise of seeing him again. Despite her best intentions to stay awake, the rhythm of her breath slowed, and she succumbed to sleep, not noticing the exact moment she drifted off, lost in dreams tinged with longing for her partner's return. 

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The first tendrils of dawn crept silently across the horizon as Kate stirred to the gentle melody of distant birds. A cool morning breeze slipped through the open windows, its chill a fleeting reprieve before the day's heat enveloped everything. She luxuriated in the refreshing air, a rare pleasure in these early hours when the world was still hushed and the heavy humidity of the day had not yet taken hold.

Inhaling deeply, Kate allowed the earthy scent of the old wood surrounding them to mingle with the distinct musk that was uniquely Arthur. A comforting reminder of his constant presence. His arm, heavy and warm, was draped protectively around her, anchoring her to the moment.

Leaning back into Arthur's embrace, Kate's contentment was briefly interrupted by a peculiar pressure against bottom. Instinctively, she thought of Arthur's gun belt, perhaps carelessly left on. Her eyes flicked to the corner where the cold gleam of his pistol caught the first light, resting over the back of a chair. A flush warmed her cheeks as she realized the true nature of the hardness pressing into her. With a quiet chuckle, she couldn't help but smile to herself at his need for her. Even in sleep his body craved hers.

These mornings together were a rare gift. Arthur typically rose with the dawn, often before the sun even painted the sky with its first strokes of light. But today, by some gracious allowance of the universe, he remained beside her, his breathing deep and even in sleep. She treasured these moments of shared stillness, a precious pause in the relentless pace of their lives.

As Kate gently shifted to face Arthur, his breath hitched slightly in his sleep before settling into a deep, even rhythm once more. She took a moment to study him, the soft morning light casting delicate shadows across his face, smoothing the rugged lines that daylight and duty often sharpened. His features, usually set in a stoic or pensive expression, now relaxed in sleep, offered a rare vulnerability that tugged at her heart.

Tracing her fingers lightly along the line of his jaw, Kate marveled at the rough texture of his stubble, contrasting with the softness of his skin. She leaned in and placed a tender kiss on his chin, feeling the slight indentation of a scar beneath her lips—an imperfection that only added to his rugged appeal. Her lips found his next, savoring the familiar taste and texture—chapped yet surprisingly gentle, parting ever so slightly to reveal a hint of teeth behind them.

Rising slightly to reach his nose, she brushed her lips across the bridge, pausing to admire the light dusting of freckles that seemed to dance across his sun-kissed skin. The early sunlight, now a soft golden hue, highlighted the tiny marks.

Arthur, with his thick lashes resting softly on his cheeks and a faint smile curving his lips as if he sensed her love even in sleep, was undeniably beautiful.

Feeling her love overwhelm her, she sat up and leaned down to place a deeper kiss. Her hand traced his chest, fingers gliding softly over the hair. Arthur breathed deeply, and stirred from his sleep with a soft noise of surprise. As soon as he registered what was going on, he snaked his hand to her back and pulled her close to his body. Jolting himself with a groan of pleasure as he quickly realized the state he was in. 

As Arthur slowly began to regain his senses, Kate's movements brought a rush of heat and desire that mingled with his lingering sleepiness. Before he could form words, a soft moan escaped him, his mind swirling with a delicious blend of daze and arousal. "Kate…" he murmured as their lips met in a slow, intoxicating kiss.

With a gentle but firm hand, Kate eased him onto his back, leaning on her elbow as she positioned herself above him without breaking their deep connection. "G’morning," she whispered, the sound husky with sleep and desire.

Her fingers traced a path across his chest and down to his stomach, her nails lightly grazing his skin, sending tingles spreading through him, igniting a heat that pooled intensely between his legs. She shifted, sliding her leg over him, drawing herself closer so that the hard press of his arousal was unmistakable against her thigh.

"Late night?" she breathed, her voice warm against his lips. Arthur could only nod as they resumed their tender exploration, their kisses deepening, pausing only when their breath became short. Their conversation was sparse, their bodies communicating much more profoundly as their tongues danced together languidly.

Arthur's hand traveled up the side of her body, savoring the feel of her under his touch. Starting from her thighs, he admired the contours of her figure, his fingers wandering under the shirt she had claimed as her own. His rough palm cupped her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple, eliciting a soft gasp from her lips. The delicate touch of his calloused skin against her sensitive flesh was both soothing and electrifying, deepening their connection in the quiet dawn.

Kate's movements grew more deliberate as she sought her own relief, her hips subtly rocking against him. She slid her thigh firmly across his arousal, feeling him respond beneath her with a growing intensity. Arthur's breathing turned ragged, a raw edge to his gasps as her hand wandered lower, tracing a path through the curls below his navel. With a knowing touch, she explored further, her fingers finding him over the tented fabric, mapping the length of him with a bold, steady stroke from tip to base. Twitching hard at her touch.

Arthur's response was a moan of pure bliss, a sound that filled the room with a tangible heat. This moment was more intimate than any they had shared, even more profound than their secluded night in the privacy of a steam-filled bath. It was a revelation of comfort and desire, a relief that he was truly finding solace in his own skin again.

Encouraged by his reaction, Kate pressed down with her palm, her movements becoming more assertive. Her thumb brushed over the tip, feeling the damp evidence of his need. She stroked him again with increased confidence, squeezing gently, delighting in the way he arched into her touch, moaning in a tone that was both vulnerable and deeply hungry.

"Fuck, Kate," Arthur groaned, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that vibrated through her. His hand clutched at her waist, his grip firm and encouraging.

Fueled by his responses, Kate felt a surge of boldness. She continued her explorations, each stroke and squeeze drawing him further into a haze of pleasure. His body relaxed into the mattress, his breaths quickening with each soft moan that he tried to stifle.

Finding his lips again, Kate couldn't resist biting down gently, her own whimper mingling with the heat of his breath. Arthur's hand ventured daringly into her bottoms, their mutual desire building a bridge of fervent, unspoken words between them.

Arthur's fingers slid through the tousled dark curls, finding their way to the delicate nerve hidden amid the folds of her skin. Already damp with her need for him. Her gasp—a soft, melodic burst of pleasure—encouraged him, and he began to trace slow, deliberate figure eights. Each touch was precise, designed to unravel her composure thread by delicate thread.

Kate's response was immediate; a breathless pant escaped her as her hand grasped him again, feeling the eager throb of him beneath her palm. Arthur inhaled sharply, followed by a deep, ragged groan that resonated in the quiet room, sending a wave of heat cascading through her body. His fingers teased her, circling with practiced ease, drawing nearer to her entrance.

Exhaustion and arousal mingled within Arthur, pushing him dangerously close to the edge. Already teetering on the brink of an orgasm. His body was starved for touch, craving the intimacy and pleasure he had denied himself for far too long. Once despising his own body, and finding fleeting relief in his own personal attempts at pleasure. He slowly began to surrender to the euphoria. 

Kate's body was a perfect echo to his own, her arousal palpable as the slick warmth of her welcomed his exploring touch. Their shared breaths and soft moans filled the air, a symphony of affection and longing that tied them closer with each passing second. He ached to claim her fully, to lose himself in the welcoming heat of her body. Carving a space for himself between her legs. 

As he slipped a finger inside her, Kate's soft whimper broke the last of their restraint. She withdrew slightly from their kiss, her expression one of exquisite pleasure. Her lips parted, and she bit down softly, eyes fluttering closed as he moved within her with a gentle, insistent rhythm. Despite the overwhelming sensations he provoked, she maintained her own rhythm, her thumb caressing him tenderly, circling the sensitive tip where his desire was most evident.

Arthur intensified his touch, adding a second finger and expertly curling them to stroke her most sensitive spot. Kate's response was passionate—a sharp intake of breath followed by a breathy utterance of his name that resonated with pure ecstasy. “Arthur.” Hearing his name spoken in such a rapturous tone pushed him past the brink.

Overcome by his escalating desire, Arthur felt the taut coil of restraint within him snap. A deep groan escaped him as he tensed and surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure, and Kate felt the warmth of his release seep through the thin fabric of his underwear, marking their entwined bodies with traces of his climax.

"Shit," Arthur muttered, his voice thick with both frustration and satisfaction, as his body continued to shudder under the aftershocks of his release. It had been an age since he'd allowed himself such unguarded surrender to his desires.

Embarrassed by the premature conclusion, especially before he could satisfy Kate, he felt like a fool. “M’sorry,” he mumbled moments later. His breath was still ragged. Kate, ever understanding and tender, smiled and reassured him by resuming her gentle strokes, eliciting another groan from him.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," she murmured, her voice laced with affection. "I enjoyed waking up to that." She leaned in to seal her reassurance with a soft kiss, her lips meeting his in a gentle connection.

Realizing he was still within her heat, Arthur refocused his efforts. With less distraction, he was now more determined. He resumed the rhythmic motion of his fingers, driven by the desire to return the pleasure she had so openly given. The thought of bringing her to climax rejuvenated him, and he felt his cock stir once again.

As Arthur's fingers traced intricate patterns inside her, Kate's response was instinctive and profound. Her moan transformed into a delicate whimper, the sound a tender symphony in the quiet room. She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, her voice a soft crescendo filled with unspoken pleas. "Arthur," she whispered like a prayer. Her breath hot against his skin, each syllable punctuated by the rhythm of his touch.

"That's it, baby," Arthur murmured, his voice low and husky, breath teasing the delicate shell of her ear. He felt the gentle flutter of her walls around his fingers, a testament to the rising tide of her climax. With each calculated stroke, he grew more attuned to her body's subtle signals, reveling in the discovery of her deepest pleasures.

Kate's breathing grew shallow and rapid, a wild cadence that matched the urgent thrusts of her hips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if to merge their bodies into one. Each of Arthur's movements was deliberate, pushing her closer to the brink. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to cry out, her body tense with the effort to remain silent. The stillness of the early morning hung around them like a thick blanket, punctuated only by the sound of their synchronized breathing and the quiet slick of desire.

In the dim light, her eyes locked with his, intense with a silent communication passing between them. She was close, so close, her body coiled tight with anticipation. Arthur increased the pressure, his fingers moving with a precision that was both tender and insistent. Kate's grip on his hair tightened, a silent acknowledgment of the exquisite pressure building within her. With a few more skillful movements, she was on the edge, ready to tumble into an abyss of euphoria.

When a heavy knock came from the door. 

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The soft, desperate whine that escaped Kate's lips as Arthur paused his movements reverberated through him like a siren call. She was teetering on the brink, her body tensed in exquisite anticipation, each of his calculated strokes pushing her closer to release. He longed to hear his name whispered in a rush of ecstasy, to feel her body clench around him in a sweet, shuddering climax, giving her the same profound pleasure she had so generously offered him.

Kate's expression was one of torment; her cheeks flushed a vivid pink, and her lush hair cascaded around her face in disheveled waves. Her eyes, heavy with sleep and thick with desire, also betrayed a touch of frustration at his sudden stop—a frustration Arthur knew all too well. 

He leaned in close, his voice a soft murmur against her temple. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he whispered, his lips brushing her skin in a tender apology. "I’ll make it up to you, I promise."

With a reassuring nod from Kate, Arthur reluctantly swung his legs off the bed to dress. He was just shimmying into his jeans when the persistent knock sounded again, this time accompanied by Dutch’s unmistakable, booming voice. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty, we have a big day!”

Arthur exhaled a heavy sigh as he pulled his jeans up, his frame silhouetted against the early morning light streaming through the window. The sun bathed him in a warm glow, highlighting the contours of his muscular back and shoulders. Kate watched from the bed, her gaze admiring the sheer physicality of him, appreciating the intimate and vulnerable moments they had just shared. Despite the interruption, she cherished this new closeness with Arthur, dreaming of a time when they could fully explore their connection without the omnipresent eyes of the gang.

Arthur flung the door open with a brisk tug, his tone laced with irritation as he confronted Dutch. “This couldn’t wait until breakfast?” His annoyance was palpable, his voice rough with frustration as he addressed the interruption. Clad only in his work jeans, with leather suspenders dangling at his sides, he stood framed in the doorway, the morning sun casting a halo around his imposing figure. 

Arthur’s expression was a mix of irritation and resignation as he blocked the doorway, the morning light outlining his broad frame. "Greatness, waits for no man," Dutch quipped, a gleam of mischief in his eyes, clearly enjoying the disruption of Arthur’s morning tranquility.

"I never knew you to be so ornery in the mornings, Arthur," Dutch teased, his voice carrying a jovial undertone that contrasted sharply with Arthur’s evident annoyance.

Arthur sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "I thought I had at least a few more hours. Kate doesn't even know the plan yet." he asked, glancing back towards Kate.

“What plan?” Kate interjected sharply, rising from the bed with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Clad only in Arthur’s shirt, which modestly covered her to just above the knees, she seemed oblivious to her appearance as she stepped closer.

Seizing the moment, Dutch stepped fully into the room, his eyes briefly sweeping over Kate before refocusing on his mission. “We're attending a ball, Cinderella, and we need to find you a dress,” he announced with a theatrical flair, then turned to Arthur with a smirk. “And a suit for you, son.”

“Wait, what ball?” Kate asked, her brow furrowing as she tried to piece together the sudden news with her still groggy mind.

Arthur leaned casually against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “We’ve been invited to a garden party hosted by Mayor Lemieux,” he explained, though his tone suggested he was less than thrilled about the prospect.

“We were?” Kate’s voice rose in disbelief, skeptical of why they, a notorious band of outlaws, would be invited to such an event.

Dutch chuckled heartily. “Indeed, we are guests of honor, thanks to our dear friend Angelo Bronte,” he said, the sarcasm in his voice barely masked.

Kate’s eyes narrowed. “Bronte? The same Bronte that took Jack? Why on earth would we go to this party? It sounds like a trap.”

Dutch’s demeanor shifted; the usual charming façade faded into a calculated intensity. “Because, my dear, the mayor is blissfully unaware that we’re anything but upstanding citizens. Bronte and I have orchestrated a little... arrangement,” he divulged, his smile thinning into a cunning line. “Where there’s affluence, there’s ample opportunity to lighten a few heavy pockets.”

Kate's mind reeled at the audacity of the plan. Attending a grand ball populated with the city’s elite, wealthy benefactors from across the state, and undoubtedly, a scattering of vigilant lawmen, presented a staggering risk.

Sensing her apprehension, Arthur quickly added, “We’re not there to rob anyone—at least not tonight. It's about mingling, gathering intel on the mayor and the city’s movers and shakers.” He attempted to reassure her, his tone earnest. “Nothing risky, I promise.”

“But why involve me?” Kate’s brow furrowed in confusion. Historically, Dutch had never directly enlisted her in such schemes, and she had remained a background figure in their more delicate operations. His insistence now implied she had little choice but to participate.

Dutch’s reply came with a strategic flourish. “Bringing a lady along makes a man look less suspicious. Tonight, you and Arthur are Mr. and Mrs. Kilgore,” he declared with a dramatic wave of his hand, as if he were bestowing royal titles.

The suddenness of it all left Kate grappling with the reality of the situation. A ball, tonight? And she was to act as Arthur’s wife? She had never graced such opulent events, her own wedding being a modest affair far removed from the sophisticated galas of the wealthy urbanites.

“Who else is attending?” she asked, her mind racing.

“Dutch, Hosea, and us,” Arthur replied, his voice a steadying presence.

Kate pondered Dutch’s strategy—bringing a companion to appear innocuous. Yet, her thoughts drifted to Molly O’Shea, weeping alone the previous night. Why not include her? She was Dutch’s girl after all. Molly, with her refined high-class Irish upbringing, was tailor-made for such events, having likely graced countless balls and galas back home.

“I’ll agree to this on one condition,” Kate asserted, her tone firm. Arthur’s eyebrow arched, intrigued by her audacity.

“Oh? Is that so?” Dutch’s interest was piqued.

“Yes,” she said resolutely. “Molly comes with us.”

The room tensed at her declaration, her proposal hanging in the air like a challenge. It wasn’t just about blending in—it was a statement, a chance to give Molly an opportunity that could mend her relationship with Dutch.

Dutch's face shifted from amusement to intrigue as he considered Kate's unexpected condition. His sharp eyes studied her for a moment, then a small smile crept up his face. "Well, that's an interesting twist," he mused aloud. "I suppose having another proper lady could indeed add to our cover."

Kate felt a surge of relief mixed with apprehension as she registered the gravity of what she was about to undertake. She was not just going to a ball; she was stepping into a lion's den dressed in lambskin. The stakes were high, and the play had to be perfect.

Arthur, seeing her resolve, added, "It’s all about appearances tonight. We need to blend in, gather intel, and leave without raising suspicions." His voice was steady, aiming to instill confidence in her. "Think of it as more of a reconnaissance mission than anything else. We're just there to observe and listen."

Kate nodded, processing the information. "And Bronte? What's his part in all this?"

Dutch clapped his hands together, the sound echoing slightly in the sparse room. "Ah, Bronte is our gracious host. He's the one who got us the invites. Through him, we're 'respectable citizens' for the evening," he explained, his tone dripping with irony. "This could open up some lucrative opportunities for us if we play our cards right."

Kate felt a flicker of excitement at the challenge, tempered by the realization of the complex dynamics at play. "So, we're Mr. and Mrs. Kilgore for the night, hobnobbing with Saint Denis' elite," she said, trying to lighten the mood with a faint smile.

Arthur caught her smile, returning it with a reassuring nod. "Exactly,” his gaze held hers, filled with a mixture of pride and earnest affection. “And I don’t think I could survive this night without you at my side." He said quietly with a subtle wink. 

Dutch broke the moment, his energy shifting towards preparation. "I’ll arrange for Molly. And we better get moving if we're to find you two something suitable to wear. Time is of the essence."

As Dutch exited the room to set the plan in motion, Kate's mind raced with the implications of the evening ahead. Playing the part of Arthur's wife, infiltrating a high society event, the risk of exposure—they were all elements of a dangerous game. Yet, underpinning it all was a deeper trust and partnership with Arthur that felt more real and vital than any role she might play. She knew they were in for a long night, and her reluctance was replaced by excitement at the thought of attending such an event with her lover. 

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Kate's image in the softly lit, dusty mirror was a vision she scarcely recognized—transformed by the exquisite gown borrowed from Molly. The gown was crafted from a sumptuous velvet, rich and deep red, that clung to her form and cascaded elegantly to the floor. It's off-the-shoulder design highlighted the low-cut neckline, with small ruffled sleeves that grazed her arms, leaving her shoulders and the expanse of her upper chest exposed. The careful stitching was lined with black and white lace, adding to the grandeur of her attire.

A striking gold brooch was affixed at the center of her bust, drawing the eye to the gentle curve of her neckline. This touch of opulence was complemented by a simple yet elegant pearl necklace, which lay delicately against her skin, its simplicity a perfect counterpoint to the richness of her attire. Her hair, pulled up into an intricate mass of curls and twists, added a final note of sophistication, completing the transformation from rugged cowgirl to a lady of subtle grace and formidable presence.

The room was a flurry of activity, each woman contributing to the transformation. Molly, sharing this critical evening with Kate, was more than a wardrobe consultant; she was a quiet presence, guiding Kate through the intricacies of high society etiquette. They dressed side by side in camaraderie, preparing for an evening that felt more like a strategic mission than a social outing.

As Molly delicately fastened the final button on Kate's gown, her reflection in the mirror bore an expression of earnest intensity. "Tonight is about poise and presence. You must embody both," she instructed crisply. "Watch my actions closely and avoid any gestures that could be deemed unladylike." Kate nodded, absorbing every word, her throat tightening with nervous anticipation.

"You are a woman of refined class this evening," Molly continued, her voice firm yet not unkind, her eyes meeting Kate's in the mirror. "Project confidence, but temper it, you don’t want to appear overbearing. We need them to find us charming—be yourself, but avoid being crass."

Just then, Tilly entered with a timely interruption, offering Kate a glass of water with a reassuring smile. "Ease up, Molly, you're making her jittery," she chided gently before leaning in to whisper to Kate, "You look absolutely stunning."

Taking the glass, Kate's hands shook slightly, the coolness of the water a small comfort against the flutter of nerves. "Thank you, Tilly," she replied, her voice a soft murmur of gratitude. "Molly means well. I'm just out of my depth with high society," she admitted, her eyes reflecting her vulnerability.

Karen, busy tidying up the space, laughed heartily from the corner. "I bet Arthur's feeling just as out of place. Imagine him trying to mingle with the upper crust," she remarked with amusement, her laughter echoing warmly in the room.

Arthur and Hosea had earlier been whisked away by Trelawny to find appropriate suits, leaving the women to navigate their own elaborate preparations. As Kate sipped her water, Abigail applied a delicate blush to her cheeks, her touch gentle yet precise. "Don't fret, Kate," she murmured, catching Kate's gaze in the mirror. "Arthur will be by your side tonight. Just stick close to Molly, and you'll manage just fine."

Mary-Beth, ever the optimist, added her own sprinkle of encouragement as she packed away a few last-minute essentials into Kate's clutch. "You’re going to shine tonight, Kate. Let the evening unfold naturally. The boys will handle the rest," she said cheerily, giving Kate a playful wink. "And don’t forget to enjoy a dance or two."

Though reassured by their words, Kate felt a knot of apprehension tighten in her stomach. This evening would transport her far from the familiar roughness of her daily life into a realm of gleaming shoes and polished conversation, where every smile might mask a challenge and every word could unveil a new chess move.

The creak of the front door heralded new arrivals, and soon Sadie’s brisk tone filled the room, signaling a shift in the late afternoon's pace. “Lenny’s back with the stagecoach. They’re ready for you ladies,” she called out, indicating it was time for Kate and Molly to make their entrance. The night's masquerade was about to begin.

Molly clasped their hands together with renewed enthusiasm, “shall we?” Kate smiled at the gesture, she knew then it was the right thing to do by inviting her. She had never seen the young woman smile so much in all the time she’s known her. Molly was in her element. 

As Kate descended the stairs of the old manor, the fabric of her velvet dress whispering with each step, she felt every eye in the room shift toward her. The deep red of her gown caught the fading light, casting a warm glow on her skin. Her hair, usually free and untamed, was styled into an elegant updo, adorned with small pearls that shimmered with her movements. The matching delicate pearl necklace around her neck caught the light, drawing attention to the subtle, dignified elegance she emanated.

Arthur stood near the entryway, discussing last-minute plans with Dutch and Hosea. His conversation halted abruptly as his gaze landed on Kate. The transformation from rugged woman to a vision of refined grace left him momentarily speechless. His eyes widened, not just in surprise but with a depth of emotion that flickered briefly across his face. The awe and admiration in his expression were palpable, and as he stepped toward her, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

"Oh Kate..." His voice was a low murmur, heavy with emotion. He approached her slowly, as if fearing any sudden movement might shatter the vision before him. When he finally reached her, he took her hand gently, his rough fingers contrasting with the softness of her skin. "Christ, you look...," he whispered, trailing his eyes over her face, lingering on her eyes, her lips, then down to the gold brooch nestled at her chest.

“Like a weed among the roses,” she answered. Offering a weary smile that was laced with doubt. 

Arthur chortled as he placed his hand on the small of her back, drawing her closer to him. “I was going to say beautiful. But sure, if the weed is this stunning then to hell with the roses.” 

The intensity of his gaze sent a warm flush across her cheeks. She could feel his admiration, not just for her appearance but for the strength and courage she embodied—the same qualities that had drawn him to her from the beginning. "Thank you, Arthur," she replied, her voice soft but filled with a confidence she didn't feel. "I feel a bit like I'm playing dress-up."

Kate's gaze lingered appreciatively on Arthur as he stood before her, transformed from the rugged outlaw she knew so intimately into a figure who could easily blend with the elite. He wore a tailored black suit that hugged his broad shoulders and defined his strong silhouette, the crisp white shirt beneath accentuating the tan of his skin. The ensemble was completed with a stark white bow tie, lending him an air of sophistication she found both endearing and slightly amusing, given his usual disdain for such finery.

His hair, normally a tousled mane that matched his untamed spirit, was now neatly barbered. The sides were trimmed short, enhancing the strong lines of his face, while the top was slicked back with a pomade that caught the light, giving him a polished, almost dapper appearance. A finely groomed pencil mustache adorned his upper lip, a testament to the barber's skill, and it added a hint of roguish charm that was so quintessentially Arthur.

Arthur chuckled softly, the sound deep and reassuring. "Maybe so, but I've never seen a more beautiful sight. I, uh... I’m finding it hard to believe that a woman like you would even be seen with me." His words were sincere, his usual stoic demeanor softened by the vulnerability he felt in that moment. 

Kate relaxed a little, sensing that Arthur was just as nervous as she. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the lapel of his jacket, feeling the fine fabric under her touch. "You clean up rather well, Mr. Morgan," she teased lightly, her eyes twinkling with mirth and a hint of something deeper, something akin to awe.

Arthur took her hand in his again and brought her knuckles to his lips, “that’s Mr. Kilgore,” he gently reminded. “You got that, Mrs. Kilgore?” His breath was hot against her skin as he glanced up at her with mischievous deep blue eyes. 

The playfulness in his eyes was infectious, and Kate found herself laughing, the sound mingling with the chirping of crickets outside. "I suppose I can manage that for one evening, Mr. Kilgore," she played along, her voice light, teasing. The nervousness that had tangled her thoughts began to unravel, replaced by an excitement she hadn't expected.

As they stepped into the courtyard, Dutch and Hosea were waiting, both looking equally as transformed. Dutch was clad in a striking suit that made him appear more like a statesman than the gang leader he was. Hosea, with his wise eyes and knowing smile, looked every bit the distinguished gentleman. Together, they presented an image of deceptive respectability.

The group made their way to the waiting stagecoach, where Lenny held the door open with a grin. "You all look like you're off to meet the queen," he joked, his eyes twinkling.

Dutch climbed in first, followed by Hosea, then Arthur and Kate, and finally Molly, who looked radiant in an emerald gown that whispered of her lost heritage. As the coach lurched forward, the rough dirt paths of the hideout gave way to smoother roads, signifying their approach to the bustling city of Saint Denis.

Arthur and Dutch shared a cigar, the glow from the tip casting a warm light in the dim interior. Their laughter filled the space, a sound of camaraderie and shared secrets. Kate leaned back against the plush seat, her eyes drifting to the window. Outside, the landscape transformed—from the secluded wilds of their camp to the grandeur of Saint Denis. The city lights began to twinkle in the distance, like stars brought down to earth, each one promising a night of possibilities and peril.

As the stagecoach rolled through the city gates, the full splendor of Saint Denis unfolded before them. The streets were alive with the hum of activity; the air was thick with the scents of exotic spices and the sound of distant music. It was a world away from anything Kate had ever known, and as she watched it all, a thrill ran through her, mingled with a touch of fear. 

Arthur grabbed her hand, and held it tight in his as they approached the Mayors grand iron gates.  

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The night unfolded with an elegance that was almost surreal to the group of outlaws. They were greeted at the opulent iron gates of Mayor Lemieux's mansion by none other than Angelo Bronte himself, who extended a warm welcome with an air of European grace. The atmosphere was charged with the subtle tension of a high-stakes play, each member of the gang playing their part flawlessly.

As they made their introductions, Arthur took Kate's hand and presented her with an unexpected formality. "May I introduce my wife, Katherine Kilgore," he announced, his voice carrying a tone of pride and reverence that made Kate's heart skip a beat. 

The use of her full name coupled by ‘my wife’, imbued the moment with a regality that resonated deeply within her. She felt a flutter of excitement rise in her chest, her cheeks warming under the attentive gaze of their host.

Bronte responded with a flourish, kissing Kate's knuckles as if she were a duchess, his eyes sparkling with intrigue. The gesture, added with his rich Italian accent, momentarily transported her back to her mother's stories of the old country, filling her with a mix of nostalgia and pride. She caught some of the phrases he murmured to his servants in his tongue, surprising herself at her memory of the language she hadn't heard in so long. 

The grandeur of the mansion was overwhelming as they entered. Candles and chandeliers cast a warm glow over rich floral arrangements and marble columns, each detail meticulously curated to impress. Kate couldn't help but wonder about the lives that filled these halls, the silent stories hidden within the extravagant walls.

Led by a young servant, they were shown to their designated seats in the dining hall, just as the bell signaled the arrival of the other distinguished guests. The dining experience promised to be a lavish affair, with Bronte ensuring they were seated at his table— a strategic position for mingling with some of Saint Denis' most influential figures.

As they settled into the evening, Arthur's introduction echoed in Kate's mind, lending her an air of confidence she clung to amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces. The night ahead was set to be a dance of diplomacy and discretion, and Kate, now Katherine Kilgore, was ready to play her part.

As the dinner progressed, the opulent dining hall of Mayor Lemieux's mansion buzzed with the soft clinking of fine china and the murmur of high-society chatter. Poised at Bronte's table, Kate tried to settle into the rhythm of the evening. Yet her every move was subtly corrected by Molly, who sat beside her. With a gentle nudge under the table or a whispered word, Molly guided Kate through the nuances of etiquette that the high class demanded.

“Remember, small bites, Katherine," Molly instructed gently while demonstrating with her own meal, slicing her food with an elegance that seemed effortless. "And mind your posture."

Despite her best efforts to blend in, Kate found herself increasingly nervous. Conversation flowed around the table, and occasionally, a guest would inquire about her or Arthur. With a tentative smile, she spun a half-true tale about their supposed meeting involving a stolen stagecoach, drawing polite laughter and nods of amusement from those around her. As the story concluded, she reached for her wine glass, taking a large gulp to quench her growing anxiety.

Molly's hand was quick and discreet as she gave Kate's arm a soft pinch. "A lady doesn't chug," she murmured with a hint of sternness. "And hold it by the stem, dear. You're smudging the glass." Chastened, Kate set the wine glass back down with a small sigh.

Kate was grateful for the guidance, even if it was a reminder of how out of place she felt among the finely dressed elites. As courses were served and conversation flowed, Dutch and Bronte delved into discussions about local politics and business, particularly the Saint Denis Trolley Association. Rumors had swirled around the trolley lines being used for money laundering, and as the conversation deepened, Kate noticed Dutch's interest peak. Arthur, ever the observant second-in-command, watched Dutch closely, likely calculating the risk and reward of their next big job.

As the plates were cleared and the final toasts were made, Kate caught a low exchange between Bronte and one of his men that sent a chill down her spine. She couldn't translate the full conversation, but the burlesque in Bronte's tone was unmistakable. It was a reminder that beneath the veneer of this luxurious gathering, there were still undercurrents of danger and deceit. Kate made a mental note to discuss what she heard later, when there weren't so many lingering ears about. 

Relieved when the dinner finally concluded, Kate was more than ready to escape the stuffy atmosphere of the dining hall. The guests were invited to mingle in the garden, a beautifully manicured space illuminated by strings of lights and lanterns that cast a romantic glow over the evening.

The garden was bathed in the gentle warmth of firelight as Kate stepped into the fresh air, the tension melting from her shoulders. The soft strains of an orchestra filled the night, mingling with the laughter and chatter of the elegantly dressed guests who moved fluidly across the stone paths. Arthur approached with a warm smile, extending his arm in an inviting gesture.

"Would you dance with me, Katherine?" he asked, the playful spark in his eyes igniting a flutter in her chest. His formal address, laced with familiarity, heightened the moment's charm.

"Absolutely, as long as you keep off my toes," Kate responded playfully, her voice light with anticipation. She allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, the weight of the evening's responsibilities fading amid the rhythmic sway of the music.

As they found their rhythm in the melody, Arthur's surprisingly graceful steps impressed her. "I had no idea you could waltz, Mr. Kilgore," she quipped with a smile, the music lifting her spirits.

Arthur drew her closer, his hand reassuringly warm on her lower back. "Bessie insisted I learn," he confessed, referencing Hosea’s late wife with a fond chuckle. "Said she’d be damned if she didn’t teach this gutter trash some respectable manners."

Her laughter, light and melodic, echoed softly between them. "Oh Arthur, you are the farthest thing from gutter trash.” She remarked, taking in how undeniably beautiful and handsome he looked tonight. 

Arthur chortled, “maybe so. But I was quite the handful as a kid.” 

“I’m sure you had your charm. In any case, it seems she succeeded. You're quite the gentleman tonight," Kate teased, her tone playful as she mimicked his drawl.

Their gazes locked, the world around them dimming to a blur of music and moonlight. Arthur's hand traced gentle, unseen patterns on her back, the warmth of his touch seeping through the velvet of her dress. She breathed in his familiar scent—wine mingled with the faint smokiness of cigars. She admired the clean shave of his beard, and the neat trim of his hair. He looked so different from the rugged man she woke up to this morning, but there was no doubt in her heart it was the same man. Her cowboy, her Arthur. 

"What were you dreaming of this morning?" She whispered, curiosity coloring her words as they moved in perfect sync.

"You," came his husky reply, his breath warm against her ear. "I always dream of you."

Her smile deepened, her heart dancing to the same rhythm as their steps. "And was I wearing this dress in your dreams?" she flirted, her body swaying enticingly against his.

Arthur’s grin was both mischievous and endearing. "Not exactly," he murmured, his eyes glinting with a hint of devilry. "You wore something very different."

Intrigued, she leaned closer, her voice a soft tease. "Oh? And what might that have been?"

"Me," he growled softly, his voice low and seductive, drawing a delighted shiver from Kate as they continued to waltz under the starlit sky. The single word flooded Kate’s mind with all sorts of erotic pictures.

Arthur's voice was a seductive murmur, laced with raw desire, as he leaned in close, his breath warm against Kate's ear. "Do you want to know what I'm thinking about right now?" he whispered, his hands tightening on her waist as he drew her closer into his embrace.

Kate's heart pounded in her chest, her skin tingling with anticipation. She nodded, her voice a mere whisper, "Yes."

Arthur's fingers traced a line up her spine, sending shivers cascading down her body. He dipped his head, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of her neck, inhaling deeply. "I'm thinking about how stunning you're going to look laid out beneath me," he breathed out, his words painting a vivid, enticing picture. "I imagine you on my cot, your skin glowing in the dim light, your hair spread out like a wild mane, your lips tender and flushed from my kisses."

Her eyes fluttered shut, lost in the fantasy he described. "Your eyes," he continued, his voice dropping to a husky growl, "dark with longing, just like they are now. I think about the soft moans you’ll make, the ones that drive me wild, make me desperate to be inside you."

Kate’s breath caught in her throat, her body instinctively pressing closer to his. The garden, the music, the murmur of the guests faded into the background, overshadowed by the intensity of the moment between them.

"And I think about how fiercely we’ll make love," Arthur added, his hands sliding down to grip her hips, pulling her against him. "How you’ll claw at my back, pulling me deeper, your body welcoming me home. How tight and perfect you’ll feel around me, and how with each thrust, you’ll moan my name until it’s etched into the night air."

Overwhelmed by his words, Kate's knees weakened, her entire being alight with desire. Arthur steadied her, his gaze intense and full of promise. "I can’t wait any longer, Kate," he declared, a resolute edge to his voice. "Tonight, I will have you. Completely and utterly. No interruptions, no holding back. Just you and me, lost in each other until dawn."

The certainty in his tone, the undeniable hunger in his eyes, left her breathless. This was a side of Arthur she had glimpsed but never fully experienced—passionate, possessive, and profoundly in love with her.

“Arthur,” Kate said softly, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability as she looked up at him. “When you say things like that, you make me feel…”

“Warm all over?” Arthur suggested with a gentle smile, trying to lighten her mood.

“Yes,” she whispered, a blush coloring her cheeks. “It’s a bit forward of me to admit it, isn't it?” Her irony drew a hearty laugh from Arthur, and her smile returned, comforted by his joyful response.

“Can I ask you something else, maybe a bit silly?” Kate continued, her spirits lifted by his laughter.

“You can ask me anything, sweetheart,” Arthur responded, his eyes sparkling with both amusement and affection.

She took a deep breath, meeting his gaze with earnestness. “When you were telling me about...us, about how you imagined us together, was I… was I smiling in your dream?” she asked, her question tinged with a need for reassurance.

With a faint chuckle he pulled her into a tight hug. His chin dropped down to rest on the top of her head, and he assured her in a tender, loving voice that in all his erotic fantasies and dreams about her, she had been very happy, extremely happy as a matter of fact. She was satisfied, content, humbled, appreciative and grateful, and completely overwhelmed by his magnificence and, now that he had time to think about it, really amazing sexual prowess. Kate’s light laughter rumbled against his chest. 

“You couldn’t find enough ways to thank me,” he added to his relentless teasing. 

She leaned away from him and looked up into his eyes, “I thanked you for making love to me?” 

“You were exceedingly grateful,” Arthur played along, with lighthearted arrogance. “In fact, you seemed quite taken with my many...talents.”

“Oh, is that so?” Kate retorted, her tone playful yet filled with affection. 

“It was my dream, sweetheart, not yours,” Arthur chuckled. 

She nestled back into his arms, comforted by his presence and the easy banter that flowed between them. “And here you were, telling me how Bessie taught you to be such a gentleman?”

“She tried her best,” Arthur quipped, his voice low and filled with mirth. “Though I fear she may have overlooked a few lessons on modesty.”

Tucking her head back under his chin, she wrapped her arms around his waist, splaying her hands wide against his broad and warm back. “Heaven help me. What am I going to do with you?” 

Arthur’s smile widened, filled with both love and a hint of mischief. “Keep me, I hope,” he chuckled softly, holding her close as the music around them began to dwindle.

Several other suggestions came to mind, but Arthur decided now wasn’t the time to share them with her. He recognized the weight behind Kate's seemingly light-hearted question. Her vulnerability had surfaced briefly, revealing the scars of her past experiences, ones that Arthur knew all too well. Despite the mutual desire igniting between them, he could see the shadows of uncertainty and fear that still lingered in her eyes. He knew of the trauma she had endured, the times when her autonomy was stripped away, leaving wounds deep and tender. With every fiber of his being, Arthur was determined to honor her, the way she had honored him in his time of need. To rebuild the trust that had been tarnished by others before him. He made a silent vow then, as he often did, to be patient, to give her the space and choice she deserved.

“Whatever happens tonight, tomorrow, or any time after, it’s your choice, Kate. Nothing we do together will ever be without your heart in it too. I love you, and you could never disappoint me. Got that?” he whispered, sealing his vow with a kiss on her forehead as the last notes of their song played out.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

As the evening waned and the symphony of the night softened to a quiet hum, the luscious garden party began to draw to a close. Under a canopy of stars, guests strolled leisurely, their conversations light and laughter mingling with the crackle of fireworks that painted the sky above Saint Denis. Dessert tables were laden with an extravagant assortment of sweets, tempting the well-heeled crowd as they meandered through the meticulously landscaped gardens.

Kate, alongside Arthur, Hosea, Dutch, and Molly, found themselves engaged in a lively discussion with Mayor Lemieux and his companion, the celebrated author Evelyn Miller. Their conversation flowed easily, touching on topics from literature to local politics and banking, until it was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of two distinctly out-of-place figures.

The pair, native men with proud postures and serious expressions, approached the group with a reserved dignity. The elder of the two introduced himself as Chief Rains Fall, and the younger, his son, as Eagle Flies. Their introductions were courteous yet carried an underlying urgency that shifted the atmosphere slightly. Rains Fall explained they had come to deliver a letter to the mayor, urging him to read it with great consideration due to its pressing nature.

With formalities briefly exchanged and the letter handed off, the two natives departed as swiftly as they had arrived, leaving a trail of curiosity in their wake. Kate felt a twinge of disappointment at their quick departure; the mystery of the letter and its urgent delivery had piqued her interest deeply.

Arthur shared her intrigue, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully as the garden's ambient noise hummed around them. Their contemplative silence was broken when Lemieux’s butler approached, his expression taut with concern. He whispered something to the mayor, who nodded gravely before handing off the chief's letter.

As the butler walked away, Dutch’s keen ears picked up on the mention of a telegram from the notorious industrialist Leviticus Cornwall. Catching Arthur’s eye, Dutch subtly gestured for him to follow the butler, an unspoken strategy quickly forming between them. With a tender kiss to Kate’s temple, Arthur excused himself, his steps quick and determined as he followed the butler towards the stately manor's office.

Dutch and Molly soon found their own excuse to depart, leaving Kate in the company of Hosea. The fireworks had dwindled to a sporadic glow by the time Hosea turned to Kate with a gentle offer. "Miss Katherine, may I have the pleasure of the last dance?" he asked, his voice carrying the warmth of a protective father figure.

Kate hesitated, her gaze lingering on the path Arthur had taken. The worry was evident in her eyes, the fear that he might get caught weaving through her thoughts. Sensing her unease, Hosea offered a reassuring smile. "Arthur will be fine. I taught the boy everything he knows, remember?" His tone was light, but his assurance was firm.

Convinced by Hosea's confidence, Kate placed her hand in his. "Thank you, Hosea. I'd love to have this dance," she replied, allowing a smile to curve her lips as they stepped onto the now nearly empty dance floor. 

The last song was slow, almost mournful. A ‘goodbye’ or ‘goodnight’ song, Kate could not tell. The lively piano had been replaced by a violin and cello. Their haunting melody cascaded around them. Enveloping the night air with a somber, poignant tune that seemed to whisper of endings and beginnings. 

As the bow glided over the strings of the violin, the notes flowing into one another like streams blending into a river of sound. The cello responded in kind, its notes a comforting echo that spoke of strength and of beauty, found within the depths of melancholy.

The orchestra played as if narrating a story of love that was beautiful because it was fleeting, a dance of shadows under the moonlight that would soon fade at the break of dawn. Each note resonated within the space, filling the garden with an aching beauty that made the moment feel suspended in time, a precious memory to be cherished before it slipped away.

Kate and Hosea moved slowly, their steps measured and deliberate, as if trying to savor each beat of the music, each moment that passed. The song wrapped around them like a soft shawl, and Kate found herself drawn into the emotion of it, her movements becoming more reflective, more infused with the subtle gravity of the tune.

As they moved together, Hosea's steps were sure and steady, guiding Kate through the waltz. The music was a soft fitting backdrop for Hosea's reflective mood. "You know, watching you and Arthur together—it's been something quite special," he began, his eyes thoughtful. "He's changed since you've been with us. For the better."

Kate's cheeks warmed under his kind gray eyes, her heart swelling with a mixture of pride and love. "He's a good man, Hosea. He's shown me a great deal of kindness," she responded, soft with affection. 

Hosea nodded. "The same kindness you’ve shown him. And he's been happier, more at peace. It's not often someone comes along who can reach into the heart of a man like Arthur and turn on the light." His words were not just observations; it was gratitude, a recognition of the positive influence Kate had on his wayward son.

As the dance unfolded, Kate eased into the rhythm, finding solace in Hosea's reassuring presence. His guidance, both in dance and in life, was imbued with a serene wisdom and infinite patience that calmed her restless spirit.

Hosea's voice softened as he continued, a trace of somber tinting his words. "Arthur was saddled in darkness for far too long," he confessed. "He's shouldered too much—loss, guilt... and the fear of failing those he loves. I suppose Dutch and I have our share of blame for that." A wry chuckle escaped him, though it held little humor.

"It pained me to see him keep his heart guarded, steeling himself against the world. I never imagined he’d open up again, let alone to someone new," Hosea admitted, his gaze fond yet filled with the pain of old regrets. Kate remained silent, allowing him the space to reflect aloud. "But then you came along," he said, his eyes meeting hers with warmth.

The music swelled into a poignant crescendo, mirroring the depth of their conversation. As Hosea spoke of Arthur's past pains—his family, his lost loves, his unspoken turmoils within himself—the words offered explanation for his insecurities. Kate felt a profound connection to the man she loved. Discovering more of him with each word Hosea shared from the perspective of a loving father, who will always see the man before him as his young boy. A mere child, in need of his love and guidance.  

"He’s endured so much, Kate," Hosea continued, his voice thick with emotion. "But so have you—you've faced losses just as deep." His acknowledgment of her own grief resonated deeply, tightening her throat with emotion. “It's a cruel kind of kinship, isn’t it? But perhaps it's why your bond is so strong.” 

“Knowing someone's pain, really sharing it, now that's love." Hosea mused softly, his voice rich with reflection.

The violin's lament seemed to weave around them, a sad serenade to their shared understanding. Kate squeezed Hosea's hand, her gesture one of both comfort and thanks.

“To truly love someone is to understand their suffering," Hosea said softly. "You’ve shown him patience and kindness that astounds me. Arthur gives so much of himself, sometimes more than he should. He's fiercely loyal, maybe to a fault. I've often worried he doesn't think enough of his own needs. But I've seen a change in him. He’s found a reason to think for himself again because of you. To think of a future beyond this. That’s a gift, Kate, a precious one.”

Kate's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she listened to Hosea's heartfelt words, each syllable heavy with emotion and the weight of shared history. As the last notes of their dance dwindled, Hosea paused and reached into his coat pocket, his movements deliberate and meaningful. “Speaking of gifts, I have something for you. But it comes with a promise,” he said, his voice resonant with a solemnity that stilled the air between them.

“Yes?” Her response was a breathless whisper, a soft echo in the quiet of the night.

Hosea took her hand, holding her gaze with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the shadows of the garden. Into her palm, he pressed something cool and firm—a tangible symbol of his next words. “Keep him honest, and keep him kind. Promise me, Kate, that you both will find a way out of this life and never look back,” he implored with a firmness that belied his gentle demeanor.

Opening her hand, Kate gasped softly at the sight of two gold wedding rings, linked by a delicate chain, glimmering under the moonlight. Their soft halo seemed to whisper a prayer into the very air around them, turning the moment into something sacred. “Hosea, I can’t accept this,” she protested, recognizing the deep personal significance of the rings. And where they had come from. 

“Take them,” Hosea insisted, gently closing her fingers around the rings. “And take Arthur with you, away from all this.”

“But why me? Arthur would be honored to receive these from you. It would mean the world to him,” she countered, her voice thick with emotion.

Hosea’s eyes held a twinge of sadness as he faced a truth only he fully appreciated. “I may not be around when the time comes for you to use these,” he said quietly, acknowledging his own mortality and the precarious life they led. “Give one to him when the moment is right. I trust you’ll know when.”

Kate felt the weight of the promise now resting in her hand, symbolizing more than just their union but a future filled with hope and love. As she slipped the rings into her clutch for safekeeping, she pulled Hosea into a tight embrace. “I promise, Hosea. I...I don’t know how to thank you enough. I’m just so grateful for everything.” Her voice broke with the magnitude of her promise, her arms tightening around him as if to anchor herself to the pledge she had just made.

As they stepped back from their embrace, Hosea's eyes twinkled with warmth and fondness that made Kate's heart swell. He smiled, his expression one of deep satisfaction and peace. "I’m the one trying to say thank you, Kate," he said imbued with gratitude. "My son is happy because of you."

"And I just gained a daughter." 

AN: Thank you guys for being patient with me. I don't even remember how long its been since I updated this fic. I've had this chapter written for awhile, but I just couldn't get the ending right. (aka the smut part). I promise it will happen in the next chapter, but I don't know when that will be. Truthfully, my BPD has been absolutely kicking my ass as of late. But writing is one of the few things that bring me joy, and I'm trying to get a little done with each day.

I love you guys <3

[elleloquently]

if you would like to be tagged for the invisible string epilogue - let me know here or leave something in my ask box!!! 💓

[itwoodbeprefect]

inspired by my own 9-1-1 / bad buddy post, here's a bad buddy / starsky & hutch sequel about cutting ties with your past, polluting the ocean, throwing small shiny rectangular objects, etc. 🌊

[feedthefandomfest]

Comment Bingo: Old Fic Edition

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[httpsserene]

ʜᴛᴛᴘꜱꜱᴇʀᴇɴᴇ'ꜱ ꜰ1 ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ

ᴜᴘʟᴏᴀᴅ 1 : ᴄʜᴀʀʟᴇꜱ ʟᴇᴄʟᴇʀᴄ / ᴍᴀx ᴠᴇʀꜱᴛᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ |ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴋɪɴᴋ

📖ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: innocent and virgin !reader has never touched herself before. she knows how to, in theory, but whenever she tries, she chickens out. her tried and true way of receiving pleasure is failing her. she thinks that maybe it's time to allow her relationship with her two respectful and experienced boyfriends, to reach the next step. and she'll find that they're very willing to teach her a few things. 📖ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: 18+ only. smut. corruption kink. orgasm delay/denial. praise kink. dom/sub undertones. hair-pulling. possessiveness. slight choking (glimpse and you miss it?). brief reference to previous dub-con (very minuscule, not charles or max). no penetrative sex. 📖ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 8k words 📖ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: charles leclerc / max verstappen x fem!black!reader 📖ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: oneshot 📖ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ: all mine • brent faiyaz

ᴘʀᴇꜰᴀᴄᴇ: the strength i had to summon to post this is something crazy. it's my first smut fic if you can believe it or not, but the way i feel exposed to the world is wild. i almost forgot to include the actual kink because i got carried away, but it's there i promise you, don't get disappointed too early in! can confirm that while i was writing this i had to take several breaks and stare at the ceiling. the black!reader is vague i think, it's not noticeable until the end, but i had written it with all shades of my poc girlies in mind < 3. n e ways: hope you guys like it!

want to be added to my f1 kinktober taglist? or my general tag list? send me an ask!

huge thanks to my beta readers @lorarri and @sweetpiccolo-blog ! i appreciate y'all so much :)

cross-posted on my ao3, htpsss

here's the link to the masterlist for my f1 kinktober special, and send me a private message if you would like to be added to the list to become a beta reader in the future!!!

it’s late. you’ve kicked jimmy and sassy out of the bedroom, and locked it shut. you’re standing with your back pressed against the door, staring with unfocused eyes. you moved your stuffed animals inside the closet and had them facing the wall even though you closed the closet door. the window curtains are drawn shut, and the only light in the room is the warmth of one nightstand lamp. one of the plushest towels max owns is spread across the bed. in the center lays a single pillow.

this is the last chance you have to get off before max and charles get home in a few hours. they’ve been gone for a triple-header, and you haven’t been able to orgasm once in the near month they’ve been gone. you’ve become depraved enough to consider buying a vibrator, but all packages delivered to this apartment have to be approved by max or charles to be sent up, and you’re definitely not bold enough to go out and buy one (and risk being seen by one of their fans or have to physically talk to someone to buy one).

the obvious thing to do would be to talk to your boyfriends, and tell them that you’re ready to start exploring the sexual side of your relationship. you’ve been dating them for two years now, and you’re afraid that they’re getting tired of waiting for you to be comfortable enough to have sex with them. but, you’re also afraid that once they learn how inexperienced you really are—they’ll make fun of you, leave you, and find some other woman who knows how to please them. you know that’s outrageous and never going to happen. they’re the sweetest boys you’ve ever dated (way better than that one dude you dated who tried to get you wasted enough to persuade you into having sex with him), and they’ve been very respectful concerning your boundaries. always pulling away when they feel themselves getting hard, and constantly reminding you to tell them to stop if you feel uncomfortable and that there’s nothing wrong with that, and that they’re willing to wait as long as you need, and will continue loving you regardless even if you decide to never have sex with them. so—of course you know that they won’t be assholes about your innocence—it’s just your own self-esteem, insecurity, and overthinking that prevents you from saying you’re ready.

you make a deal with yourself. if you can’t manage to get off grinding against your pillow one last time, you’ll force yourself to sit down with your boyfriends, stare them in the eyes and state that your ready to have sex. who are you kidding—you’re going to get off right now one way or another even if it kills you, because you definitely will wither away and die if you have to have that conversation with your boyfriends.

you walk over to the bed, heart beginning to race as you start playing one of those curated “songs i’d like to be railed to” playlists, before throwing your phone somewhere up the bed. you move to straddle the pillow, and begin to calm your heartbeat. you take a few deep breaths and let your mind wander. the first thought that comes to your head is the goodbye kiss you got from your boyfriends before they left. 

they had gotten all their luggage together and were pulling on their shoes at the entryway. charles was pouting at you, wide green eyes and all, “you are sure that you don’t want to come with us? for at least one of the races? we’ll be gone for almost a—“ 

“yes, cha. i’m sure,” you cut him off with a firm nod, “lemme give you a kiss before you leave, okay?”

charles frowned at max who laughed—like he wasn’t the one begging you to come with them last night before you all went to bed. with a little upset ‘hmph’ charles leaned down and kissed you softly. you had pulled away, only trying to give him a peck, and charles grunted disapprovingly. one of his veiny hands rose and gripped at your waist over your t-shirt, strongly pulling you forward, causing you to tumble into his chest. “oh, i am going to need more than that, mon ange,” charles smirked down at you, “i am leaving for so long, and that’s the goodbye kiss you’re leaving me with? no, i do not think so.” 

you glanced away from him, cheeks beginning to become warm as you make to hide your face is his broad chest. charles tutted at you, tightening his grip on your waist, and his other hand gently pushed your head up to look at him, “c’mere and give me a real kiss, pretty girl.”

you made a suppressed little squeal in the back of your throat, a noise max and charles became very familiar with, often present when they start teasing you. you surprisingly leaned up and initiated the kiss, causing charles to let out a shocked gasp into your mouth. his hand on your waist moved lower, falling to the small of your back and pushed your body completely against his. his other hand caressed your jaw, soothing you enough to allow him to control the kiss, as he flicked his tongue at the seam of your lips. you shakily sighed, allowing him entrance and the kiss deepened, a pleased humming noise in the back of your throat escaping.

you impatiently shift side to side on top of the pillow, not yet allowing yourself to get any friction. sliding both of your hands underneath your sweater—well, max’s sweater, and you start playing with your chest. flicking gently at your nipples, just the way you like. 

you could feel charles chuckle into the kiss, but you dismiss it, and keep kissing at him eagerly. however, you failed to recognize that he wasn’t laughing at you, he was laughing at max. cockily making eye-contact with him, before he let his eyes flutter shut and devoted his attention to you.

max stared on, his mouth slightly open as he watched his two loves give him a show for free. charles’ hand slipped lower, gliding over your ass, across your criminally well-fitted jeans, and found its home on the back of your thigh. max is well acquainted with how skilled charles’ mouth is, so he knows he must have done something spectacular to cause a choked-off moan to escape you, your hand raised to grab at charles’ polo in a fist, wrinkling the pressed shirt. max huffed, deciding to no longer spectate, and took the few steps to reach you across the foyer.

you let out a shocked gasp, eyes fluttering open in surprise at the feeling of your other boyfriend pressed up against your back. you attempt to break the kiss, but charles doesn’t let you. hand slipping from your cheeks to the nape of your neck, tangling in the hairs there and keeping you exactly where he wants. one of max’s hands came to rest at your hip, while the other rested on your navel. your eyes fell shut again in pleasure at how charles gently nipped at your bottom lip, and max’s presence is pushed to the back of your mind.

you didn’t register max’s hand disappearing from your abdomen, but suddenly, the air was cut with a pained moan from charles and his lips were ripped away from yours.

your eyes flew open, and max’s hand was buried in charles’ hair, tugging his head backward and maneuvering it into what must be an almost uncomfortable angle, but with how pleased charles looked—you wanted to feel it too. his eyes rolled backwards, before he pressed them shut and re-opened them to reveal dilated pupils and half-lidded lashes; panting hard, lips covered with your shared spit, and a fucked-out look in his eyes.

you struggle to pull off your sleeping shorts, eventually managing to tug them off to reveal your white cotton panties. your hand leaves your breast to touch at your heat, and you’re shocked at how wet you’ve gotten already. you use that same hand to adjust your pillow, before you let your hips fall all the way and make contact with the pillow. you sigh in relief.

now, max is the one to laugh with his hand firmly keeping charles in place. “oh, you know better than to tease me charlie…” he started, and you barely heard him. fixated on the way charles’ tongue frequently slips out to lick at his lips, but you could hear the smirk max was wearing. 

“and you’re also not the only one leaving our sweet girl for a month. you should be nice and let me have a taste too, hm? isn’t that right, schatje?” he directs at charles. max’s other hand made its way up your abdomen, copping a feel at your chest, before it rested across your throat. he wasn’t squeezing at all, but the weight of his hand, how it spans across your neck, and how you can feel the strength lying underneath his skin, caused you to lose your breath. he guided your head back and dropped his to get his own goodbye kiss.

the kiss felt like it lasted for a lifetime, but realistically it had to be less than a minute of max forcing charles to watch how he ravaged your mouth, before charles started whining loudly. max patted your neck gingerly before pulling away and laughing at charles’ teary eyes. your legs were trembling and you were pretty sure if max wasn’t behind you, you would’ve fallen long ago. in one smooth motion, his hand fell to the monegasque’s throat from his hair and pulled him closer, completely sandwiching you between them, as their lips met in a wild kiss. 

your hips start to rock against the pillow, keeping it slow in the beginning, learning your lesson about friction burn the last time you got too erratic with your moves too quickly.

charles—completely desperate—whined deep in his throat and max kept pulling consistently depraved moans and grunts out of your boyfriend. max’s other hand moved off of your hip to smack at charles’, a nonverbal command for him to calm down and let max take care of him. you felt charles practically vibrating against you in need, but he slowly started to calm; his posture slackening and lips slowing, allowing the dutch full control. 

the two of them were completely ignoring you. caught in their own world, putting all of their energy into their kisses, and in turn gave you a front row seat to something you're never going to forget about. you felt so small in between the two of them, like the only thing that kept you from floating away is the fact that you were stuck in between their bodies.

eventually, max released his grip on charles and separated from the kiss, giving charles air to breathe. the blonde stepped backwards away from your body, and you stumbled embarrassingly. max’s hands went up to hover around your waist (suddenly so shy to touch you) to make sure you actually didn't fall. charles shook his head, physically trying to clear the haze in his mind before he stumbled away from you as well, pressing his back against the wall. 

his chest was heaving with exertion, cheeks flushed a pretty red color, while his hands went to tug at his uncomfortably tight pants, failing to adjust himself to make his erection less obvious. he suddenly turns shy as well—it probably doesn’t help that max was laughing at how easy he is to turn on—, and charles tries to try and tug his shirt down to cover up his problem as best as he can. 

your hips start to pick up in speed, movements more sure and less shaky. the friction between the cotton pillowcase and panties is multiplied on your cunt, and when you rock down deep enough, the catch of the panties on your clit is nearly immobilizing. 

thinking about the moment before your boys left leads you into fantasizing about their dynamic, and how they are in the bedroom. that morning alone proved who was actually in charge; charles will tease and take whatever he can, as long as max allows him to. you can recall many instances of max guiding a well-fucked charles out of the bedroom and depositing him on your lap, before he went on to clean up and run the monegasque a bath. 

the multiple post-sex facetimes you’ve gotten from the two when they’re across the world always starts with max softly speaking, “i’ve worn him out pretty good, but he refuses to fall asleep unless he gets to call you.” and the phone is passed to charles, who’s voice and lips are ruined to hell and you have to decipher what he’s attempting to say.

you’re starting to acclimate to the current tempo, so you pick it up another notch. you lean forward, bracing your hands on the bed for support as you focus on doing deeper and slower grinds against the pillow, allowing your clit to get constant attention.

you find comfort in the fact that charles allows max to take him to such a vulnerable state, and sometimes—you even find yourself getting jealous. you started joining them to see their aftercare for yourself, and found out that you're aching to be taken apart and put back together like max and charles do to each other. 

the sound of max’s constant praises of charles being “so good for him,” and charles’s constant stream of “thank you, thank you, maxy” has you losing all train of thought.

you abandon the slow-and-steady technique, you’ve tried it several times this month and it’s failed to get you to come. you bite your lip, letting out a frustrated groan. your hips slow, and you grab the front of the pillow with one hand and pull it upwards, hoping that a tighter space allows better friction. you start moving quicker, doing smaller more shallow motions and it’s tons better. you can’t stop thinking that it would be even better to ride charles’ face. 

even though your eyelids are scrunched shut, the thousands of tiktok edits you’ve seen of your boyfriends post-race; balaclava lines, sweaty, messy hair, and all—are playing behind them. you moan out desperately, toes curling in your socks. you hear the phantom noises of monegasque moans along with the imagined whispers of dutch-accented praises. 

the knot in your navel tightens, your thighs begin to tremble, and you can feel yourself clenching around nothing. this is it, the feeling that’s escaped you for a month, it’s returning, you can finally come. 

you start to rut against the pillow, uncaring of how your wetness has seeped into the pillow cover and sticks against your thighs—if anything, it’s just another pleasant sensation. unfiltered squeals and gasps start slipping out, you’re too blissed out to regulate your volume at this point.

but then, a minute passes and you still haven’t fallen over the precipice. it’s right there; you can see it, you can even hear it, but you can’t fucking feel it. 

your moans of pleasure turn into cries of frustration. your legs start to quiver with exhaustion, and the orgasm you almost had fades. tears spill from your eyes, as you frantically rut against the soaked pillow, not caring about rhythm or technique anymore. and your chance is gone, your sobs echoing around the room at another failed attempt.

you climb off the pillow and fall on your side, crying into the towel trying to muffle your anguished noises. you have the fleeting thought to think that you're overreacting, but fuck that. you’ve literally been unwillingly denying yourself for a month.

after you’ve cried yourself out, you get up and start to clean up the mess you made. when you lean down to pick up the shorts you flung across the room, you hear jimmy and sassy start yowling outside of the room. and faintly, you hear the front door open.

fuck.

a giggle slips out of charles as the cries of the cats are heard outside of the apartment door. max shoots a glare at charles for laughing at his children, before he loses the fight and a smile slips out in response to the monegasque’s. finally managing to slip the key into the lock, max speaks, “we’re supposed to surprise her by being early, cha—maybe we should’ve let the cat’s know when we called earlier today?” they step through the threshold, quickly shutting the door behind them so the cats won’t run out. charles makes a questioning hum as they both start slipping out their jackets, “they are cats, mon minou. i do not think they care about anything other than when you come back to feed them.”

max side eyes him heavily as he squats down to untie his sneakers, and looks around slightly confused, “i think we are missing a greeting from one more kitten, wouldn't you say, charles?” the man in question nods in agreement, while finally petting jimmy and sassy to calm them down a little bit. whenever the two of them return home, you usually race to the door along with the cats. you give them warm hugs and sweet kisses, help them take their jackets off, and let them know if you cooked a meal for them, or prepared a bath. 

but tonight, they don’t hear the sound of your footsteps coming towards them. it’s rare for them not to be greeted at the door, most of the time you beat them to unlocking it, with the alarm system the cats provide. 

charles questions, “maybe she fell asleep? we did not tell her that we moved our flight earlier. and we did tell her to go to bed because we would be arriving late.”

max snorts disbelievingly, “when has she ever gone to bed when we’ve told her to,” he starts, “she’s probably just in the bathroom or something.”

the two spend a few minutes paying some attention to the cats, before they begin to get suspicious at the fact that you still haven’t come to welcome them back. they straighten up and start heading towards the bedroom. 

max pushes the door open, and everything looks normal except for the fact that you’re nowhere to be seen. the bed is put together, one nightstand lamp is on, and the bathroom is empty. max and charles stare at each other with matching baffled expressions, before you clear your throat in the doorway.

max jumps, “shit!” and charles flinches, “oh, what the fuck!”

your giggles reverberate through the air, and the two men can only laugh along with you. “oh? so you find scaring us funny, schat?” max teases gently. you pad over to him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him in for a tight hug, nodding softly into his neck as you breathe him in. charles huffs after he’s deemed that you spent too much time loving on max before he pulls you into his own grasp, one arm braced tightly around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head resting in his chest. “she’s absolutely frightening, max, can’t you tell?” he teases back, defending you jokingly. 

max hums, “definitely. where were you hiding, baby?”

you freeze for second as you pull away from charles’ grasp, before stuttering your way through an explanation, “u-uh oh, i was-um, i was just in the laundry room! i was just putting a few things i had accidentally spilled uh- spilled juice on-yes juice of course, in the uh-washing machine, yes,” you nod firmly, to fully convince them.

the monegasques raises an eyebrow at you and dragged out an, “…….okay, i guess?” max follows up with a sarcastic, “yeah….we definitely believe you!”

you narrow your eyes at him, “are you calling me a liar, max? because, why would i lie about—“

charles cuts you off, turning your head back towards him as he squints at your face. he runs his thumb underneath one of your eyes, and speaks softly, “were you crying, mon ange? your eyes are red and swollen.”

you shake your head rapidly to attempt to dismiss his worry but it’s already too late. max practically teleports to your side and scans your face and with a gasp he reveals, “yes, you did cry. i can still see the tears stained on your cheeks.”

you shift uncomfortably, “yes, okay! i did cry! but it was nothing serious,” you pause and mumble the last part of your sentence, “i was just overreacting anyways, it doesn’t matter.”

max smacks his teeth at you disapprovingly, “hey, don’t be mean to yourself, schatje. anything that causes you to cry does matter. tell us, and we can try and make it better for you.” the two boys wear you down with earnest eyes; the monegasque brushes his lips against your hand comfortingly and the dutchman tucks your hair behind your ears soothingly. they wait patiently and don’t attempt to push you any further, but there’s an unspoken understanding between the two of them; they won’t let this go until you explicitly ask them two. and suddenly, your resistance falls and words start rushing out of your mouth.

“im so tired, okay? i’ve been trying for ages, ages, and i can’t get there! everytime i try, i-i-it’s like i’m right there–right there! and then it never comes! it’s torture. the harder i try to reach for it, the more it slips away, and then it doesn’t even feel good anymore! i thought this was supposed to feel good–and now what’s the point?! i don’t even wanna try again if i’m just going to be–”

“woah, woah, woah.” max cuts you off, “what are we talking about exactly, schatje? have you not been getting enough sleep or something? because we can try and–" you interrupt, “NO! i haven’t came in a MONTH! are you even listening to me?!”

charles chokes on his own breath and max damn near faints. most importantly, they’re shaken at your bluntness around the topic; every time they try to ask if you’ve been finding…relief–for lack of a better word, you tend to snap shut if they use any ‘explicit’ words with you– you tell them not to worry about it. so, to hear you say it plainly reveals how much distress this has been causing you. secondly, the thought that you’ve been desperately trying to get off for a month on your own, is a paralyzing thought. they nearly convinced themselves that you had no idea about anything sexual due to your refusal to answer any of their questions—which there would be nothing wrong with, they’d be happy to teach you how to please them and them alone. it’s a seductive thought, the fact that you’re untouched, that no man has had the opportunity to taint you and ruin your perspective on how you should receive and give pleasure. they’ve been praying for the day you’d be ready to let them teach you how to be good for them. maybe that makes them monsters, for taking advantage of your naivety and innocence, and molding you into their perfect girl, but they stopped feeling guilty for desiring this long ago. 

you seem to have missed the fact that you sent their minds reeling and continue venting, “i don’t know what to do, maxy!  i’ve been doing the same thing, and it’s NEVER failed me before. it’s cruel that it stopped working when you guys left me for more than a month! no matter how i did it–if i did the exact same things i’ve always been doing, or tried something new, nothing worked! i was literally just considering buying a fucking vibrator! a vibrator, charles, i’d rather run naked in the street than buy that online and have to put in this delivery address–”

charles gently presses finger against your mouth, shushing you. he pulls you into a deep hug, rubbing a hand up and down the length of your back , the motion pacifying you. he hums, and it vibrates through his chest to yours, “mmm, we’re home now, mon ange. there’s no need to run in the streets naked–” “definitely not,” max jumps in, reacting possessively at the implication of other people seeing you undressed. charles rolls his eyes and continues (like he’s not just as jealous as max), “or buy a vibrator. i know it must be so frustrating, to not cum,” you gasp softly, “especially when you’ve been edging yourself accidentally for so long, hm?”

a questioning sound slips from your lips, “hm? what’s edging? i just haven’t,” your voice drops to a whisper, “cum.” max thinks that he’s seriously fucked-up in the head, because he watches how you bury your face into charles’s chest after your whispered word, refusing to make eye contact with them out of embarrassment; and relishes at the fact that you absolutely have no idea about what exactly you’ve been doing to yourself. he’s going to enjoy ruining teaching you everything he knows.

“edging is repeated instances of sexual stimulation and stopping before your orgasm. it’s called that because you are kept ‘on the edge.’ you can do it to yourself or with others,” max states in an unfazed manner. he sees you start to relax, knowing that you find comfort in his matter-of-fact tone. 

a pout lowers your lips, “who would enjoy that? it feels terrible.”

max breaks out in a grin, slipping an arm around charles and squeezing at his tapered waist, “you know somebody who enjoys it very much, liefje,” charles blushes at the sudden call out, and watches the way your eyes widen in shock. max continues, “anyways, you may find that you enjoy it when it’s done properly—with people who are experienced enough to make sure you’re feeling good and keep you feeling good… and show you how to have a proper orgasm, hm?” max segways into the important topic, not allowing you to deflect any longer.

charles stops your attempt at hiding in his broad shoulder this time around, and firmly holds your face to keep you facing max. the dutch give charles a nod of appreciation and watches how he shifts on his feet at the acknowledgement; he might have to take care of him after he’s done with you, too. max allows your eyes to avoid meeting his, letting them roam his face as you battle your own insecurity.

“liefje,” max deepens his tone, knowing how you melt at any pitch similar to his morning voice, “there is no need to be embarrassed about your virginity and innocence. you had your boundaries set, and never bent or broke them to make someone happy at the cost of your comfort. no matter how much pressure someone applied to you, you refused to let them have you in one of the most vulnerable positions you could ever be in because you felt unsure or plainly uncomfortable with them. that is something you should take pride in and no one should make a joke out of your virginity for that instance. tonight, you can still make that decision if you are not completely sure on allowing charles and i the privilege of teaching you how to feel satisfied. we will continue to wait for you; you have the power here, not charles or i. do what is best for you at this moment, and if that changes, tell us so, and we will continue or stop at your will.”

the room is silent as the three of you digest max’s spiel. charles and max seem to be completely nonchalant about the matter, but they are trying to hide how anxious they are about your possible refusal, for your sake. of course they are hoping that you’ll accept their helping hands, or lips, or tongues, or coc—but, that’s not their main intention tonight. the goal is for them to start building a deeper level of understanding and trust with you, to where you allow yourself to be in your most vulnerable state with them. and that will take time; they’re not expecting you to completely reveal your innermost workings to them instantaneously. however, they most definitely want to show you how good they can make you feel and how good you can make them feel. and once you internalize that, then they can start working on showing you the wonders of sex—or plainly put, they can start tainting you.

you nod. charles eyes brighten and his cheeks dimple with the appearance of a wild smile. he leans in to kiss you in thanks, but max halts him with one finger to the forehead and a quick ‘aht aht,’ “that won’t do, liefje, i need verbal confirmation—words, please.”

“y-you can…you can help s-show and teach me how to…how to feel good. i am ready to have…,” your voice thins out, and suddenly you shake your head, eyes meeting max’s straight on in an unusual act of confidence, clearing your throat, “i am ready for us to have—i’m ready for you to fuck me.”

max wasn’t exactly ready for that wording and faltered, a little shook. charles on the other hand has to struggle to refrain from laughter. at the mixed reaction, your bravado slips away, and you add, “please?” charles loses the laugh automatically; your timid but desperate widened brown doe eyes stare up at the two of them, flickering between them anxiously, plump lips parted with your tongue flicking out—he has a few ideas of something he can offer to keep that mouth of yours busy.

max rumbles in satisfaction, “see, that wasn’t so hard, was it pretty girl? we’ll work on that confidence of yours for sure—but, i have a few rules for you first before we get started. charles, why don’t you tell our girl the first two?”

“number one, always answer our questions with words; if you don’t, we’ll stop and wait for you to respond. two, if you feel uncomfortable at any point, tell us, and we’ll stop what we’re doing and make it better for you or stop completely if necessary,” charles answers assuredly.

you nod, and max raises an eyebrow at you, “i mean, yes!”

max praises you, “you’re already doing so good for us,” he watches your breath catch at the sentence and figures he may have another praise kink on his hands, “you wanna be a good girl and tell me what you were really doing before we came home?” your cheeks burn and your previous embarrassment returns full force, but you fight through it, not wanting to break the rules right off the bat.

“well, you remember how i said my usual method wasn’t working anymore? i wasn’t lying about that. i only g-get off when you guys leave, andidoitbygrindingonapillow—and i have to put down a towel before becauseimakeamess. so! i really was doing laundry, i just didn’t spill juice on it…i kinda, spilled on it.”

charles’ hands fall away from you in shock, and max really doesn’t know if he can handle another revelation like this from you without actually passing out. you continue to over-explain, “and i i-i didn’t even get to, y’ know (oh my god, she soaked the pillow without even cumming, max!), and i got that wet anyway…and i can’t really control it, but if you guys don’t like it i can try and—“

“NO!” “PLEASE DON’T!”

you flinch away, and they apologize heavily for their overreaction.

“please, don’t, mon ange. i can tell you that max and i aren’t ever going to hate what’s between your legs, or what comes from there,” charles suggests with a smirk, before his face shifts to a more blank state “wait. did…did you have a chance to change?” you hum a little “mm-mm” glancing down at yourself still clad in max’s sweater and cotton panties, “uhm. no, i was a little more concerned with cleaning up the bed before you guys saw it so—sorry, i’m not a little more presentable—“

“are you wearing the same panties, mon ange?”

you freeze, brain lagging at what the monegasque had noticed. “mhm, yeah,” you whisper softly, playing with the hem of the sweater self-soothingly.

“can i,” charles takes a deep breath, “can i touch you, mon coeur?”

you squeak, “yes please, charlie.”

max watches as charles places his massive hand on one of your thighs, spanning the front with no struggle, and gently caresses his hand up, slowly making his way up your thigh. charles taps two fingers gently against you, and you spread your legs a smidge wider, and the sound of your thighs peeling off one another from the stickiness you leaked, reverberates around the room. max can’t help but let a moan slip out. charles slides his hand in between your legs, both of your own hands fisting at the hem of your borrowed sweatshirt, and you gasp at the lightest touch of charles pointer and middle finger against your soaked panties. max sees charles pupils blow wide and mouth drop open in awe—and he can’t wait anymore.

max presses his front to your back, sandwiching you in between them once again, and impatiently asks, “schatje, can i?” you let out a breathy ‘yeah,’ and max doesn’t hesitate to bully his hand in between your legs as well. he cops a more generous feel of your cunt, and groans at the state of ruin your panties are in.

“liefje,” max starts, “walk with me to the bed, please.” max pulls away, and unfastens one of your hands from the sweater to guide you. you turn around stumbling through your first few steps—charles sets you upright more prepared for your legs becoming jello than you are, and helps you over to the bed, one hand firmly set on the small of your back. max sits on the edge of the bed, man spreading comfortably, and watches how your eyes automatically fall to stare at his thighs with a smirk. he glances at charles behind you, who mouths ‘can’t blame her’ with a smirk of his own. the dutch pats his lap, “c’mere and give me a kiss, pretty girl.”

you rush to sit in his lap, slowing at the last minute, not wanting to sit your full weight on him. he huffs, and grabs at your hips situating you firmly on his lap, before leaning in and kissing you stupid. your gasp of shock transforms into a hum of pleasure, letting max have complete control of the kiss. his hand comes up to rest on the back of your head and moves you exactly where he wants, sucking on your bottom lip before slipping his tongue against yours. max kisses like he’s going to run out of time, he ravishes you completely. you squirm against him, pulling away to pant against his cheek needing air. max chuckles, and you only get to whine at his teasing for half a second before charles, who’s now sitting next to max, pulls you into another kiss. charles, on the other hand, kisses like he has all the time in the world, he draws it out. he keeps the kisses slow and closed in the beginning, pausing to pull away and thumb at your lips, relishing at how they’ve already swelled from max’s abuse, the surrounding skin already beginning to turn raw and sensitive from their friction of their facial hair. he continues kissing you, all tongue and sloppy not caring about about the way your hands come up to grasp at his chest in desperation, before switching to absolutely bruise your lips by nipping and tugging at them. 

your hips jump forward against max’s, and he can’t stop the groan that tumbles out. you jolt away from charles’ assault and stare at max with an embarrassed expression, “s-sorry—“ max narrows his eyes and dismisses your apology, “don’t apologize for that. you feel good, you’re allowed to show that unless i tell you differently.” 

“yes, max,” you answer, even though he didn’t ask a question.

“oh, you’re such a good girl for us, liefje,” he tests. and his instincts didn’t fail him. your hips twitch against his again, and a near inaudible moan slips from your lips.

he turns towards charles, “yeah, that works doesn’t it, cha?” charles nods, eyes still stuck on your lips. max smirks at charles being completely entranced, before turning back to you and clocks the glaze beginning to form over your eyes, “alright now, liefje, i need you to pay attention to me really quickly, hm?”

you hum, bobbing your head a few times, before you manage to get out a “yes, max.”

he holds your head steady with his thumb and pointer finger gripping your chin, “i’m not going anywhere, baby, take your time and focus.” it only takes you half a minute to truly focus in after your heart stops racing to give him another verbal confirmation before he continues. “tonight, neither one of us is going to make love to you—“ your shoulders drop and a frown is quick to spread across your mouth. you really only prepared for the situation that you’d tell them you were ready, and then you’d get railed into next sunday. you start to panic; maybe you came off too depraved, and he’s letting you down slowly—

“hey, hey, hey. no overthinking yet, let him finish, mon ange,” charles calls out to you worriedly, he’s experienced the same thought process you're going through before and would rather try and prevent the self-doubt from overtaking you.

max pets at your waist over the sweater and continues, “not tonight. we’ve just gotten off a flight, and had three back to back races. it’s late, and i’m sure all three of us are tired. we should initiate something like that with a clearer mind,” you feel a little selfish now, his points very valid, “but, i still want to give you an orgasm, okay? sure, you may not be able to get off by grinding on a pillow anymore. you’ve probably just acclimated to it and need to give it a break. so, to compromise: you’ll get off by riding my thigh.”

charles and max wait for your reaction. your frown lightens into a pout, but you’re disappointment doesn’t completely fade away. “how is that any different from riding the pillow? it’s the same thing.” charles laughs shakily, “oh, mon ange. you have no idea. listen to max and give it a try before you take it off the table completely.”

you shrug, and agree, “fine. how do i….uh how do i do the thigh riding, i guess?”

charles turns to look at max, wordlessly asking for permission, and max grants it with a wave of his hand. charles scoots up closer, and shifts your straddle from max’s whole lap to his right thigh. as soon as your pantie-covered cunt firmly presses on the muscle of max’s jean-clad thigh, a soft ‘oh’ croaks out of you. max flexes and relaxes his thigh once and your hips jump up and away from him. max and charles glance at each other; you’re ridiculously sensitive, they’ll have to see if that’s your natural state or if it’s just the result of your prolonged edging and the fact that you were grinding against a pillow not too long ago. charles squeezes your hips, bringing your attention to him, “i’m going to start guiding you now, you ready, mon coeur?”

“mmm, yeah—that felt really good, i want more,” you speak timidly.

“good,” charles states, and then he pulls your hips forward dragging you against max’s thigh, and a flash of heat zings up your spine. you moan, a small, breathy exhale, and charles keeps it slow at first, not pushing you down to roughly or making the motions too quick—he wants you to learn to love the friction again. barely a minute passes before your hips start fighting charles’ guided rhythm, and a frustrated groan slips out of you, not able to fight your boyfriends grip. max clocks back in from where he was watching the pleasure start to flicker on your face and asks, “what are you supposed to do, baby?”

“more-ah, please, charlie,” you moan shakily. charles smirks, “look at you, still using your manners like a good girl—“ a louder moan echoes, “okay, okay, mon coeur. i’ll get you there, i’ll get you to cum like you need, okay? i’ll make you forget all about your manners too, hmm?”

you stopped listening to anything after charles reassured you that he’s going to get you to cum, you believe him. he adjusts his grip on your hips and starts incrementally increasing the pace and pressure for you. your moans start to become more frequent, and increasing in pitch rapidly, the drivers can tell you’re hurtling towards your long-awaited orgasm, sooner than they thought. charles slowly releases his grip on your waist letting your hips take over once he’s sure you’ve gotten the hang of it. you throw your head back in pleasure, your hips have a steady grind and…and you’re feeling good. a suprised laugh slips out of your lips at that and shifts into a sharp moan when max starts flexing his thigh rhythmically giving you a little more texture to work with. max lets his heavy hands fill in for where charles’ and presses you down into deeper slower strokes. 

you cry out, it’s a little too much for you, but it feels so good, that you bear with it, they know what’s best for you, anyways. max grins down at you smugly, and you start to tear up a little; he can still feel your hips twitching away from the pressure sometimes. not wanting to push you too far with that motion alone, he lightens up on the pressure but starts bouncing his thigh. the shriek you release surprises all three of you, but you don’t run from it, if anything you lean into it more. one of your hands fists into charles’ shirt for support, and the other falls to max’s, tugging it off your left hip so you can hold it tight. max’s grin softens into a small smile and he kisses your joined hands, and charles leans into press kisses on your neck, praise slipping out of their lips freely.

“doing so good for us, pretty girl.”

“yeah, baby, that’s it. take what you need.”

“don’t be shy, let those sweet moans out for us.”

“just like that, oh! look at that, you’ve leaked all over his thigh,” charles points out. max looks down and registers that his pant leg is sticking down to his thigh and the denim has darkened with the amount of wetness. “oh, yeah. look at that, baby,” max pats on the side of your face, and you can’t even recall when you screwed your eyes shut, but you look down, and a mortified squeal leaves you. not much longer and you’ll have drowned his thigh. the dutchman sucks his teeth at you, “don’t be embarrassed, liefje. i can’t wait until i can taste it straight from the source,” he moves his other hand underneath the sweatshirt, and slips two fingers between your inner thigh while gathering your wetness. he sucks on one finger moaning explicitly at your taste, before offering both fingers to charles to clean off. the monegasque flicks his tongue out teasingly tasting them first, before he makes a quick motion of sucking them in and fully running his tongue in every crevice to get every last drop of your taste. 

you moans start to become pitchy little ah-ah-ah’s, and you frantically start rabbiting your hips. you’re so close. max squeezes you hand, and starts up the praise again.

“i wasn’t joking, schatje. when i finally get my mouth on your pretty little cunt, you won’t be able to pull me off of you until i force at least three orgasms out of you.”

charles pulls off of max’s fingers and adds, “i need to give her three or four from my mouth too. i don’t think she’ll be able to handle that many.”

“yes, she can. she’s such a good girl for us, she’d let us keep going until we tell her when she’s done.”

“mmm, yeah—she’s right there, look at that cute little face she’s making.”

“her pretty little o-mouth, we should fill that up for her too.”

“thinkin i’ll fill that sweet little cunt of hers first with my dick—“

what escapes your mouth is definitely a scream, and max can’t bring himself to muffle it even though it’s the middle of the night. he pays a hefty sum of money for this penthouse, they can deal with hearing how charles and him make you scream with pleasure. your orgasm completely whites-out all of your senses; ears ringing, eyes rolled back, skin feeling raw and thighs shaking. max and charles work your hips back and forth a few more times, helping you with the aftershocks until you squirm out of their hands. you fall forward into max’s chest, body trembling, and tears streaming down your face.

max cradles you close and scratches at your head, calling your name a few times to get a gauge of how out of it you are. with no verbal response, he sends charles to get water and a towel to clean you up. max softly murmurs praises at you constantly, and charles joins in with the affirmations when he returns. the both clean you up when you’re still floating; they put you in an oversized tee, not bothering with undergarments, wiping all wetness and cream away from between your legs trying to avoid looking at your cunt directly, they even manage to get your bonnet on for you, and even have time to change the duvet before you start becoming aware again.

you turn and automatically move to snuggle into the crook of max’s neck, but he gently presses a straw to your mouth so you can hydrate after the amount of fluids you seem to have lost. your eyes open, and you croak out a disapproving hum at not being able to go to sleep, and max shakes his head at you, “drink, schat. non-negotiable, pretty girl.” after slowly draining ¾ of the bottle, you pull away and with a shattered voice, start mumbling, “thank you, thank you, thank you—“

and charles leans over to cut you off with a soft press of lips, “no, thank you for letting us give you that, mon coeur.” you hum, whispering out, “i love you, charlie. i love you, maxy.” 

they both respond with resounding ‘i-love-you’s back, and start soft conversation just checking up on you before they let you fall asleep. 

“i’ve never felt this good before from an orgasm,” you start, “i wanna—i wanna keep being good for you guys. i wanna learn how to feel good like this again, and i want you both to show me how because i trust you. please?”. charles and max both murmur affirmatives to you, and you continue speaking softly, “you guys can take showers now, i’ll probably be asleep before you come back.” after making sure you’re truly comfortable, max and charles head to the en-suite to take the world’s speediest shower so they can cuddle up with you sooner. 

shutting the door, max and charles stare at each other in completely silence. charles starts, “are we sure that we’re the ones corrupting her and she’s not corrupting us? because, i’ve almost came in my pants three times tonight.”

max stares at charles with unseeing eyes, “i will never forgot the way she soaked my fucking leg, charles…i’m pretty sure i did come in my pants.”

taglist: @lorarri | @soph1644 | @jaydensluv | @fanboyluvr | @nissaimmortal | @redgonerogue | @hollie911 @saintwrld | @buendiabebeta | @butterfly-lover | @lana-d3l-rey | @dylan1721 | @spicybagel14 | @dhhdhsiavdhaj

© httpsserene 2023

[caitlinsclark]

WINNER caitlin clark caitlin clark x reporter!reader | summary: Caitlin has a very apparent soft spot for her favorite reporter. based on this concept! word count: 2.8k masterlist and tag list

You should’ve put two and two together from the beginning, but it was hard to believe that the attention you received from Caitlin was meant to be anything more than friendly. The first time you got a subtle hint that there was more was after her team’s win against New York Liberty. The conference room was buzzing with reporters, a rumble of excited murmuring keeping the area from being quiet.

Caitlin sat in the center of the long table, her face showing pure exhaustion and a part of your heart squeezed in your chest for her. Though a weak smile remained on her face, her eyes contradicted it as they appeared sunken in and her movements seemed sluggish.

A few minutes in, her fist held the weight of her head as she stared blankly at the wild sea of reporters. The list your boss had created for you was held in your grasp, but it descended from its position near your chest as you lost the will to push any invasive questions onto the clearly tired girl.

“Caitlin, how do you feel about the somewhat bitter comments made by other players in regard to your rising success in the WNBA?” A reporter from a few rows over pushed a clear and untrue agenda about an incident that could be boiled down to nothing more than the game.

A sigh left from deep within her chest, one that was clearly building up through the entirety of the previous questions the media had been forcing. As a media trained athlete, the brunette was able to deflect the pushy reporter flawlessly and stoically then proceed to move onto the next without a blink.

When it was finally your turn to take her attention, which you had admittedly been waiting a little too eagerly for, you pretended to glance over the notepad in your hand. Though you had no intention of relaying any of the pushy questions written down. Your boss wouldn’t be too mad if you gave her a break once, right?

“Caitlin, hi,” You grinned and sent her a tiny wave and stated your name, hoping she'd remember you but didn't want to get your hopes high. Caitlin’s head lifted from where it rested against her hand, at a speed that rivaled her enthusiasm on the court earlier. Her eyes scanned your figure from head to toe in a less than conspicuous manor, but you chalked it up to curiosity.

A tiny smile, an improvement from her previous frown nonetheless, appeared on her lips at the mention of your name, “Hi, and I know.” Though it was quiet, you still caught the end and it knocked the wind out of your lungs. The softness in which she greeted you with was enough to make your knees buckle and question your fleeting professionalism.

You couldn't ignore the way the athlete gazed at you, as if you’d already had a hundred conversations before. The familiarity she greeted you with was welcoming and invoked a small warmth to spread within your body. You had to briefly shift on your feet to humble yourself.

Admittedly, Caitlin had your name within her Instagram search history. Twice. Her first time seeing you inside the conference room was enchanting to say the least. The stark contrast from how you posed yourself with a genuine interest to learn about her as opposed to the other story-hungry people around you was enough to pull her in.

You two had a few quick interviews spaced out during her rookie season that you assumed she had forgotten about with how much press she does. But nothing could’ve wiped her mind of the way she got an ego boost when hearing nothing but praise falling from your lips at the mention of her name. She wanted to keep it that way.

The reporters surrounding you followed her line of vision, curiously observing what could have possibly elicited that reaction from the athlete. Despite the switch in the media’s attention, Caitlin’s intense gaze remained on your features with her lips pursing in an anticipation at what you were waiting to ask.

You cleared your throat with your hand in front of your mouth, dragging out the spectacle as Caitlin gazed at you in amusement. Not even the tall microphone in front of her face could hide the upward tilt of her lips as you prepared to ask the question, intending and hoping to give the girl a break.

“My sources tell me you’re pretty decent at basketball,” you started with a quick glance back at your notes once the severity of her unwavering eye contact began to warm your face. She made a so-so gesture in response to you which left the crowd laughing as well.

“Have you ever thought of maybe, possibly making something like a career out of it?”

The laugh that pulled from Caitlin at your unfunny question surprised everyone in the room, including yourself. But you weren’t in a place to ponder it and laughed along, as a(n extremely) pretty girl finding your (un)funny advances hilarious was not something you wasted time questioning.

Caitlin could tell your intentions considering the comparison to the statistical questions you posed just a few days ago and the conference before. Which only made her stomach flip as the recognition of you noticing her well-being now rang in her head.

Her eyebrows raised in a playful expression, as if challenging you, “Are you saying I’m not currently making a career?” It was clear she wasn’t taking offense and seeing the humor, maybe even thankful for the pause in serious commentary. But the arms that crossed over her chest and muscles that began to flex had you needing a pause for some serious commentary.

“No, no, you must be doing pretty good. My cousin looks up to you. Then again, she’s kinda at that state where she still looks up to Princess Ariel for example, are you really okay with being grouped there?” Your tone shifted as if it was a pressing headline and faked a grimace, but only for a second until your nonchalant character somewhat broke.

But she couldn’t didn’t even have it in her heart to hold it against you with the way your face scrunched up, it was cute while it lasted. And maybe it was even more cute after too, she couldn’t help but note.

Caitlin was quick to play off your little act even somewhat defensively, “She was one of my favorites,” Her fingers toyed with the pre-wrap holding back her messy ponytail, lingering near her cheeks that started to tint red. Her smile that was now directed at the table, shyly for a player of her caliber and power, seemed to light up her face in a drastic change from minutes ago.

She sure looked like a winner now, you thought as you scanned her face in detail. The previously sunken in look of her eyes was now distracted by her bright grin, dazzling the entire group. You glance to the media person next to you and think she could pass out just at the dazzling charisma radiating from Caitlin's spot on stage. Caitlin tried to smooth down her hair, as she now somehow felt unkempt in the presence of you.

Though, you knew no better and were quick to counteract as you tapped your lips with your pointer finger thoughtfully, “She’s mine too.” But the way your eyes narrowed right at her had Caitlin’s hopes spiking up that you were referring to more than just the character.

The goofy smile now fully graced her features and you ached to take a hundred pictures of the look on her face in case it disappeared again. Though you feared that still wouldn’t be enough to capture it properly. Maybe you could threaten the reporter next to you for a replay, though.

And as she found herself basking in the small laugh that you attempted to keep down but failed to, she had to shift in her chair and clear her throat to compose herself. The next reporter asked the question, she still felt relief in the comfort of your attention on her. You tried not to read into the way her positive demeanor remained for the rest of the questioning.

Now Caitlin felt like a winner too. But maybe not only from the basketball game.

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

The next conference solidified the lingering suspicions that your mind had sparked about Caitlin’s actions toward you in the previous one. It was following a painfully close loss to the Mystics and it wasn’t hard to see the disappointment littering the entire team.

The brunette’s eyes had immediately scanned the front row of hungry press, though the one she was looking for didn’t seem to turn up.

A multitude of questions rumbled out by the media, which were all being fielded directly to Caitlin, had her frustration levels growing and growing. Her forehead rested on her fist, face turned down at the table as if even looking at the cameras was painful.

“Caitlin,” Another reporter prepared to ask her a question except she couldn’t help but interrupt the continuous stream only targeted at her.

The athlete waved her hand dismissively and gestured to her teammate on the left, “No, I’m good. Ask Aliyah a question.” The reporter attempted to repeat her name but Caitlin shut her mouth and leaned back in her chair.

Her frustration toward the media extended to a lack of respect to not only her, but her teammates as well.

In midst of the loss, she didn’t see you push your way to the front. Maybe it was a little too eager, but how could you not continue the tradition of relieving your favorite team from the vultures known as your fellow reporters? At least that’s what you were gonna keep telling yourself as you purposely straightened your shirt before Caitlin could see you.

Taking your opportunity to change the narrative, “You both had a really strong fight out there today, what did you feel like your best asset was that you’ll take into next game?” Though you tried to target your question toward Aliyah so the pretty (tired) girl beside her caught a, much needed, break.

To your own shock, Caitlin’s head turned at the sound of your voice and her chin settled comfortably on her palms in your direction. A small sigh escaped her lips, heard by her fellow player who immediately caught on to what had her friend reverting to a behavior like one of a lovestruck little girl.

Though you tried your best to give your full attention to Aliyah as she started her answer, it was a battle that people much stronger than you would’ve lost. Your eyes drifted over to the brunette donning a 22 jersey once, only to snap back to her teammate once you caught Caitlin still looking at you. If there was a subtle way to fan yourself, you would’ve started already.

You gave Aliyah your full attention until she finished up her answer, expecting that to be the end of it, “The team dynamics are just getting more and more solid as we go on.”

Despite her previous dismissal, Caitlin jumped at the chance to also answer the question once she was sure her teammate was finished.

“Me personally,” She paused to point at herself, drawing out her answer as long as possible and a smirk lit up her face when directing her answer at you, “I feel like we have been melding as a team. The dynamics are only getting more and more improved from here.” Her hands returned to hold up her chin as she looked at you in awe, forgetting about all the cameras capturing her reaction.

Aliyah’s face scrunched up in protest, “I literally just said that?” The conference room broke out in laughter but Caitlin continued, this time with a sheepish smile that was on full display as her focus finally shifted.

“So yeah, team work helped us...”

She failed to see the sheepish smile you hid behind the notepad in your hands as you took in her body language and ignorance to the room around you. The forwardness of her undivided attention was not something that many were as fortunate to have.

“Chill with the heart eyes, yikes,” Aliyah muttered to her teammate, pushing her elbow off the edge of the table to cut her rambling answer off. Caitlin stumbled and almost hit the table, trying to play it off with a laugh but still kicked Aliyah in retaliation under the table. She knew who Caitlin was trying to impress.

When press was over and the media began to clear out, Aliyah made a conscious decision that she couldn’t bear to go through another press conference with a love sick, yet single Caitlin.

“Sorry CC, but like you said, not me, team work is gonna help us here. Same way it helped in the game,” Aliyah put her hands on Caitlin’s shoulders, dusting off her jersey, “I’m gonna throw you to the wolves and you’re gonna do the rest. That’s team work!” Her teammate turned her figure around and gave her back a shove before any response formed in Caitlin’s head.

The brunette caught herself before she could stumble too bad. The room had cleared out by now as officials ushered everyone out but it seemed like time was on her side. Or maybe you had purposefully pretended to retie your shoe to get the workers to give you a few seconds, the world may never know.

But your perfume seemed to get stuck within her senses and jam every coherent thought trying to get past her mind block, which was simply made up of you. She was met with a dazzling smile on your features, one that she couldn't believe was all for her.

“A basketball player without good balance? Was I right when I said you were only pretty decent?” Your lips formed an ‘o’ as you let out a mocking gasp, and though Caitlin was already steady on her feet you still put your hands on her arms, “Do you need an escort so you don’t risk an ankle?”

Caitlin’s head was going haywire at the, unnecessary but very much welcome, contact you were offering and tried not to move too much. You got a small smile out of her but were determined to do more.

“I’d be happy to be said escort,” You throw out, quite boldly but not close to the level of boldness she was reaching during the past conferences. You play it off, but you swear she begins to flex under your light grip on her arms, “You know, just for your own safety, of course.”

She nodded slowly, her playfully narrowed eyes seeing through your act, “I guess I don't mind being a flight risk if that's the precautions we have to take."

The hold you had on her arms slid slowly down the skin of her arms, igniting bursts of warmth in your wake, all the way down to her hands that you now grasped. She was quick to slot her fingers between yours, adding a level of intimacy to the moment that made your heart skip a beat.

“Can’t have Indiana’s big winner tripping just like that into the wrong girl next time,” you stole one of your hands back to adjust the pre-wrap that was slightly askew. Caitlin held her breath as you got so close, internally scoffing at the insinuation of falling for anyone else.

Her shoulders shrugged, a sluggish posture taking over once the recent loss came back to mind, “I wasn’t much of a winner tonight.” Her hands squeezed yours as if it was a natural reflex, a certain air of familiarity that had been going unsaid for quite a while now.

“You don’t think,” you paused with hesitation but continued with a small glance at Caitlin’s lips with a confidence that only her touch was fueling, “there’s anything else you can win tonight?”

And though you hadn’t been certain before, nothing could hide the way she glanced at yours in return, “I can think of a few things.” The softness of her voice had a hesitance, a fear of breaking the moment you two had been building to for months now.

You gently slid your free hand up to her cheek, with no further guidance as she practically pounced on you. Her lips moved harmoniously with yours as her free hand applied pressure against the arch of your back so the only thing you could feel was her.

Another win for her, just not in basketball.

[ateliersss]

Part 4 - He Shall Prevail

Pairing: Yautja x Fem!Reader Summary: In your past life on earth, when someone would ask you how you managed your job as a nurse with the occasional death of a mother during birth, you told them that you never took it too personal because you would never find yourself in their position. Then why were you now so adamant on giving your life for your pup? Cross-posted on AO3: here Warnings: English isn't my first language Word Count: 5,497 Part 1: here Part 2: here Part 3: here Masterlist

⇨ Hey, guys! I‘m back to writing. 6 months and 16 exams later, I finally found time to continue my now called “Blooming Family” series. You have no idea how much I missed it.

⇨ Though I have to say, this will probably be the end of this series. Probably. I got rid of every idea about our little family in those four parts and I don’t believe I can offer much more dramatic and exciting plot.

⇨ BUT! I already announced a Prequel on how Mi'ytiar and the Reader meet. I’m still working on it and the process is going smoothly for now. This means, this is definitely not the end of our story, so stay tuned!

⇨ Want to join the tag list?

 

The metallic smell of human blood that usually made him wallow in delight, now made him feel sick. The feeling of human blood on his skin which usually sent a rush of excitement down his spine, now made him want to cut off any part of his body that made contact with it. The sight of him tearing a human apart — hurting it, killing it — that usually sated his predatory nature, now made him want to gouge his eyes out.

Blood flowed as he cut you, his beloved one, open under Cahrein’s watchful eyes. The red fluid coated first his claws and fingertips, then his fingers completely, and before he knew it his whole hand when he started to reach into you.

Your small, beautiful body, which he had worshipped more times than he could count, had long grown numb, unmoving, lifeless. Your big, gorgeous eyes that had held so much love for him were closed, sparing him to witness the moment should the spark within them extinguish.

He wouldn’t let that happen, he was sure of it. He just needed time to close the long, precise cut and get the blood that was stashed somewhere here on the ship. He knew how to stitch you together, God knows how many times he had to do it when you were on your hunting trips together, though it was never this kind of wound.

But Mi'ytiar, your oh so loving and attentive mate, had done something quite unusual for his species.

With no profound knowledge of births, let alone human births, he witnessed the act of giving life for the very first time when you had been pregnant with Akail. Even without any previous experience, he just knew that Yautja births were quite different from human ones. Their Females wouldn’t have suffered that much from pain during labor and because of that, his already devoting stance towards you seemed to reach new heights when you fought like a warrior on your very own battlefield. He was impressed just as he was scared.

So, when Cahrein had confirmed your suspicions on being pregnant again, Mi'ytiar did what every father on earth would and should do when a baby was on its way: he prepared himself. Mostly Cahrein showed and taught him the necessities who had studied the human anatomy when you arrived on Yautja Prime for the first time — leader's orders. And because there had never been a human in their clan or anywhere near it, he had to travel some time to the nearest one whose location he knew.

That’s how Cahrein learned and that’s how he was able to brief his clan leader.

You didn’t know, but if you did, you once again would not fathom how lucky you were, because how many Yautja out there with a human by their side for whatever purpose would put that much effort into them? Would any of them sit down and listen to their healer drone about the function of the ovaries? Would any of them waste their time, instead of just finding a replacement? Would they be here when the chance of saving you was like catching mist with bare hands?

Mi'ytiar did, a leader nonetheless.

And when he felt it wasn’t enough, he did his very own research on earth. Stalking through hospitals, invisible of course, thanks to the Cloak camouflaging his massive form and hiding him from the human eye, he was taking everything in. He observed the humans dressed in white and dark blue clothes scurry around before he decided to follow one around.

At nighttime, it was much easier when the staff thinned out. This way he had a better chance to explore the hospital and find his way to the infant ward, discovering it by chance. Fourteen see-through cribs were standing in two rows inside the ward. Fourteen tiny human babies were lying inside, sound asleep.

So that’s what they looked like.

For a moment he thought about being human himself. Not for his own appearance, but for the possibility of having a pup who looked more like you, his love. You were such a beautiful creature, but sadly your genes were practically drowned out by his.

At daytime, he was lucky to watch five women deliver their babies. Four of them did it the natural way while the fifth woman decided willing to do a c-section. Obviously unaware of what would happen in a few years, he gained very useful knowledge that day.

That’s how Mi'ytiar learned and that’s how he located the pup in your womb so fast and pulled it out.

He tried not to let himself get lost in the sight of the newborn, squirming and screeching. As much as he wanted to admire the little boy, another paragon created by you, there was a more pressing matter at hand.

He gingerly placed the flailing pup down on the cold glass surface of the table and against your body, snuggled between your motionless arm and your side. With the greatest care, he angled his son’s head to rest against your shoulder and moved your arm so it would keep him in place.

Mi'ytiar wasted no time in turning the Medicomp upside down and finding the needed surgical tools much faster that way. Thankfully he hadn’t discovered anything wrong once the pup was free, no suspicious rupture or tear that needed stitching. He was deaf to Cahrein’s words as he fixed the cut with wound clamps and started to mix a gel that was able to close a wound of any kind, size or depth.

When he was sure the gel was painstakingly spread on the already healing cut, he grabbed the syringe with the purple-ish fluid and inserted its needle in the crook of your unoccupied arm. There was a 50-50 chance that it would work on you. Sxánxik would close all internal damage and increase blood cell production in case of severe blood loss, though he didn’t know if it would work on human blood. But there was still a chance since your DNA had evolved through years of infusions of Yautja blood.

“You should get her blood.” Cahrein’s voice finally found its way into his consciousness.

“Can’t leave.” Mi'ytiar growled, his eyes focused on the shallow movement of your chest, scared it would stop the second they would stray from you.

“You need to. There is no guarantee sxánxik works.” Cahrein pressed, growing restless at his leader’s tunnel vision.

He knew he didn't know what was going through Mi'ytiar’s mind, and if he said he knew how he was feeling at that moment, he would be lying. It was obvious to anyone that ever laid eyes on the Life-mated pair that there was a unique and special bond between the two. Yautja were caring despite common belief, but even the most affectionate and compassionate of their species would never come close to the emotions your human heart held for your Yautja. Adding the influence you had on Mi'ytiar, it seemed to be fated.

Soulmates, Cahrein believed you had called the both of you when you told him about certain fairytales your mother had read to you when you were a child. Though you had said it in a joking way, telling him it was something hopeless romantics believed in, he could see it in your eyes that there was some kind of hope there.

“Sometimes two people are destined for each other.”

Your human nonsense would always make him scoff in amusement, until there was living and breathing proof of you being meant for his leader. Two proofs now, to be exact. When you were able to give Mi'ytiar his long-denied offspring where their Females had failed, Cahrein started to be less derogatory about superstitions on earth.

“Fine.” Mi'ytiar snarled, hitting the glass surface of the holo-map table on each side of your thighs with closed fists, only hearing a splintering sound as he pushed himself away.

When he returned, the overwhelming sight of your body made him freeze in the doorway when the automatic doors opened. He tried to not tighten his grip around the blood bag in his hand, tried not to let his claws pierce holes into it and spill the red liquid.

You were lying there, paler than you had been moments ago. Where he had positioned your arm so your pup was safely tucked at your side, the other one was lying along the length of your body. Just as your spread legs were dangling down the table, your hand was loosely hanging down where it had previously been grasping the edge in pain.

“Mi'ytiar.”

Cahrein’s voice was once again pulling him out of his own head before he could drown in dark thoughts.

“I prepare your home for your return.” The healer told him when Mi'ytiar covered your naked lower body with one of your blankets that you always kept on the ship.

When Cahrein received no response from his leader, who was too busy getting the blood into your veins before filling syringes with his own to inject it into you, he made the usual farewell gesture and his holo-image dissolved.

As soon as Mi'ytiar could assess you as stable, he took his newborn — he was so tiny, Mi'ytiar was able to hold him with one hand as he fit so easily in his entire palm — and placed him in the crook of his arm, the upper body of his son pressed against his bicep. The typical instinct of a Yautja pup to hold on made his son immediately cling to him.

With a heavy heart at leaving you alone once again, he went through the ship to take the pup to its sleeping place in the sleeping quarters. Digging out more of the cushions and covers you had stashed away, he created a makeshift crib so his son wouldn’t move in a fatal position or roll out of the pod by accident. When he was sure he could leave him alone for a moment, he put the pup down and returned to you.

You were still in the same unconscious state he had left you. With a pained, sorrowful purr he lifted you up and into his arms, the almost empty blood bag held up by his hand. The sight of you like this was hurting him more than any wound he ever got from an enemy.

Back in the sleeping quarters, Mi'ytiar put you down in the pod where the two of you would usually rest. And where the little one was probably conceived, he thought with his eyes looking over at the pup.

Since the ship was not equipped with the necessary medical supplies and equipment, he had to make do with what was available to him. All he could do now was let you sleep and heal. Should the sxánxik not do its job, his blood would do.

To distract himself — because looking down at the device around his left arm, the journey back home would take another hour — he picked his newborn pup up and started to rock him softly. He remembered your reaction when you had seen him do it for the first time with Akail, scolding him for hurling the pup around. Your words.

Trying to not let his amusement show too much on his face, he had explained to you that Yautja babies, even when they were mere minutes old, were quite sturdy. They could endure more than you would think and you had learned that in the following five years. To put it simple, Akail had been a menace when he wasn’t a complete mama’s boy. He had wanted to explore; first your home, then the clan grounds, and then the whole planet.

Mi'ytiar let out a chuckle-like rumble at the memory of an eager Akail running around, dodging his mother’s arms that tried to keep him inside your home and from running around in the village. He had watched you both with mirth in his eyes, but regretted it the second a grumbling laugh left his mouth. If it had been possible, he would have dropped dead when you glared at him with a very nasty look. Wincing inwardly, he pulled his figurative tail between his legs and came to your aid, grabbing Akail by the nape and lifting him up. Then you had looked at your son with a I’m-very-disappointed-in-you expression on your face and this time it was the pup that winced (Mi'ytiar almost too, if he was being honest).

Like father, like son.

This one will be just as in love with his mother as his father and older brother were, he was sure of it.

Warm, soft and bright.

Those were the things you noticed first even with your eyes closed.

The next thing your brain registered was that you could move every part of your body, although a little sluggish, when you wiggled your toes, and clenched and unclenched your hands. You were relieved that whatever happened to you hadn’t paralyzed you.

Blinking, you opened your eyes and with a blurry vision, the very first thing you saw was a familiar, but somehow unfamiliar metal pole that looked like an IV stand.

But that couldn’t be. You should be the only human thing on Yautja Prime, so why…

“You awake.”

You slowly turned your head in the direction of the voice. You could only make out a dark, tall figure standing in the doorway, though not tall enough to be your mate.

“Cahrein?” You murmured.

“Mhm.”

Said Yaujta entered the room to inspect the stand, tapping the bag with a clear substance inside. He traced the tube attached to it with a sharp claw to the point where it was connected to the needle in your arm. 

“Fascinating I must say.”

“What is this? Why is it here?” You asked and tried to get up, hoping the fatigue would wear off faster in an upright position.

With a deep rumble and a clicking of his mandibles, Cahrein gently pushed you back down. “The great Mi’ytiar always made sure you had everything you need should medical emergency arise.”

“He did?”

Cahrein nodded with his head. “He traveled to ooman world to get whatever you need every time oomans developed their creations.”

You looked at the healer who now inspected the red bag filled with your blood.

When you started to be more involved in the life of the Yautja, the possibility of getting hurt grew. It wasn’t likely as your mate never let you do anything that could cause even a bruise. Well except, of course, mating with him. 

When your already drawn blood expired, you would go to Cahrein so he could take new one for emergencies while you sat in Mi'ytiar’s lap, his purring and his hands caressing you calming you down. Despite being a former nurse you hated needles.

“How...” You coughed, your voice hoarse from not being used. “How long was I… asleep?”

“Six days.”

“That long?” You whispered to yourself in disbelief.

You settled back into the soft cushions of your nest, watching the healer adjust the blood bag as if there was the perfect angle for it to hang. Ever the perfectionist. 

You carefully lifted the arm with the needle inside while you grabbed a black woolen blanket to pull it over your body, somehow feeling cold despite the fire burning. 

Doing so, you dragged your heavy-feeling arm over your stomach.

Your flat stomach.

You jumped up from your lying position, ignoring the stabbing headache. 

Cahrein turned around, only needing to take one big step to be by your side, and was ready to scold you for going against your doctor’s orders, but his words were dying on his tongue when you ripped the piece of clothing you were wearing open. Immediately he averted his eyes and turned his back to you. 

You may be his patient right now, but he had no death wish. Sure, he had seen parts of you in his role as the healer, but only with permission and in attendance of your mate. And said mate definitely didn’t need to be in the room to witness his human being exposed in front of someone who wasn’t him to install that deep-rooting respect (and maybe even slight fear) in Cahrein. 

You were oblivious to the internal battle of Cahrein who was fighting against the urge to make sure you weren’t overexerting yourself and the fact that he couldn’t do so without having to look at you. Instead, you were frantically tracing the faint scar across your stomach with shaky hands.

Baby…

Where was your baby?

Where was it?!

The maternal instincts were almost animalistic as they made you heave, your lungs starting to struggle to take in air.

It had been here, inside your belly, carried under your heart…

Why wasn’t it here?

It should be… it should be…

Cahrein was really tempted to turn around when he listened to your breath getting more and more irritated and uneven. When he heard suspicious rustling, he spun around and grabbed the nearest cover to put it on you — the blanket you had wanted to snuggle into. 

“Calm, (Y/N), calm.” He purred as he pushed you back onto the nest when you tried to crawl out of it. 

“My pup, my pup. Where is my pup?” You squeaked.

You were digging your nails into his skin, scratching it without leaving much damage. You weren't really a challenge to him. You were still weak from the blood loss and the week of bed rest. Had it been a female Yautja, Cahrein would have probably been dead by now. They were just as territorial and protective of their pups as you were right now.

“He is fine. He is with his father.” He soothed you and tried to push you onto your back and into the nest. "I will call for him."

Still shaking, you ceased your resistance a little, allowing Cahrein to let go of you. Despite everything screaming inside of you to fight your way to your pup, your body in its state wouldn't even make it out of the room. So you settled down but kept your nerves on edge.

You were taking deep breaths in and out as you strained every muscle to prop yourself up into a sitting position, your legs tangled and angled to the side.

Tugging on the soft fabric of the blanket draped over you, you looked around the room. It was just like you remembered — all four walls made of smooth obsidian-like stone, the large window from the floor up to the ceiling behind your nest giving you the perfect view of the jungle-like valley beneath you by the cliff where the village was located on, the build-in shelves that mostly displayed your mate's most valued trophies, but also some of your possessions from your old home on earth like your books and your favorite pot plant, the futuristic wardrobe Mi'ytiar had made for you when he kept gifting you fabrics, feathers, fur, leather and such so you could make yourself clothes with the help of the Females.

It was home.

As your eyes swept over the room from left to right, they stopped when they spotted the small, wooden crib next to the nest. It had been Akail‘s when he was a newborn pup. It was lovingly and thoughtfully crafted by Mi’ytiar, while you had carved accents, patterns, and little figures into it.

Sure, Yautja Females had their own, traditional way of taking care of their pups, but you were human and your baby was partly human, so you wanted at least a little human influence in raising it. It‘s the only way you knew and were able to do it. Mi’tyiar let you take the reins since he had no prior knowledge himself. He was a first-time father and would just follow your instructions when you needed assistance. 

That led to you unknowingly breaking a custom. Usually, at this age, the Female was raising the pup alone. The Male was barely involved during that time and would only take over when it was time for the pup to train as a Youngblood. 

Mi’ytiar, on the other hand, the ever-loving father, was there by your side for every of Akail’s wobbly steps, incoherent mumble and mandible click. If he was human, you fondly mused, he would be that kind of a parent who would take photos and videos of even the most random event and unnecessary thing their baby did.

He was such a fierce and strong leader, callous and ruthless when the situation required it, a brutish savage if he was challenged, but when it came to his little family he was so soft and gentle like any human father or husband.

While you were spacing out, resisting the urge to reach over to the crib and check if the bedding was still warm, signs of a little life sleeping in it, you didn’t notice the newcomers in your room.

“Yawne...” A voice sounded far away before you started blinking, refocusing yourself.

Your eyes snapped to the now much larger form standing in the entrance of the room holding a small, wiggling bundle in his arms, cradling it to his chest. His yellow eyes were solely on you, looking at you in disbelief as if he thought they were deceiving him. 

Mi'ytiar pushed the bundle in his arms into those of Cahrein, who you barely registered walking in behind your mate, and made his way over to you in a few quick strides. Your eyes were fixed onto the thing your whole being was screaming for the most, but when Mi'ytiar cupped your cheeks with both of his hands, your whole attention was on him — your mate, the love of your life, your sun and your moon.

“Tahní.” You breathed and put your hands on his, craving his warm skin closer to you.

He moved forward and gently put his forehead to yours, purring loudly into the otherwise silent room. 

“I thought I lose you. I thought you die. Again.” He grumbled, his eyes closed.

You lifted your head and placed a few kisses on the skin of his forehead. 

“I‘m a fighter. I thought you knew that by now.” You chuckled, your voice hoarse.

Mi'ytiar grumbled again, not appreciating you making jokes when you had been on the brink of life and death.

“What happened?” You asked and pulled away to finally look at him. 

Mi'ytiar — and you really had no nicer word to describe it — looked horrible. If Yautja were able to develop bags under their eyes, he definitely would have some. He looked beyond tired. There was a devastated, but also relieved look in his eyes, you had no problem deciphering the reason behind it. 

“I only remember how my water broke… how you carried me back to the ship… and the call with Cahrein.” You mumbled as you tried to recall any memory you had stored in the back of your mind.

It was all blurry and tangled and you had no idea what happened when. The only thing you remembered with conviction was the pain. When the contractions started in that forest, it was far more manageable than the pain at Akail‘s birth. But when the labor was taking longer than it was normal, it got almost unbearable.

“What happened? How did he…” You trailed off as you glanced past Mi'ytiar and to Cahrein who was rocking the whiny bundle in his arm to calm it down.

“Mi'ytiar, please.” You begged as you looked back at him, pleading with your eyes. “Please give him to me. I need to… I need to…”

The distress your body was emitting almost made him shrink away. 

“Cahrein.” Mi'ytiar grunted and reached out.

Cahrein, who was struggling a little with the fussing pup in his care, careful not to accidentally drop it, made his way over to his leader. He would be lying if said he didn’t feel at least some relief when the restless pup left his arms. The last thing he wanted to do was sending you further down a spiral of frantic worry about your baby. He had seen enough Females going rogue for lesser reasons and experience showed to never stand between a mother and their pup. It was the last mistake you would make.

Mi'ytiar purred softly at the bundle before he turned back to you and offered it for you to take it. You eagerly engulfed it in your arms and the second you had a hold on it, the fussing pup settled down.

“Leave.” Mi'ytiar ordered gruffly when you started to push down the only cover your body had, not taking his eyes off his son and his mate.

Cahrein bowed his head and quickly took his leave. He would talk about anything medical and the further necessary bed rest another time.

You didn’t notice him leaving, too busy freeing your newborn son of the baby blanket that was practically drowning him.

You had knitted it when you were six months pregnant with Akail. He had been obsessed with it as long as he was a tiny pup.

Back when you were a nurse, some mothers had excitedly told you about all the preparations they had done before the baby was due. One of them had brought wool, knitting needles, and a half-finished blanket to her appointments. She had explained to you how she learned knitting only for her baby, so she could make all this stuff for it.

It was a sweet memory.

Mi'ytiar, of course, went on a trip back to earth and got you anything and everything you wanted and needed, even more than you originally needed in hopes his offerings would please you. And you hadn’t even needed to use much persuasion. Looking up at him with those big eyes of yours while rubbing the prominent baby bump was enough to prepare a ship and fly to your home planet the next day.

Sweet, sweet memories.

You were humming as Mi'ytiar crawled on the nest behind you, setting the blanket you had shrugged off to the side, and pulled you on his lap. He wrapped his arms around you and watched over your shoulder as you cradled your pup against your bare chest. You sighed in contentment when you could feel your son’s skin against your own, like it’s the final thing you needed to reassure you that you were actually here, that he was real.

Without the baby blanket covering him, you finally got a good look at your son. And god, you didn’t know you could fall in love a third time in your life.

He was perfect.

Unlike his big brother, he was the carbon copy of his father. While Akail did look like his father, having the same color scheme as him, the patterns were of opposite colors. His younger brother, on the other hand, didn’t only have the same color pallet as his father, but the patterns of his skin were colored just the same as Mi'ytiar‘s. Otherwise, he didn’t look much different from Akail when he had been a newborn — the same numbs on his head where his dreads would grow, the same thin and undeveloped mandibles around his mouth, the same arms and legs.

He was about the size of a human baby. It was incredible to think how big in size and height he would grow in the coming years.

You inspected every aspect of his tiny body, your fingers gliding over his torso and limbs, admiring every centimeter of him.

“You were right.” Mi'ytiar suddenly said. “He was in abnormal position. He was stuck.”

You stilled for a moment before you continued to coo at your baby.

“You begged me to get him out and I did. I cut in you and you…” He trailed off and grunted at his wavering voice. “You stopped moving when I pulled pup out. You were gone.”

“No.” You interrupted him and turned your upper body to look at him. “If I was gone, I wouldn’t be here with you. With him.” You moved your arms with your turned torso, so his son was back in his sight. “I wouldn’t be here to tell you how happy I am, to tell you how glad I am that you handled it so well. You saved his life. And mine too.”

You shifted your pup into one arm to reach up and place your hand on his cheek. You didn’t even need to pull him in for him to move closer and put his forehead once again against yours, closing your eyes. Since his anatomy made it impossible to actually kiss him, you decided that forehead-against-forehead was an acceptable compensation. Although it wasn’t anything special, it felt so intimate with him that you didn’t really miss the ability to kiss your partner.

“I’m here. I’m alive. I’m not going anywhere, Mi'ytiar.” You told him softly, rubbing your skin against his like a cat. “Thanks to you I’m able to continue to breathe, to walk and talk. Thanks to you I’m able to continue to love you and live my life with you, my strong and handsome mate, and our pups.”

You had so many other things to say to him, but you started to choke on your words. Tears were dripping down your cheeks.

You opened your eyes when you felt something rough rub the skin under them and saw him wiping away the tears with his thumb. His other hand came up and its thumb did the same with the tears coming from your other eye. Mi'ytiar looked fondly down at you, his head cocked to the side.

“Thank you so much.” You mumbled, your voice a little shaky, and buried your face into his chest.

Mi'ytiar clicked his mandibles softly and carefully pulled you closer, making sure to not crush the pup between your bodies.

“Anything for you.” He purred.

He felt the wetness dripping from your eyes to your cheeks and down on his chest ease after a while. And when you lifted your head to look up at him, you gave him one of those dazzling, soft smiles he loved so much.

Mi'ytiar wanted to reach out again, wanted to pull you closer and snuggle his face into the crook of your neck to smell your sweet, familiar scent he missed so much. But sadly a certain someone demanded your attention more loudly.

The pup in your arms started to fuss again, causing you to use both arms again to hold him tight against you. Shushing him, you nestled him in the crook of your neck and stroked his back.

Mi'ytiar let out a displeased grunt before he could stop himself, glaring at his son being in a place where he wanted to be just a moment ago.

You, of course, didn’t miss your mate fixing the pup with a dismayed look and you immediately knew why. This wasn’t your first baby after all.

“Mi'ytiar, don’t tell me you’re jealous again.” You grinned up at him, not even trying to hide your amusement.

“‘M not.” He grunted.

“You are.”

“Not.”

“Mhm.” You hummed, unconvinced, raising an eyebrow. “Just as you were not jealous when Akail was occupying my boobs as a pillow for a year? Or when I tried breastfeeding with him? Or when he challenged you every time you came near me even though he just had learned to walk? Or when he-”

To silence you, he bit down into your throat and you immediately went slack. It was a somewhat trained reaction every time he would do that. Where a human would shut you up with a kiss, your mate bit you. A show of dominance, without a question, and you would lie if you said it didn’t turn you on. The moan that would have proofed it had almost slipped from your lips.

“Not jealous.” Mi'ytiar insisted gruffly and licked over the bite mark.

“Fine, fine.” You mumbled, still a little dazed from his little display of power.

The two of you stayed silent for a while. The only sound was the occasional chittering and cooing of your son, who was looking up at his parents with his big, pale yellow eyes. They would grow more intense in color in no time.

“Did you already name him?” You asked and giggled when your pup tried to snatch up your finger with which you were drawing patterns in the air, moving it around in front of his face.

You watched as your pup finally caught your pointer finger and inserted it into his mouth. You laughed when you felt his gums chew on it. His teeth would develop only in a few weeks.

“The name you chose.” Mi'ytiar grunted softly.

You hummed in understanding and snuggled your face into the side of your son‘s head.

“Hi, Toyah.”

Tag List

⇨ Hey guys, despite having only some requests to be tagged in this part, I wanted to tag any and everyone who ever left a comment on one or more parts of this series. I'm seriously so thankful, you have no idea. Thank you so much for showing interest and voicing it. Thank you so much for your kind words that kept me motivated to continue this story. But, as I said at the beginning, this is not the end of Mi'ytiar, so lets hope we see each other on more of my works in the future!

@lil-lilacwitch, @zaky-ller, @eternalmoonshineofahopelessfan, @haleypearce @montybooks,

@ailujsenutna, @rorrika, @h0n3y-l3m0n05, @mahirublue, @00justanolive00,

@mortuaconjuga, @victor-rose, @screechingenemy18, @thewitchesofart, @skibbiescoober,

@pyreemo, @han-sirentell, @dd122004dd, @milkzze, @wildaces,

@serendipitous-fernweh, @misspendragonsworld, @bunnymysteriously, @ladygrimmx, @thelrina,

@quaritcxswifewh0re, @imaginarydreams, @vintage-bumblebee, @blaxkmagix, @beelievit,

@blmcd57110, @mythirdlife235, @the-artistic-devotee, @jojooasis, @pipocfamily,

@bimboreader, @noname2246, @sawendel, @being-worthy, @xcol2sblog,

@panpandeep00, @maxismp1, @bastet222, @candyladycry, @crowleysthings

[russellsppttemplates]

I'll never give up on you (Franco Colapinto)

You think your age is an obstacle, but Franco is set on proving you otherwise

Note: english is not my first language. It's the big doe eyes, the curly hair and the fact that he's very funny, isn't it? It's a very crappy situation for everyone how they got here, everyone recognises that. This is also the first time I'm writing for him 🤍 I always feel and know I have to put this - for those who are here and have stayed, thank you for being so patient and for staying - I hope this is good enough ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm not taking requests right now, so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to send them in but know that I don't know when I'll be able to get to them!

my masterlist

Cw: reader is slightly older than Franco (three years), alludes to previous bad relationships, alcohol consumption, relationship insecurity, reader gets accidentally hurt

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3 @sltwins

"You look gorgeous, Y/N! I love love love this!", Olivia squealed, clapping her hands when she got to your bedroom.

"It's nothing special", you blushed at her compliments.

"It will catch some eyes, you will catch some eyes!", she smiled, "can you help me with my dress, please?", she turned around so you could zip her up.

You and your bestfriend Olivia shared an apartment in university, and once you entered into the job market, you quickly realised that it would be best to keep the same living situation, knowing you'd save some money in a beginner salary and you both felt comfortable about eachother. Her boyfriend Mark had just got a work promotion and he wanted to celebrate it with his friends, so you had been invited.

"Who else is going to be there?", you mused as you packed the essentials on your small purse.

"Some guys from the new department he's in now, Luke - the one we met a couple of weeks ago at the shops -", she began listing the names she recalled, "Amber, and Franco, I think - he doesn't have a race this week", Olivia said.

"Oh, okay", you smiled.

Franco Colapinto knew Mark from one of the teams he had driven for, and despite his career, he was an incredibly down to earth guy. You had met him in a few other occasions and he was funny, kind, always up for a challenge and not easy to persuade out of things. "Things" including flirting with you. At first, you thought it was just his nature and posture towards new people, but after realising he only acted like that towards you, and the fact that he kept making advances and going as far as talking to Olivia about it, you knew it was something else.

"You still haven't changed your mind about him? He's such a good match for you, Y/N/N", Olivia pouted.

The premise was simple - Franco was younger than you, and as much as he seemed interested, it would never lead to anything good. He was young, aspiring an amazing career you were sure he would achieve, and frankly, you couldn't see you in there. He would like to party all out, not have responsibilities and certainly not have to date someone older than him. And this was just at the top of your head - if you let your insecurities really work you up, there were many other reasons.

"We are not! If we did date, it wouldn't last long and I'm not up for that - I've learned my lesson", you tsked.

"You know he's very into you, I'm not sure you can get him to back down", Olivia advised, "I get that you have your walls, but maybe you could give him a chance?".

"He'll probably find someone else, if he hasn't already - now let's go!", you pulled her with you, not wanting to arrive late.

Once you were inside, you quickly spotted the group, greeting everyone and ordering some drinks.

"You're sure you don't want anything else?", Mark wondered.

"I don't feel like drinking anything strong today, but I'll toast to your promotion - congratulations again!", you hugged him.

"Careful, everyone!", you heard the argentinian accent call out, getting you to make room on the table so the bartender could set the tray with all the drinks, "Hello, Y/N, how are you?".

Turning to face Franco, you were instantly met with his bright smile, shiny eyes and wavy hair perfectly tousled, "Hi, I've been good, and you?".

"Even better now that you're here", he winked, "you look amazing by the way, that colour looks beautiful on you", he complimented.

Hoping the dim lighting hid your blushing cheeks you nodded, taking the coaster to our your drink on before looking at him, "thanks, it's not new or anything", you brushed him off.

The night was on a good roll until you came back from freshening up in the bathroom - just as you were about to sit on the high stool, a guy pushed his friend in a playful manner, only for him to accidentally hit you and making you hit your knee on the piece of furniture.

"Fuck", you mumbled, bracing yourself against the table as the sharp pain climbed up your leg no matter how much your hand tried to soothe it.

Before you could process the whole thing, a large hand was placed low on your back, "are you okay, Y/N? What happened?".

"It was us, I'm so sorry", one of the guys apologised as he carried his friend to their table, "do you want me to get something? Again, I'm so sorry".

"It's fine, I've got her", Franco dismissed them before looking at you again, "are you okay?", he asked worriedly.

"Of course", you attempted to speak firmly even though you were sure your face said it all. Your mother always told you you weren't a great liar.

Franco didn't seem to be convinced either, and ignoring your words, he bent down to check your knee, "you should sit so it doesn't swell up, and ice it too", he stated, tapping his shoulders for you to support your weight in them and help hoist you up on the stool.

"I'll go get some ice", Olivia offered.

As she excused herself, Franco gingerly touched your knee, fearing that he would hurt you even more, "is this fine?".

"It's not terrible, but it's hurting, like, it's a pulsation", you winced as he squeezed.

"I'm sorry, Y/N", Franco apologised, "just needed to check that it's not broken".

"You don't need to stay here, Olivia is coming back already", you added, watching the rest of the guys back on the pool table after you assured you were fine all things considered.

"You're the only one I care about, the rest can wait", Franco spoke.

"Look at that group over there", you pointed with your eyes, "wouldn't you prefer to hang out with them?".

The balloons let you know it was one of the girl's 20th birthday, and judging by the way they were looking in your direction, they noticed you too. Or Franco, you assumed.

"I've told you, I don't care about them, now where is the ice?", he muttered, looking around in hopes of spotting your friend in the darkened room.

"She's coming back", you pointed out.

The ice pack seemed to help relieve the pain and perhaps help with the bruising you were sure was going to take over your knee, "Franco, you can go be with the guys, I'll be fine", you reassured him again, "or be with the girls over there, they're very keen on you", you nudged.

Franco looked up at you, his gaze intense and serious, "those girls don't interest me", he replied, "you're the only one I care about".

There it was again.

"Don't say that", you tried to push it away before it dwelled on, "they're all very pretty, your age I'm sure".

Franco smiled softly as his eyes remained fixated on you, "who I pay attention to is you, you're the one I've always paid attention to", he spoke, not caring about the fact that Olivia was right there as she seemed distracted, "I don't care about their age or what they do. They're not you, and I want to be with you, so I'll stay here with you", he stated.

You heart took a lep, and even though you wished you could say something rational, something that made sense, the way he was looking into your eyes didn't let you. There was honesty and sincerity that never seemed to fail and that you could never ignore.

"Let me help you", Franco spoke softly, "right now, you're the only thing worrying me".

Hesitating, you allowed him to adjust the ice pack and keep talking to you about random stuff to take your mind away from the state of your knee, and for the first time in a while, it felt good to let someone else take care of you.

.

"Do you really think that we won't workout because of our age difference?", Franco spoke.

Mark and Olivia went to get coffee for all of you and left you and Franco on the picnic blanket to save the spot and keep your belongings safe. The plan for the afternoon was to enjoy the sun outside and while you were sure your bestfriend had something to do with this whole arrangement, you decided to let it slip and focus on relaxing for the afternoon.

"What?", you mused.

"You always point out that you're older than me, and whenever I make any advances, which I assume you're not too blind about, you never say yes, but don't say no either", he offered, "is it an obstacle?".

"We're good, aren't we?", you spoke.

"We could be better", Franco spoke and he supported his torso on his hands on his sides, "do you know how much I care about you?".

"We're friends", you replied.

"And you're telling me we couldn't be more?", Franco wondered.

"You have so many things to do still, I can't imagine you'd want to be tied to a 24 year old with a job and mundane responsibilities", you chuckled.

"Is that what it is? Do you really think our age difference is an obstacle?", he spoke softly.

"I can't say with such certainty", you mumbled.

"Can I keep on showing you that it isn't?", Franco spoke.

"I'm very stubborn", you recalled, "and I don't want you to waste your time".

"I'm not going to pressure you, but I'm not going to stop trying to show you how much you mean to me - you're very important in my life, Y/N".

.

"Did you salt the water already?", Franco asked as he grabbed the pasta from the cupboard.

"I did", you told him as you chopped the peppers and onions to add to the sizzling pan.

Franco happened to be around the area for lunch, and after he saw your story about being on your own, playfully claiming that Olivia had abandoned you, he offered to keep you company. Taking Olivia's advice that you should give him a chance and explore what you felt for eachother, you invited him over for lunch.

"Can I ask you something?", Franco asked as he dried his hands on the kitchen towell, throwing it to you so you could do the same.

"Now I'm worried...", you joked, "but sure, go ahead".

The smell of garlic browning in the pan filled the kitchen as you added the rest of the veggies, and you could feel the driver's eyes watching you. Up until now, the atmosphere was light, but there was an unspoken tension at the prospect of the question.

Franco couldn’t take it anymore. He was spending time with you whenever he could, getting closer little by little, but he felt there was a wall. A wall that you held strong, despite your shared glances and conversations that often stretched into the night.

“Why…”, he paused for a second, as if he was choosing his words carefully, “why do you keep pushing me away?”.

You stopped stirring the pan, slowly setting down the spoon aside and turned to face him.

“What are you talking about?”, you asked even though you knew exactly what he meant.

Franco turned fully to face you, his eyes fixed on yours, “You know what I’m talking about,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, "I’ve been trying to… get closer to you. You know how I feel about you, but every time I take a step toward you, you back away. There’s something you’re not saying, and I want to understand why, and if it's the age thing...", Franco let it out.

You sighed, fiddling with your hands as you gathered your thoughts.

“It’s not simple", you murmured, looking down at your feet.

"Then explain it to me", Franco's voice was calm, but insistent, "because from my side, it seems very simple. I like you. You like me, or at the very least you don't seem to hate me and…”, he hesitated, leaning a little closer, "whatever is stopping you… I can deal with it, we can talk about it".

Your heart raced as you looked up at him, "the age difference", you began hesitantly, “we’re from different worlds, different lives. You have so many options, people around you who… who are more in your vibe and in the line of life you can have. I’ve been through things you haven’t even begun to experience. What makes you think this… us, would be a good idea?", you mused.

Franco took a deep breath, taking a step closer until he was almost touching you, “What makes me think this would be a good idea? That we may have something to explore here? Have a shot at something good together?”, he repeated, looking directly into your eyes, "because every time I’m with you, I feel like I’m in the right place. Because no matter how much you think age is relevant, for me, what matters is how you make me feel. I’m not interested in anyone else, because you’re the one I want to explore these feelings with".

You fell silent, feeling his words invade her defenses. No one ever stood up for you like this.

“Age?”, he continued, "That doesn’t scare me. What scares me is losing you for a reason that, in the end, has no bearing on how I feel about you. You're so amazing and I don't want to lose that".

You bit your lip, feeling yourself wavering between the logic you had always used as a shield and what Franco was doing to your heart at that moment.

He took another step forward and gently placed his hand over yours, “I just need you to tell me… is it really age, or is it something more? Because if it’s just that… then we have a lot more to gain than we have to lose.”

You looked at his hand on hers and, for the first time, let yourself relax a little, allowing your brain to consider the possibility.

“What if it doesn’t go well?”, you whispered, voice hesitant and full of vulnerability, "I don't want to make a promise I can't keep, and I haven't let myself explore these feelings yet and... I don't want to hurt you, Franco".

"Y/N", he sighed softly with unexpected tenderness, “What if it does?", he smiled, "I'm not going to pressure you, and from the moment you tell me that there's no interest, I'll stop and we can remain friends. What I'm asking you is that you consider it first... take your time, I'll wait".

In a moment of confidence, Franco cupped your cheek and kissed your forehead, and for that moment you allowed your wall to lower a little more.

.

The good thing about the hot temperatures outside was that most people had taken their Saturday plans to the beach or the pool, so there was less traffic on your way home. You parked your car in the building's underground garage and went up the stairs to the floor where the apartment you share with Olivia is. Judging by how late you left work, your best friend must be home given that she has the free afternoon on Saturdays.

Turning the key in the lock and opening the door, you find a completely dark apartment, which is strange considering you left the blinds half open this morning to let in sunlight. As soon as you step inside, closing the front door behind you, you're surprised by lights that suddenly turn on and a chorus of voices singing the Happy Birthday song.

You hadn't felt in the right mood to celebrate your birthday this year, given and the changes from studying and the stress of your new job, so to say you were caught off guard by this surprise was an understatement. You had told Olivia that you could have something special for dinner to celebrate the day, and while she insisted a little more, she ended up dropping the subject. And you thought that meant the had agreed to your simple plans - that morning, she caught you when you were having your breakfast, wished you happy birthday and gave your her gift, a very simple necklace with a medal with your initial in it, and didn't make any more fuss.

You definitely didn't expect her to be preparing a surprise like this for you.

Besides Olivia and Mark, Franco is the first person you see in the living room of your apartment - which makes you feel a little bad about yourself considering you hadn't even told him that today was your birthday. Besides the three of them, Maria and Julia, your two closest friends from school, were also present, as well as Pedro, one of your best friends from high school that moved to another city, and as it turns out, came all the way to your party.

When the chanting ends, Olivia approaches you with the cake so that you can blow out the candles, everyone's attention still on you. You know you should say something, but right now, you were completely surprised, and talking under pressure was never your strongest suit.

"Thank you everyone!", is all you can say at first, earning laughs from your friends.

You rolled up the blinds, as they had been down so the surprise had full effect and opened the windows, allowing the air to circulate as everyone gathered in the living room, picking at the foods and drinking on the table you were sure were Olivia's doing for the small celebration.

She is the first one you turn to, tapping her shoulder softly.

"I know... I know you said you weren't in the mood to celebrate, but I thought that this is actually what you need - being with the people that adore you and care about you", Olivia goes first before you can utter out a word, "so, please, just enjoy this, okay?".

"Thank you, Liv", you smiled as you pulled her into a hug, "I can't believe that you went through all this trouble".

"It wasn't too much trouble, and Franco helped a lot", she answered, "the guy didn't even know what day your birthday was, Y/N... That's cruel!", she jokes, to which you roll your eyes.

"I probably forgot about that detail", you answer with a giggle, "thanks again".

"Stop being annoying and enjoy it", your best friend says, joining her boyfriend Mark's and Pedro's conversation.

You take the opportunity to greet Mark and then Pedro, who you haven't seen in person for a long time, "I can't believe you came all this way for this!", you exclaim.

"Of course I came! Olivia told me all the news and not only could I not miss your birthday, but I couldn't not come at a time like this", Pedro explains, "besides, how long has it been since we've been together in person?".

"Too long", you reply with a smile on your lips.

"Exactly! We need to catch up!", your friend exclaims, earning your agreement, "but go greet the rest of your guests first and we'll talk more later", he squeezed your shoulder.

You approach Maria and Julia, hugging them both tight. Although you finished your master's degree as they finished their undergraduate just over a year ago, you hadn't seen each other very often since then as work kept you all busy.

"I'm so happy you're here!", you smile, feeling genuinely happy at having all your people together in one room.

"We couldn't miss it. Besides, we've been missing you so much - you were truly a mother to us and I miss being coddled by you -, and we've already noticed that there's news you haven't been telling us...", Julia comments, wiggling her eyebrows and sharing a suggestive smile with Maria.

"What are you talking about?", you wondered with a quirked brow.

"You don't know? I'll tell you then! About Franco Colapinto!", she snickered, "you didn't tell us you were that close", Maria says.

You're quick to roll your eyes - a common response at her usual antics over the years -, "I told you we were friends", you recall.

"Yes, but we didn't know you were that close!", Julia insists.

"I see your annoying curiosity hasn't ceased", you joked, rolling your eyes again, "Anyway, thanks for being here, I really appreciate it", you joined your hands over your heart before excusing yourself.

Your eyes are quick to search for Franco, but you can't find him in the room. A few seconds later, you spot him returning from the hallway, assuming he had gone to the bathroom or had to take a phone call.

"I should be mad at you for conveniently forgetting to tell me when it was your birthday...", Franco starts, to which you shrug your houlders, trying to put on your best angelic and innocent face.

"I know, I'm sorry... with everything going on, I barely had time to think what month we were on and I wasn't exactly enthusiastic about it to be honest", you explained, "but I must confess I'm happy Olivia arranged this, and I know you helped a lot, so thank you so much, Franco".

"I get, I was just messing with you", he smiles, "and you don't have to thank me for it, you know I'll always do anything to see you happy".

"I know, and that's why I am so grateful", you smiled back.

"Might as well give you the present I got you now", Franco points out, "give me two seconds so I can get it from where Mark told me to put it so it wouldn't be in the way of Olivia's plans and before she started staring at me with her 'I'm going to chop your head off' eyes", he chuckled.

You nodded and waited long enough for Franco to pick up a bag and give it to you, " I racked my brain to decide what I should gift you, because nothing seemed good enough, but I hope you like this".

Undoing the bow keeping the paper bag together, you found a copy of your favourite book with a collectable cover. The intricate detailing of the golden foil complimented the colours beautifully and there was a bookmark inside it, the little tassel falling to the side. Taking it to inspect it closely, you read the delicate lettering Don't lose the sparkle that makes you.. you.

"Wow, Franco", you gasped, completely enamoured by the beauty of it all, "this is spot on, I love it!", you exclaimed, hugging him.

"I'm glad", Franco smiles, jokingly wiping sweat off his forehead and making you laugh.

"Have you met my friends?", you wondered.

"Yes, Olivia did all the introductions", the driver answers.

"Good, let's find out what they're going on about", you suggested, setting the present back in a safe place and pulling Franco with you to join the rest of the group.

You spend the rest of the afternoon and early evening chatting, while you eat and drink the things that Franco and Olivia kindly prepared, and playing some board games. At the end of it, you end up having a really good time, in a way that you haven't in a while, feeling really grateful that Olivia had prepared this surprise. Without knowing it, this was exactly what you needed: your friends and some good moments of relaxation.

"Are you leaving already?", you ask Pedro when the young engineer announces his departure.

"I still have to drive back, Y/N, remember?", he reminds you, earning a nod, "but don't worry your heart too much, I'll keep bothering you with messages and calls and stuff... You won't get rid of me that easily".

"Fine by me!", you smiled at him, "thanks for coming, truly!".

"You have nothing to thank me for. I'll be here any time if you need me - I'm a phone call away", he reminds you, "Are you okay?".

"Of course", you smiled, "let me know when you get home, okay?".

"I will. I had a great time meeting you guys today", Pedro waves at everyone, "until next time!", before leaving the apartment.

At around 10pm, Maria and Julia also announce that they need to leave since they would have an early morning. You bid them goodbye to your friends with the promise of a lunch whenever you could find the time to catch up.

"Don't tell me you're chickening out now and going home too?", a slightly tipsy Olivia teases Franco as he got up from the his spot in the sofa.

"I've already told you that I have the day off tomorrow, my friend", Franco teased her back, getting you and Mark to laugh.

"Let's play another round then", Mark suggested, "since there's only four of us now, we can split into two teams and play Party & Co.".

"This is a recipe for disaster if I have ever seen one", you muttered, "Olivia is a terrible loser and you are a racing driver".

"That's why you should want to have me on your team, I'm used to competing", Franco argued in his favor.

"Strong point, argument accepted. Let's do it!", you declared.

During the game, Olivia ends up making up consequences for those who make mistakes, making everyone drink a few sips of their drinks and even Franco joins in with these punishments, arguing that today is an exceptional day to his usual regime.

By the end of the first game, it's clear that you're all drunk, so you make the responsible and sensible decision not to play anymore. Mark and Olivia end up retiring to the room, leaving you with Franco in the living room.

"I hope they don't make too much noise", you point out as you adjust your position on the sofa so that you're facing Franco, making him burst out laughing at your words, "What?! I'm not telling any lies! Have you imagined how uncomfortable it would be for us to be here and hear them having a baby making practice session?".

"You're right, you're right. I hope they don't make much noise", Franco repeats your words and, this time, you both laugh, "So... did you and Pedro date in high school?".

"Did he tell you that?", you ask, unable to contain your giggles.

"Yes, why? Is it a lie?", Franco asks.

"Half, half", you answered with a gesture.

"How is something half half a lie? It's either the truth or a lie", Franco states.

"I had a crush on Pedro, I tried my luck, but nothing ever happened between us", you admitted, deliberately pausing briefly before continuing, "Because Pedro is gay, Franco, and he was clearly making fun of you", you finally let out a laugh that's been bubbling up since he first asked you.

"Are you serious?", Franco mused.

"Yes. Apparently, he found a weak spot in you and decided to exploit it", you answered amused by the situation that must've enrolled when you weren't home yet.

"A weak spot? Nah... We were talking and he just dropped it, I have no idea why", Franco said, shrugging his shoulders.

"What were you talking about?", you wondered.

"Considering we were at your birthday party... We were talking about you", the brown-haired man answers.

"Please continue", you encouraged.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Y/N Y/L/N", Franco declared, but your glare was enough for him to keep going, "He asked me how we met and I told him. And then he told me about you. And he clearly told me a lie".

"Does it make you feel relieved that it's a lie?", you spoke before thinking properly about it. The sudden courage is unusual for you, but you're playing with all your cards on the table.

"I don't know what you're getting at, Y/N", the driver changes the subject, which makes you roll your eyes.

"I know you undertand it, stop acting like you don't. It's a yes or no question - are you relieved or not?!", you insist.

"Honestly? It doesn't do much. If it were true, it would be something from your past, not your present. We both have a past", Franco responds in a somewhat evasive manner.

"But it could be my present again, especially since he was here today", you decided to insist, wanting to understand how far you could push him.

You weren't sure about the game you were playing, and you couldn't quite say that you were thinking clearly, but this feeling of dominance and being in control was enjoyable. Understanding that this was making Franco uncomfortable also made you realize that he wasn't so sure about talking about what he felt for you. The part of you that wants to understand what he really feels for you is ignited, and you can't tame it down.

After the conversation you had, Franco didn't make any advances and never showed that he wanted more than a friendship, which, in a way, left you at ease, but also perhaps a little disappointed. Had he realised that you weren't worth it?

"Honestly, I don't know what you're getting at...", Franco pretends not to understand again, which makes you sigh loudly, "What's wrong?".

"What I'm trying to understand is if what he said to you bothered you or not. And if so, why. But clearly you are not ready to admit it", you state.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N... You're trying to cross a very complicated line", he warns.

"Why?", you keep going.

"Because you asked for time and space and I gave it to you. And now you're trying to cross a line that I've been trying not to cross, because I'm trying to respect your wishes", Franco answers, this time sincerely.

"That's true, I asked you for time and space and you gave it to me. And I appreciate it", you begin, "but... I know I'm getting closer to that line, maybe I'm even playing a dangerous game too, but I'm doing it consciously".

"What if you're not ready for my honest answers?", Franco argues.

"Well, that's a me problem, isn't it?", you shrugged your shoulders, "can I ask my questions and get back honest answers?", and Franco's answer comes out in form of an unhappy sigh followed by a nod of agreement, "did what Pedro told you bother you? Did it bother you to think that we had dated and that he was back here?".

"Like I told you, we both have a past", Franco avoids the question. Tries to, anyway.

"Honest answers, Franco!", you exclaimed, pleading in exasperation, "of course we have a past, but I'm not going to give the past a shot and I think you won't do again what you did before! With Pedro, it would be different, because if we had dated and he was here, that would mean we had a good relationship. So, I'm going to repeat the question again, and I want you to give me an honest answer - did it bother you or not?".

"It bothered me!", Franco suddenly exclaim, "do you want honest? Here it goes! Yes, it bothered me exactly because of what you just said. Even if, by some act of the devil, your other boyfriend came back into your life, I know for a fact that he would never have another chance with you. However, if you had dated Pedro and if he was here today, it meant that he had a chance with you. And if he had a chance with you, then he was someone I would have to look at as competition".

"And now that you know that there never was and there never could be anything between me and Pedro?", you ask him.

"It makes me feel a little less worried. It means that I still have time to try to continue to mend the damage that others have caused, it means that I can still work to show you how much you mean to me and how high I hold you in my life", Franco replies in a calm and honest tone, which surprises you.

Faced with his words, this time, you are the one who doesn't know what to say. You did ask for honesty and there it was.

"You wanted honest answers...", Franco argues, as if he could guess what was on your mind. Lately, it seemed like he could do it effortlessly.

"I know, I'm not complaining", you admitted, "Does that mean that what you feel for me goes beyond friendship?", you ask directly. You needed to hear it from his mouth.

"What can my answer change in our relationship?", Franco asks, not answering your question.

"Nothing. I won't walk away from you this time, I promise. I just need to know", you clarified.

"Do you really want me to be one hundred percent honest with you?", Franco asks.

"Yes, please", you ask.

"Yes, what I feel for you goes beyond friendship. I tried not to let it be like that, I tried to pretend that I wasn't falling in love with you, but there's no way to control what we feel", he declares honestly without ever stopping to fix his gaze on yours, "Every time I look at you, I see someone with whom I can imagine a future... And I know how hasty this may seem, and I know your reservations about us, but it's simply how I feel. You asked me to be honest and I'm being as honest as I can... But I don't want to lose you, Y/N. In fact, I can't lose you, because, the moment that happens, I think I'll end up losing myself too", Franco stated.

His words leave you completely disarmed, not knowing what to say. Looking at it, you don't think anyone has ever said something like that to you. The words overwhelm you and there doesn't seem to be a right thing to tell him back.

"Can we just forget I said all this?", Franco says, "I don't want things to get awkward between us".

"But I don't want to forget it", you answer quickly, "It was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me".

Judging it by Franco's expression, he was also caught off guard by your words, probably because he thought this would change your relationship again and brung unwanted distance between you.

Truth was, you weren't going to run away anymore. You didn't want to, and you couldn't do it.

Yes, you were scared, but you knew you need to move on. The comfort zone can be very good, but no boat was made to stay at the dock and you needed to drop the anchor and launch yourself into the unknown. Besides, you know that, in a few years time, you won't like to look back and regret what you didn't do.

"Can I ask you the question back, then?", Franco tries and you nod, "Is what you feel for me just friendship? Or something more?".

"I don't have an answer as assertive and confident as yours, but I know that I look at you and I don't see you just as a friend. You are very special to me, Franco. You are the person I want to talk to about everything, the good and the bad. You are the person who I know will never judge me, who will always try to understand me and help me. After all, you were the first person I was able to trust one hundred percent", you admit, "and I'm still figuring out how I'm supposed to allow myself to believe in love again after everything that happened, but I really wish you were by my side on this journey... That you would make me believe in love again", you offered.

"I don't like to make promises, Y/N/N, but there's one thing I'm absolutely sure of - I'll do everything in my power to make you believe in love again", Franco says, pulling you into his lap and embracing you in a hug that makes you feel safer than ever.

.

When Franco called you and asked if you could join him in the park, you were quick to let him know you were leaving work and heading to meet him. The past two weeks had been crazy with him travelling to races and you visiting your family, so texting had become the way you found to maintain contact.

As soon as you spot him by the trees, you walk a little faster, hugging him as soon as you are able to, "can I say that I've missed you?", you joked.

"I missed you loads, so I think it's only fair you tell me", he smiled, "Hi, how was your day?", he asked as he squeezed you against him.

"I missed you", you spoke, "and it was good, better now that I'm here".

Lately, your walls had lowered progressively - Franco's reassurance and a constant defiance of your thoughts had helped you break down the worries you had. Olivia pointed it out, everyone noticed how much happier you were, and even Franco could sense you were feeling more comfortable.

You end up sitting so close to each other that your knees touch and you rest your arm on Franco's and let your head fall on his shoulder, closing your eyes for a few seconds and just inhaling his scent.

"I...", Franco begins but soon stops before saying anything else.

"What is it?", you ask, raising your head to look at him.

"Nothing, nevermind", he shrugs.

"I don't like it when people say that to me. If you were going to say something, don't tell me to forget about it", you state firmly, "Whatever you were going to say, you can say it. Always. I will never judge anything you tell me. I know you, okay, Franco?".

"Yes, but...", he sighs, "I think I'm missing the courage".

"Please, just say it!", you exclaim, starting to get anxious and worried about his hesitation, "Is it something serious? Is there a problem?".

"No, nothing like that!", he clarified.

"Okay, then...", you encouraged.

"It's about a conversation I had with my mother", he says and, although you don't say a word, your expression lets him know he can continue, "about you".

"About me?", you ask curiously.

"She doesn't know it's you, but... It was about us and about what I feel for you", he offers.

At these words, your heart suddenly accelerates, "she told me that life is supposed to be lived and that..", he gulps.

You remain silent, because you don't know if ot what your supposed to answer. There's nervousness and anxiety as you're not sure exactly where this conversation is going to end up at.

"We can't predict the future, we don't know how much time we have", Franco spoke, "what I mean by this is that I've been thinking that, many times, we waste time on things that, perhaps, don't make that much sense. And I think I've been wasting some time in the sense that I've wanted to do things calmly, I've wanted to respect your time and I think I'm the one who's been afraid of taking the next step. I'm too afraid of losing you, but I'm wasting time and we never know when it is too late".

Part of you knows where Franco is going with this, but the other one doesn't fully understand what he's trying to say.

You're nervous, your heart feels like it's beating out of control and there's a lump in your throat. Despite not crying often, you feel the tears right at the back of your eyes, ready to fall at any moment.

"I'm not particularly good with words, Y/N, but what I'm trying to tell you is that I'm madly in love with you. Damn, I'm trying to tell you that I love you. And I know you're scared and I'm scared, because there have been bad experiences, and because what we have is very special and neither of us wants to ruin it. But I think we're wasting time apart when we could make the most of this time together", Franco continues, "I believe we were very lucky to have found each other when we did. I think we had the perfect timing. And every time I look at you, all I can think about is how lucky I am to have found you. I love you, Y/N, and I want to be with you one hundred percent", the brown-haired man stops his speech as if to catch his breath, and then concludes, "That is if you want to be with me, obviously".

What can you say to someone who declares themselves to you in this way? What do you say to someone who has told you everything? How can you say something that comes even close to what you just heard?

"Did I misunderstand everything and after all you don't like me the same way, is that it?", Franco asks, "it's just, your texts and the way you talk, feels like you do".

The insecurity in his voice is the trigger you need for the words to simply come out of your mouth without having to think much about them, "No, it's nothing like that!", you exclaim, "It's just that it's hard for me to say anything after everything you said. I don't want you to doubt for even a second what I feel for you, Franco. I know I haven't been the best person to express my feelings, because when we say things out loud, they become real. And I was so afraid to admit the truth, so much so that I preferred not to say it. But you're right. Life changes in the blink of an eye and it doesn't make sense to keep leaving things unsaid or undone and wasting time. I'm in love with you, Franco. A part of me has wished, since the moment you made an effort for me, that I could have someone like that by my side, willing to protect me, take care of me and be there for me. I have no doubt that my life has changed for the better because you came into it. And I should have told you all this sooner, because you deserve to hear all this and much more. You are an extraordinary person and you deserve to be happy. And I want to be able to make you happy", you stop for a few seconds, taking a deep breath and gathering all the courage in the world to say the dreaded words out loud, "I love you and there is nothing I want more in this world than to be with you and be your girlfriend".

Despite all the nervousness you felt when expressing your feelings, the relief that follows leaves you feeling like a weight was lifted off your shoulder. Suddenly, you understand that fear paralyzes people and prevents them from moving forward.

The fear of not being enough for Franco, that he couldn't possibly have a girlfriend older than him and the fear that he would suffer from that was what was holding you back, stopping you from being happy. Now that you got that off your chest, that you said what you feel out loud, you realise you're ready to be happy again with someone else.

The smile that appears on Franco's lips makes your day. He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you towards him, pressing your lips together.

You close your eyes and savour every second of the moment: from the way his hand is resting on your waist, while the other caresses your cheek, to the way his lips slide over your and your tongues touch.

When you break the kiss, needing to breathe, you keep your eyes closed for a fraction of a second, enjoying the sensation his lips left on yours.

"I have something to ask of you", you say, opening your eyes.

Franco's arm continues wrapped around you and you remain very close to him without moving, appreciating the closeness.

"Whatever you want", Franco says.

"Don't give up on me. Whenever I try to push you away, pull me to you. Whenever I yell at you because I'm angry, hug me. If I don't answer your texts or calls, look for me. When I feel too insecure, remind me that I'm the only one and how lucky I am to have you. If I'm giving up on us, kiss me and remind me why I shouldn't give up. And I know this is asking too much, but I know you love me enough to do this, to stay with me. I promise to do the same with you, to never give up", you declare.

"I promise, mi amor. I'll never give up on you, not even if you ask me to", Franco smiles as you cup his cheek, bringing your faces closer once again to kiss him.

[madschiavelique]

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 (𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

summary : miguel didn't like very much the way you left him all horny for you in the toilets during the unexpected mission, so once the anomalies have all been maintained, he decides to teach you proper manners

content warnings : SMUT (18+) minors dni, lots of tension, soft!dom miguel, quick boob job, cunnilingus, "it's too big", pnv sex, miguel teaches reader magic words, so much kissing i swear, no use of Y/N, biting, mention of scars (from fights, miguel's) - let me know if i forgot any !! word count : 7,7k

note : i'm sorry i took SO LONG writing this baby, but here it is (and not yet proofread but i couldn't wait hehehe). the end is corny i AM SORRY but it was already long and this is to keep a pretty open. thank u all so much for ur support !! we passed the 400 subscribers today and i'm literally jumping to the ceiling of happiness. this is the last part of the 4shot, i hope you liked it <33 i was super inspired by Shameless by The Weeknd (one of my favourite songs hehehe). enough of me talking, love u guys !!

the previous parts : 1 - love bite 2 - late night training 3 - unexpected mission

tag list : @marit332 @coralineyouareinterribledanger @sunnyx07 @mamamiriamxo @l3laze @amy180801 @gojos-goth-gf @readingfan @cheezit-luv3rr @scaleniusrm @cowboyharrryy

Miguel hadn't followed you, so you decided to lure the creature back by calling out to it:

"You're really terrible at hide-and-seek, you know that?”

Suddenly, it turned towards you and charged at you as you leapt into the air to keep it at bay, at least long enough for Miguel to finish... what he had to do. The sound of his breathless voice replayed in your head, the heat in your cheeks rising. You propelled yourself silently up to a floor above, observing the behaviour of the dough.

The feel of his fangs on the skin of your neck, his tender kisses on your cheeks, the hard feel of his erection against your thigh as his claws pressed into the skin of it...

"Oh my god you're going to be the end of him!" exclaimed a small voice beside you.

The anomaly turned towards it at the same time as you: Lyla.

"Lyla?" you choked out, swivelling your head just in time to avoid the anomaly that had climbed extraordinarily nimbly to your floor.

"His pulse quickened, his body heat increased and his muscles contracted amazingly hard!" she chirped as you mimed shutting up or lowering her voice, but she wasn't listening and you started darting from floor to floor as she continued "You've got him completely wrapped around your finger! No pun intended."

"Please Lyla, keep it down!" you begged her, feeling like a huge red tomato as you blushed and above all hoping not to be chased away by this abomination.

"Oopsie," she smiled, placing a hand over her mouth.

The anomaly swung a ball of paste at you, and you narrowly avoided it as it crashed and exploded with power, splattering you as it went, a large drop smearing across your suit.

"I didn't know you had access to... all this," you muttered breathlessly as you ran down a corridor to get away from the unspeakable thing. "It doesn't matter... Yes, it does matter actually, how come?"

"Don't be angry, you've just given me what little fun I'm allowed to have," she said with a pout, "you know, programme life isn't always fun."

Out of breath, you let out a sigh that relaxed your shoulders with its depth. You shook your head for a moment.

"Well, we'll talk about it later, can you identify this for me?" you asked breathlessly, silently, as you spooned some of the substance and held it up to a small metal support on your watch, which lit up when you dropped a little on it.

"My pleasure, sugar," she said with a quick clap. "Hmm, that looks like a basic bread dough mixture to me. Flour, water, salt, yeast, not forgetting the anomaly gene, otherwise it wouldn't be any fun."

"It's true that I'm bursting with laughter," you say, putting both hands on your hips, still trying to catch your breath. You looked at her for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek, hesitating before asking, "Is Miguel... Done?"

"Yep, he's on his way," she said, giving you an amused wink, and you couldn't help but let a little laugh slip from your nose.

"Right," you said, clearing your throat so the anomaly could hear, "I'm going to lure this thing towards the exit!" You could hear the oily, slimy sounds coming in your direction, turning to Lyla one last time to ask: "Make sure you send Miguel my location, okay?" you said as you started to trot off.

"Already done!" she replied, blowing you a kiss which she pressed onto her hand before disappearing in a cloud of pixels.

You ran on, stammering aloud to keep the beast at your heels: " Come this way! You know, I think you'd really like rock, I've got two friends who play really well, I think you'd love to meet them!"

The pile rumbled behind you. You leapt into the air, grabbing the glass dome and hanging upside down, standing with your arms crossed over your chest.

"No, really, I think you'd like it. Oh well! You've got a head that could listen to metal, plus you've got exactly the right mouth shape to sing it, you know."

It was rumbling from the ground, right underneath you.

Then, just above you, you felt a tap on the thin glass roof, and when you looked up, you saw Miguel. It was a funny sight, the way you were standing made it look like you were reflecting yourselves in a mirror.

"Oh, hi there," you smiled behind your mask, taking on a slight intonation as if you hadn't been the cause of his delay. "Did everything go well?"

He let out a desperate sigh, the red glasses on his suit narrowing, before simply saying:

"Something unexpected came up, it was very... frustrating. But I'll wait."

I'll wait. The very word made you gulp.

"Observations?" he asked, jerking his chin in the direction of the anomaly just below you.

"It's dough, we'd just have to find something to bake it with," you suggested.

Outside there was a loud bang: the lorry Gwen and Hobie had been chasing had started to roll over, and the anomaly, just as alert as you and Miguel, leapt towards the first bay window to get out.

Gwen and Hobie seemed to have managed to deal with their anomaly, the truck was completely dented, sideways, and luckily for you, the oil from the truck was starting to spread on the ground. You got out, Miguel following to examine the situation. All it needed was a spark...

"I'll try to coat it with a bit of oil, find a lighter, a box of matches, whatever," he warned, before dashing off towards the pile of dough.

You looked around, and there, as luck would have it, was a convenience store. You leapt towards it. Managing to light a lighter with your costume on would be complicated, so you managed to find a box of matches, rushing towards the street again.

Miguel kept jumping up and down to coat the anomaly, and when he finally saw you coming, he shouted: "Light it up.

So you grabbed a match, struck it against the side of the box and threw it into the oil. You stepped aside and ran further to avoid taking any damage from the fire. It immediately licked at the anomaly, which let out horrible, high-pitched screams as the paste on its body cooked and smoked, turning golden and thinning little by little.

And so, you launched the multidimensional cell that had been given to you, and finally imprisoned the anomaly.

"I think 'the more the merrier' is a phrase I like less and less," said Gwen as you catalogued the anomalies.

"Are you kidding me? This was so much fun," said Peter. "It was like doing MMA!"

"Speak for yourself, we took care of the Magic Bus driver," Hobie huffed.

"I think Gordon Ramsey would be proud of our muffin," you agreed.

"You have to admit it smelled good," confirmed Pavitr.

Everything had gone well, Gwen had finished her exam period and you were all filling in your reports. Everything was going well, and everyone was pretty relaxed, except maybe you.

It was a pretty nasty trick you played on Miguel, leaving him like that, so close to the climax, and then leaving. And somewhere in there, you feared and waited impatiently for what was to come.

You couldn't help glancing at him from time to time. He seemed to be concentrating, but sometimes you could feel his gaze on you, insistent. You found him incredibly calm, and maybe it was just because he hid it well, but just to see him lose a little of that control, you managed to brush past him for a moment when no one was looking, your knuckles deliberately brushing his thigh before joining the others. Pretending to be interested in their conversation, you couldn't help but glance over at Miguel.

Death stare was probably the closest you could come to defining the look he was giving you at that moment, and a shiver of dread ran down your spine as you swallowed. He seemed to chew the inside of his cheek for a moment, trying to act as if nothing had happened.

You weren't going to get out of this alive, or entirely.

"Well, I don't know about you, but the lack of sleep knocked me out, so I'm going to bed, see you later!" said Gwen before leaving.

"Same here, see ya," said Hobie.

And successively, the only ones left were Peter, Miguel and you.

He waited patiently, with you beside him, until Peter had finished his report and, like all the others before him, had gone to sleep. The seconds seemed to stretch out painfully, every movement and possibility accentuated by the wait. Miguel seemed tense, and you had no idea whether Peter could feel it from his side too, but you could feel your skin tingling with anticipation.

Every moment, every second tickled your mind and body like tiny needles, Miguel's gaze resting insistently on yours.

"Well, that's not all, but I think we've all got better things to do than hang around making a report," Peter yawned. "Good night, sleep well."

Oh, it won't be sleep.

He then waved goodbye one last time, turning his back to you as he headed for the exit. Miguel turned to look at you, taking a deep breath as he tilted his head back to look at you from an even higher angle.

The footsteps echoed around the room, fading away little by little as Miguel's eyes turned red, yours watching them and stifling a gasp. He took a single step closer, no more, but it was enough to intimidate you and for you to take a step backwards.

It was when the door finally closed behind Peter that he grabbed you powerfully around the waist and pinned you down on one of the desks, causing you to squeal in surprise as you widened your eyes for a moment, blinking frantically. In less time than it took to say 'empanada' Miguel had you completely under control, immobilising you faster than poison and more powerfully than a pair of handcuffs.

His nose wrinkled slightly.

"Did you enjoy your little act?" he asked, his tone extraordinarily calm, which made him all the more menacing. "Leaving me like that without finishing what you'd started?"

Your heart was racing, and suddenly just meeting his gaze seemed too powerful to maintain eye contact, so you turned your head to the side. Was it simply because you were embarrassed by your own little prank, or was it just that the intensity of his eyes on yours was too much? But Miguel wasn't going to have it any other way, so with one of his hands he grabbed your jaw and redirected it so that you were facing him.

"It's very rude not to look into someone's eyes when they're talking to you, you know that," he whispered, moving a little closer. "We're going to have to correct that, and teach you polite forms of address."

And you couldn't argue with that, because right now it wasn't a choice you had to make.

"Speaking of politeness, I realise that you haven't used any magic words so far for our little encounters," he said, his thumb pressing and digging into the skin of your cheek.

He moved a little closer, tilting his head to one side as you felt his nose brush against yours, moving a little closer still to feel his lips brush against yours, the simple touch of them sending little electric currents of excitement through you...

But nothing, he just grazed his lips against yours, not moving any further, but not backing away either. Your breaths collided softly, his eyes still fixed on yours with insistence.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice composed and contained, as you tried to free yourself a little from the hold his hand had on your jaw, to no avail.

His lips, so close to yours and yet so far away, gave you electrifying sensations, but you wanted more. You wanted the two of you to kiss, for your lips to become one again, for you to be able to offer him the body's 'I love you'.

So you tried to move a little closer, meeting his lips to satisfy your desire, no, your need. But he pulled back slightly, causing you to sigh in disappointment. No, you'd have to tell him.

"Kiss me," you whispered, your voice small but audible, as if you were pouring your desire into his plump lips.

A smile, the stretch of his lips pulling them a little further away from yours.

"Where," the question sounding more like a command.

His thumb eased a little in its pressure and caressed the skin of your cheek for a moment before sliding across your chin, settling just below your bottom lip.

"There," you replied, your desperation for more contact growing stronger by the second as the only thought on your mind was his kisses.

You wanted to taste that rainy, woody flavour on his lips again, and feel them assault your body with kisses.

"Only there?" he questioned, provoking your cravings even more as your impatience was felt almost painfully.

It didn't seem fair, he seemed to possess incredible composure and cold-blood as your veins pulsed through your body like lava flowing from the volcano of your heart.

The little game Miguel was playing with you almost felt like a little revenge. Could you blame him? He wanted all this as much as you did, but he liked balance, he liked things to be even, and he was making you pay for the advance you'd dared to take from him.

His thumb pressed against your plump lip, his skin barely brushing against it, and it felt like a thread sticking out with no way of pulling on it.

"Yes- No!" you moaned, feeling like a child who was denied a sweet treat, unable to hide your longing for more as his touch confused you, "everywhere."

His lips were parted, as close as ever, his warm breath spilling over yours. His thumb had moved up the curve of your lips to press against the volume of her, his eyes fixed on it.

"I didn't hear that properly," he said, his eyes returning to yours.

Their carmine colour reflected your face: eyebrows slanted back, eyes almost watery, his thumb resting on your lips as he continued to caress it mathematically to elicit a reaction from you.

You tried to squirm away for a moment, but Miguel's hand on your waist held you in place with incredible ease.

He raised an eyebrow, obviously your attempt was in vain, he hadn't started hand-to-hand training the day before like you had, he'd been an ace at physical power and combat for much longer, so of course he could immobilise you in less than no time and much less delicately if the mood took him.

His lips brushed yours a little closer, and you could almost feel them completely. But this tiny glimpse of heaven wasn't granted to you, and you whimpered for a moment before finally just saying:

"Kiss me," you whined, "please."

His eyes crinkled with his smile.

"Mira que buena."

He finally kissed you, and it was like you had taken cotton candy in your mouth and as it melted you could feel all the little crystals of sugar that were hidden by the fluffiness of the sweet, a moan of relief vibrating from your lips against his lips.

Millions of tiny sparkles crackled under your skin, rising to the surface like champagne bubbles as Miguel cupped your face and kissed you. He took your lips as if you were holding the air that allowed him to breathe, his hand going round your side to slip under your back, pressing against your pelvis to bring it close to his.

He bit your lower lip lightly before pulling away, his half-closed eyes looking into yours again. His hand came to caress your cheekbone gently, with a tenderness that was almost unlike anything he had ever offered you before.

"Tell me more about these desires you mentioned.”

Your breath caught slightly, and you suddenly felt your face heat up fiercely, as if you were leaning over the hearth of a fireplace, its fire licking your face and your being from afar. You swallowed, formulating out loud your desires, all those thoughts you'd had about him even after your meeting at the Conditioning Centre and what had happened in the cabin, seemed difficult.

"Come on, don't be scared," he murmured before leaning over to kiss your forehead gently, offering you soft, sweet words to help you get the burning out of your soul.

All those thoughts you'd had, those warm nights during that week when you'd imagined the feel of his fingers, his lips, the sweet words that interested you as he searched inside you to expose you to him emotionally, all of them could be said, especially the one that was vibrating immensely inside you at the moment.

"I want... I want you to..."

You had the impression that the words you were about to say would be like throwing a tiny stone into still water, like stepping on ice and feeling it crack, like throwing alcohol into the fireplace that was warming you up.

The hand that was resting on your cheek ran down your neck, brushing your chest as it slid to your hip and slid all the way down to your thigh, stopping in its descent at that very spot, his hand gripping it.

"Hmm?" he asked, his humming vibrating against the skin of your cheek and tickling you.

You bit the inside of your lip, your teeth pressing into your flesh and trapping some of the wet skin against your bottom teeth. You released this clutch with a gasp as your voice dropped to a whisper when you whispered :

"I want you to fuck me."

His eyes crinkled as he smiled, an eyebrow raised, his proud grin stretching across his cheek as his lip parted wide enough to reveal his fangs. He came to kiss your cheek, his soft lips caressing it as his lashes offered you butterfly kisses.

His grip on your thigh softened, his thumb making circular movements against your covered skin as a warm cloud began to form in your lower belly.

"Say that again," he said, his breath landing on your neck as his thumb began to move slightly up your inner thigh.

You tilted your head back, closing your eyes as the simple sensation of his fingers on your body caressed you sublimely, a sigh of ease slipping from your lips. Miguel then took the opportunity to kiss the corner of your jaw, laying a trail of kisses that mixed sweetness and hunger, kissing and biting your skin. He lowered his lips a little further down your neck and kissed you lazily, the coolness of his lips meeting the fire burning at the back of your head. His lips reached a sensitive corner, causing you to let out a moan.

You moistened your lips, your cheeks burning as Miguel's fingers traced the sensitive skin of your thigh and his other hand rested on the small of your back, close to the cloud of heat.

And he expected you, with all these delicious distractions, to be able to string a sentence together properly and clearly. So you tried to speak louder, swallowing before saying:

"I want you to fuck me."

His lips came away from your neck, just brushing your ear before coming back to face you. The red of his eyes was deep, hungry, but above all attentive to your every move, which made him even more intimidating. His lips were so close to yours that you could feel them moving close to your skin as he spoke.

"There must be something with my hear because I can't hear properly what you said," he said, his tone a little less contained than he had managed to convey before, less composed, "say it louder."

His fingers continued their trajectory, very close to you, to where your desires came from, the knot in your lower abdomen tightening even though he never reached the spot. So this was the intense despair he'd felt earlier? The pain of his desire overcoming his thought and logic in the simple hope that he would be touched to turn the pain into sweetness?

You tried to move your hips a little, in the simple hope that he might go further, touch you, but he steadied you in an instant with his hand on your back, making you let out a little cry of longing.

You bit the inside of your cheek, your gaze meeting his for a moment, and you saw it in the reflection of his eyes: the breadth of your desire spreading through your whole body.

You breathed in, gathering your strength and thoughts to say, "I want you to-"

His hand went up your back to the nape of your neck and traced up and down your spine, your body undulating uncontrollably as you concluded with a strangled sigh:

"Fuck me, please."

His carmine eyes watched you through his long black lashes, a proud sneer stretching his lips, your request seemed to have pleased him greatly.

If you had something to ask him, you might as well ask him politely. He tilted his head to one side, the light illuminating his jaw over his massive shoulder, it was so sharp it could have cut glass. Did he have any idea of the hold he had over you?

"Muy bien, bien hecho, muñeca," he murmured before kissing you again, gently.

His kiss was demanding, hungry, eager for your lips to be captured by his. Your hands, until now too afraid to touch anything or attempt any gesture, were tempted by the need to touch him in turn. They came to rest on his face, cupping it as he devoured your mouth relentlessly, his kiss a mixture of thirst, craving and the occasional sensation of his canines scratching your skin.

His thumb had moved up to your groin, deliberately avoiding and brushing very close to the part you'd been dreaming of him touching. Both his hands were now on your hips, gripping them to draw them to his.

And the electrifying sensation of his erection meeting in a single touch the excitement of your cunt that had grown inside you caused you both to moan together.

Your hand snaked through his hair, his sighs of comfort rushing into the depths of your body, blowing on the already burning fire inside you making it blaze and shine. His pelvis had begun to undulate against yours, the friction he was exerting against your covered flesh, against your throbbing clit, sending sparks throughout your body.

"Coño," he let out between kisses, one of his hands gripping your hip a little tighter to pull you closer to him and hold you in place while the other moved up your body like ivy on a statue, pressing against the back of your neck so that you were even closer. He wanted to eliminate any space between you, and you wanted it just as much, arching your body to his touch.

The kiss went from gentle to passionate, from passionate to hungry, and from hungry to needing more. Your tongues exchanged a waltz, and the next moment Miguel was back at your neck as your hand rested on his hip.

You needed more closeness, more of everything, but less clothing. He pulled you in again, straightening you up so that you ended up sitting on the desk, both your mouths still dancing.

He placed both hands firmly under your thighs, ready to lift you up.

"Hang on," he whispered between two kisses.

Without missing a beat you wrapped your legs around his waist, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck as he lifted you with incredible ease, heading for a door at the back of the room: Miguel's quarters.

To avoid being bothered by anything during his precious, absent sleep, Miguel didn't belong to any of the dormitories, sleeping in secluded quarters. One of his hands came up to grip one of your buttocks, grasping it with his full hand and kneading it, a little hum of pleasure vibrating from your lips against his as you nibbled on it. You kissed his cheek, tracing his jaw with your wet skin.

As he depixelised his hand from his suit and placed it on the digital recognition pad, you gently kissed his neck, a rumble rising in his throat, a mixture of threat and plea for patience. But how could you still be patient? It was impossible, you were each other's tinder box and lighter.

As soon as the airlock opened, he came to kiss you dangerously, not tiring for a moment of the sensation of your lips caught between his. He walked quickly and eagerly, his erratic breathing colliding with your warm skin.

You rounded a corner, and the familiar sensation of a mattress under your back met you almost brutally. You were out of breath, lying back, looking at Miguel.

He stood there, looking down at you. His hair was dishevelled from the passage of your hands, his eyes shining like two rubies in the half-light, watching you hungrily. He towered over you, dominating you with his size and power. You shuddered, because at the moment he looked like a predator facing the prey he was about to devour.

He chuckled, moving closer as he put one knee on the mattress, one of his hands coming to rest beside your head, leaning gently over you, crawling up to spread your thighs as his face came level with yours.

And it was with the sensitivity that only lips possess that he whispered to you:

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," his mouth hungrily came to reclaim yours, his other hand sliding up your waist to reach your hip and hold it in place as he consumed you.

You were in his grip, entranced, trapped in the web of desire he had woven in your mind, every thread of which you touched bringing the spider back to its prey.

His hand came up to your head and nestled under the nape of your neck, looking for the zip to take off your suit. You helped him, pressing a little harder against his lips in your kisses as you raised your head to help him pull it off.

He found it, and you could feel with what composure he was pulling it. You knew perfectly well that if it had only been up to him, your suit would have been ripped to shreds and it would have been impossible to reassemble it properly and put it back together in one piece. But he was holding back, with difficulty.

The sensation of all those little metal teeth coming loose against your back and letting your abundantly heated skin breathe sent tingles through each of your ribs and down your spine, your back arching all the more at the sensation. Maybe having absolutely nothing under your costume could be complicated in certain situations, but it had never been as practical or as pleasant as it was right now. And Miguel seemed to agree.

His hand came to pull at the fabric, exposing your shoulder, and feeling his fingers run over it made you shiver. He continued to pull gently, your chest meeting the cool air until your breasts were bare.

He broke away from your lips for a moment, watching your skin like a flame and its enchanted dance. And you were burning, your whole body aflame with his touch, his kisses, his eyes. You couldn't undress him on your side, his costume knew no beginning or end other than pixels, and you found that profoundly unfair.

Then, very gently, his hand came to hover over your skin. It barely grazed, not even touching it, passing over the roundness of your shoulder, following your collarbone up to your cheek. He placed his hand on it, and it was as if your body was a diamond, every facet of which was illuminated by the light from his hand.

"Tan linda," he whispered, nestling back into the crook of your neck, kissing the warm, tender skin there. His kisses trailed down to your collarbone, sucking on your skin from time to time to reveal violet and pink flowers.

You hummed with delight under his touch, your body lighting up and glowing a little more with every touch of his lips against your skin. They came to rest between the valley of your breasts, his red eyes meeting yours as, while one of his hands pulled a little harder on the part of your suit that was still in place, his own suit began to depixel as he straightened up to face you.

Lips parted, you watched his body reveal itself, his tanned torso sculpted like a god. But above all, you couldn't help letting your eyes wander along the countless scars that marked his body.

Various shapes were mixed in, cuts, burns, strange, sinuous lines, all marking the traces of past dangers. And he had survived them all.

Gently, your hand came to rest on his cheek, pressing against your touch and kissing your palm as you let your fingers move down his torso. You let your fingertips trace a scar, caressing it gently, Miguel's breath shuddering against your skin for a moment.

Your breath caught in your throat as his bare hand grazed the skin of one of your tits, his thumb gently tracing the bouncing skin. His lips moved down the ridge of your breasts, kissing the soft, tender skin of it.

He looked into your eyes as he stuck out his tongue and ran it over your nipple slowly, the warmth of his saliva and the roughness of his muscle sending all sorts of little stars into your body.

It was as if your flesh was bare soil, and with his hands he brought forth flowers of many colours and intoxicating scents that enchanted you, making you drunk with his touch and the colours he painted under your skin.

His tongue traced the separation between your skin and your nipple, his hand resting on the other, pressing it gently between his large fingers. Then he kissed it gently, sucking lightly as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin. And as the moans multiplied between your lips, he stopped, a smile stretching his lips as his hand dripped down your waist and clutched the rest of your costume.

As he pulled it off, in a slow motion, he kissed his way down your belly, letting buds of caress blossom on your body. Reaching below your navel, he exchanged a glance with you, seeking approval.

As a simple response, you raised your hips, and he gently pulled the rest of the costume down, his bare fingers brushing your buttocks and thighs as he pulled until you were covered by nothing but your panties.

One of his hands grabbed your thigh, the other settled on your waist, lazily tracing your skin until it reached your groin, stopping there, drawing indescribable patterns as the fire in your lower belly heated up.

He stayed there, eyes riveted on yours, his other hand moving slightly up your inner thighs but not reaching your core either. The tingles it sent through your being were delicious, but you were getting impatient. Your pussy was almost starting to ache from the lack of touch and contact.

"Lower..." you murmured, your desires taking possession of your body, your reason silenced.

He tilted his head to one side, and the same words you'd said to him earlier in the bathroom came back to you:

"Say that again."

A grunt of frustration rattled against your teeth. Your own cards had just been used against you in your own game, and you had no say in the matter. His fingers continued to draw as if nothing had happened, sometimes reaching for half a second a little lower than where they were staying. You needed more.

"Touch me lower," you said, looking into his red eyes, which raised an eyebrow as if to say 'aren't you forgetting something?', so you punctuated your sentence with a little "please."

He smiled, dark, his tongue passing over his canine and his lip as he ran his fingers between your skin and the elastic of your panties, pulling the latter so that only the air, his hands and his warm breath covered you.

His fingers returned to your now naked groin, and he gently traced your skin, finally coming to touch your cunt, a sigh of respite taking hold of your chest as he gently passed a single finger between your lips.

"Hmm?" he hummed, raising his fingers to the height of his head, observing the sticky substance that glued to his skin, "would you look at that." Evidence of your arousal was placed before your eyes, "Am I the reason you're so wet ?"

Your head tucked into your shoulders, your cheeks heating intensely as he smiled wider.

"Tengo suerte," he murmured as his finger returned to your entrance, coating itself in more of your wetness as his thumb settled on your clit, making slow, hypnotic circular movements that tightened the knot in your lower abdomen.

Your hands clutched the sheets as you drew in a shaky breath, but he reached down and guided one of them to his hair, which you grabbed without hesitation.

"Like it when I touch you there?" he asked, echoing the words you had said to him in the cabin.

"Mhm," you agreed, unable to formulate a coherent sentence, inhaling more air as he pushed in his first finger.

His hands were big, his fingers thick, and he manipulated them all to perfection. His finger was streching you out, undulating to awaken exceptional sensations in you.

"How does that feel?" he asked, his tone composed and almost teasing in the way he asked you things.

"Good," you assented as he inserted a second finger, causing you to gasp out a moan, your eyelids closing of their own accord.

His fingers worked you out, curving up to touch the spot that made you see stars.

"Keeps your eyes on me," he whispered as his head lowered against your cunt, his hot breath falling against your damp skin, "I want you to see me."

With difficulty you complied, and he brought his tongue against your pussy, a moan of pleasure rising from your throat. The sensation of his hot, wet tongue licking your clit made your whole body burn.

Your hand gripped his hair more firmly, needing something to anchor it so that you didn't succumb entirely to all your vices. Miguel groaned at this gesture, and the sensation of his vibrant voice on your sensitive skin almost made you come in an instant.

Your pelvis moved of its own accord, and Miguel immediately grabbed it to immobilise you, his fingers and tongue working together to make you moan even more.

The sight reminded you immensely of the bullet incident: his eyes reddened, his tongue and lips resting on you while your fingers were knotted in his hair.

You were beginning to feel as if you were flying away, but it was at that precise moment that Miguel stopped, pulling his fingers out and his mouth away. You whimpered, a whiney complaint filling your mouth as you laid your head back in disappointment on the pillow, Miguel moving up to your face.

"I just wanted to make sure you'd know what it feels like."

The torment was unbearable, and you bit your lips for fear that, on the instant, you might send an insult into his face.

"Oh," he said, raising an eyebrow, "did I make you mad?"

His tone seemed almost condescending, addressing you as if you were a child. He brought his face close to yours, his eyes falling on your lips.

"Want me to fuck you, querida?" he questioned, his lips brushing yours "want me to fill you up with my cock?"

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, simply nodding in response as his simple words managed to make your hair stand on end.

"Use your words," he said simply.

"Yes," you said, beginning to learn from his lessons, trying to find more strength in your voice, "fuck me, please."

He nodded, proud.

"Good," he said, bringing his two fingers, still covered with yourself, close to your lips, "open up."

Timidly, you parted your lips.

"Wider," he ordered in a calm voice.

You obeyed, and soon felt his moist fingers on your tongue. You licked them, his eyes watching with great interest. They were thick and having them both in your mouth wasn't easy, but by relaxing your jaw you eventually managed to suck them off properly, your eyes returning to his, feverish with desire.

Without further ado, he removed his fingers from your mouth and came to kiss your lips, hungry. The entre-met you had offered him wasn't enough, and he was fasting from it to be able to taste all the other parts of you that were still untouched by his lips.

His naked erection pressed against your cunt, and your hips undulated against the sensation as you let out an excited moan against his lips, your walls closing in on nothing.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he splayed his hand across your lower back, undoing the kiss to press his forehead against yours. He adjusted his cock in front of your entrance, coating himself in your juices, and just by that gesture and the memory of your hands, you knew it would be too much.

"Miguel it's," you breathed softly against him, "it's too big. I'll never-" but he cut you off.

"I'm sure you can take it, muñeca," he murmured softly, kissing your cheek.

He returned to kiss your lips, then asked before doing anything else:

"Ready?"

You inhaled softly, your eyes plunging into the red of his, before murmuring against his lips:

"Ready."

He nodded, coming to kiss you chastely before lining up his cock and thrusting in. A moan slipped from your lips, he was big, way too big.

"Shh," he soothed, kissing your temple, "you're tense cariño, breathe through your nose."

So you followed his instructions, trying to relax as much as possible as your nails on his back began to dig into his flesh. Your breath was coming in shaky gasps, your teeth sinking into your lip as Miguel whispered:

"You're doing so well," his hands gently caressing your arched back and thigh.

His voice relaxed you, your breathing a little more settled as he thrust deeper, stretching you out. He kissed your forehead tenderly, brushing the tiny tear from the corner of your eye with his lips.

"Just like that," he groaned, finally managing to fill you completely, "look at you taking me so well.

He kissed your lips gently, caressing the skin of your side. He kissed your cheek, then the side of your neck, sucking in one more mark.

Full, that's how you felt. He stretched you out fully, filling every inch of your being, meeting the warm cloud as he kissed you to contrast the sensation. And soon enough, you relaxed a little more.

"Are you ready for me to move?" he murmured, his thumb resting on your cheek.

As a simple response, breathing softly, you moved your hips on him. He smiled, kissing your lips softly as he pulled back slightly to push into you again, a shaky breath mingling with a moan that he swallowed from your lips.

His tongue came to meet yours, curling around it, sucking it between his lips tenderly as he took a slow rhythm to get you used to him.

He sprinkled kisses across your face, sloppy ones running over your warm naked skin, inevitably coming back to your neck, nibbling lightly. He traced your collarbone with his lips, running along it until he reached your shoulder, where the rounded skin was bitten and a moan was torn from your lips.

His hand came to take your arm, kissing the skin gently as he raised it, straightening slightly to manipulate and kiss it better.

His lips came to linger on the inner skin of your arms, depositing his lips gently as he traced that softened area, his pelvis taking on a slightly faster rhythm.

After the little treatment he'd given you, you weren't going to last long, so you let yourself be carried and touched by his adoring lips.

His tongue traced the skin on the inside of your wrist, his teeth grazing the separation between your hand and it. He came to kiss your palm, then delicately placed his lips on each of your knuckles before pressing it against his cheek.

Your thumb caressed it, and he surrendered to your touch. He then guided it to the side of your head, his fingers nestling in the crack of yours until your hands were intertwined.

"Qué guapa," he breathed.

His rhythm quickened, and you could feel the knot in your belly gradually tightening as Miguel's thrusting in and out of you became sublime, and the sounds you were making multiplied as he hit all the right spots.

Your fingers tightened on Miguel's hand as your other reached down his back to grip his arm, squeezing hard as you felt you were going to come.

"Miguel," you sobbed as he returned to kiss your lips, "I'm close."

It was a miracle you managed to get those few words right. The hand that wasn't intertwined with yours came to cup your face before moving down your body to grab your hip, a deep sigh escaping from his throat.

And you felt his canine gently bite your lip as the knot burst in your lower belly and a moan echoed in your throat. It was like a bolt of lightning striking against metal, spreading out in a powerful electric shock in your entire body as the pleasure beat like a second heart. Miguel's voice growled against your skin as you closed around him spasmodically, your nails clawing at his arm.

You twitched, Miguel kissing your forehead, your eyelids, your nose, your lips. You were slowly coming down from your clouds, the sensations you had gradually fading.

"Tan buena..." he whispered, close to your lips, "but I'm not done with you yet.”

His fingers loosened from yours as he grabbed your arms with both hands to pull you against him and straighten you up. He was sitting, still inside you, making you sit on top of him, facing him.

One of his hands grabbed one of your buttocks, guiding you to move back and forth on him, while his other was on your back, caressing it.

He came to attack your lips again, the sound of your two bodies meeting clapping in the air as you felt completely disorientated by the pleasure. The speed with which he entered you was exceptional, and the sensations he triggered were even more so.

His lips moved over the back of your neck, then settled on your shoulder, his breathing becoming more and more jerky.

You tilted your head back, your voice interspersed with the feeling of him pounding you, the heat in your belly not entirely gone and tightening again.

Then the hand that had been resting on your back slipped between your two bodies and caressed your clit, your breath catching as you felt the cloud spread once more to the small of your back.

Miguel's voice grew less hushed as his rhythm quickened, his fingers working your clit with speed as you felt the climax building up again.

And all at once, you felt his fangs penetrate your beloved as he gave a powerful thrust, and you both came. The earth stopped spinning as you felt like you'd been sent miles above the clouds, both your bodies warm against each other, both of you breathless.

Everything seemed soft, floating, an inner peace had taken hold of both of you as you came down from this peak of pleasure.

He held you against him gently, running his tongue over the two slits he'd made in your skin. He pulled out of you, placing you so gently and carefully on the mattress that it was as if he had a spider's web in his hands.

You snuggled up to him, and he pulled the blanket over you as he kissed you again.

You felt safe here, cuddled in his huge arms that wrapped around you, his hands caressing your body with pure adoration and softness.

You kissed his chest, on one of his scars, and he breathed a profound sigh.

"How did you know?" he whispered.

The end of his question never came, but it was simple: how did you know I wanted to be kissed here? Probably no one had ever touched him this way, here, like that.

"There's nothing like tenderness to soothe the scars." you smiled.

He breathed out, his eyes had returned to their natural brown. He pressed you a little closer to him, his eyes locked in yours. Blue words are the ones you say with your eyes, when your lips are too tired.

"Maybe we'll have to find a name for this pseudo-friendship?" he smiled, the little chat you'd had on the first mission coming back to you as you smiled and kissed him sweetly.

"Why when we already have two letters?" you replied, placing your hand on his cheek, kissing your palm as his hand caressed your waist.

"Two letters?" he asked, curious.

"Yeah," you confirmed, your voice becoming a whisper, "us."

He gave you a candid, sincere smile before kissing your lips softly.

"Yes," he nodded, "we could make a great us, muñeca."

Us, two letters, a whole world.

[lnlightning81]

Quiet Dates - Part Five [OB38]

Series : Younger Sister

Summary: Ollie takes you on that first date because he won the bet. Takes you to a small cafe so your anxiety doesn't get the best of you and you can enjoy it

Pairing/s: Oliver Bearman x Norris!Reader, Lando Norris x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist Oliver Bearman Masterlist Lando Norris Masterlist Younger Sister Masterlist Tag List

Previous

Standing in the hotel room, Lando was out visiting Carlos and making sure that he was okay. Normal boyfriend duties as you liked to annoy him about. Hungary was fairly warm, so you had decided on a nice outfit that would keep you cool but still allow you to be comfortable in what you were wearing at the same time. 

There was a knock on the door, so you got up from the bed and wandered over to it. Opening the door to see Ollie with a smile on his face wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. 

“Hey” You smiled, opening the door further to let him into the hotel room. Ollie was silent as he followed you back into the hotel room. You turned to look at him as you grabbed your handbag and phone 

“Hey you okay?” You asked him with a frown as you walked over to him. 

“Huh? Yeah, sorry. You just look really good” He smiled, and you blushed, glancing down to the ground before looking up at him 

“You also look very good” You smiled, taking his hand in your own. Ollie blushed as he looked down at you. 

“Thanks. I found a nice little cafe it was really empty when I went past it, and I figured that you’d quite like it” He smiled, and you nodded 

“Sounds perfect” You smiled, walking out of the hotel room with him. 

Walking to the cafe was nice and calm. Ollie made sure that he was holding your hand the whole way there to help ease your nerves as you walked, which you were so thankful for. You hadn’t known each other in person for a long time, but you had been talking over text for ages, which meant you both knew more about each other than you thought. 

You looked up at the little cafe Ollie had found. It looked like a small family fun business that had pictures of the family history dotted around the cafe. Taking you inside, Ollie found a table for you both sitting opposite each other with a smile. 

“So how's the race treating you?” Ollie asked as you looked about the cafe taking in the decor. 

“They’re good. I’m quite enjoying them. Still not so comfortable about trending on social media every time I breathe. but it’s okay. I’m getting used to it. Comes with the job. Although teenage boys and girls who find out you’re hanging out with Formula One drivers aren’t the best. They’ve been blowing my phone up” You chuckled, and he nodded

“Oh I get that. The number of people I’ve had in my text messages from before I left school this weekend is crazy” He laughed, and you nodded, looking at the menu 

“So I believe it’s my turn to pay” You hummed, and he shook his head 

“Got to beat me to it” He hummed, and you rolled your eyes 

“You know I will. You might have the reaction speed, but I’ve got older siblings” You hummed, giving your order to the waitress. Ollie did the same, ordering some tea and a slice of cake 

“Don’t tell my trainer” He joked, and you nodded 

“I don’t even know who your trainer is” You shrugged, and he laughed, holding your hand across the table 

“So I know you probably don’t want anyone to ask you this, but how are you feeling about tomorrow?” You asked, tilting your head slightly to look at him

“I’m scared. More than scared, actually. Formula One is so much different to Formula Two. It’s faster, the cars are different, a lot more g-force, more g-force in crashes. There’s so much that could go wrong” He ran a hand down his face as you gently squeezed his hand. 

“Ollie you’re going to do great. Look at how amazing you did today! I know it was probably a stupid question, and I’ve just made you even more anxious than before, but honestly, I know you’re going to do great. I know you are, and remember we’ve got a deal you need to keep” You hummed, and he smiled at you taking a drink of his tea

“Have you met Charles’ puppy yet?” Ollie asked, changing the subject 

“He’s got a puppy?” You asked now, very excited. Ollie nodded 

“Here let me show you” Ollie showed you a little picture of the puppy

“He’s a little dachshund” You smiled, looking at the picture 

“I can see. He’s very cute. Is he here?” You asked, and Ollie nodded

“Yeah. I’ll let you meet him tomorrow. He wasn’t at quali” You smiled eating a bit of your cake. 

“Want to go for a walk?” Ollie asked once you had both finished your drinks and food.

“Oh that sounds like a good idea” You smiled, getting up and walking to pay. Ollie tried to push you out the way so he could get there first and pay 

“Oh come on, Ollie. You paid for the ice creams” You whined as he paid for the drinks and food. Oliver took your hand as you walked around the park that was next to the cafe. Your energy picked up as you spotted a play park.

 Dropping Ollie’s hand, you skipped over, getting on the swings and starting to swing. Ollie laughed, following behind you in just a walk as you waved him over to come on the swings with you. 

“You have so much energy” He chuckled while getting on the swing next to you. 

“It’s a Norris thing. Actually no it’s not. It’s a Lando and Y/N thing. None of our other siblings have this much energy” You shrugged, enjoying yourself. 

“That’s probably true” He laughed as you tried to get higher than him on the swing, except he was able to get higher faster 

“Oh come on. I just want to go higher” You huffed, and he chuckled, getting off the swing and giving you a push. Your giggles make him smile even more than he already was. 

Getting off the swing, your arms instantly wrapped around him as you regained your balance. Ollie pressed a kiss to your temple before you looked up at him with a smile 

“I want to change our deal” You hummed, and he frowned, looking down at you 

“What why?” He asked, confused, trying to read your face 

“If you finish the race tomorrow, then I’ll go on another date with you. However, I don’t want our relationship to spawn out of a bet for your first ever formula one race. I want that to happen whenever we want that to happen” You explained gently, resting your chin on his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist

“What if I want that to happen tonight?” He asked 

“I think I’d like that” You smiled up at him as he leaned down a little. Your faces hovering above each other 

“Can I kiss you?” Oliver asked, and you nodded 

“I think I’d like that too” You whispered as he leaned down. 

Your lips pressed together gently as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He pulled you closer by your waist. You smiled into the kiss, relaxing in his arms as you kissed him. Pulling back after a little while. You rested your head against his chest as you looked up at him 

“Was that okay?” He asked, causing you to nod 

“It definitely was. Although you’ve stolen all my energy now” You joked, and he laughed 

“Good. It means you’ll stop texting me at two in the morning” you smiled up at him as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into his body as he started walking with you again. Looking at your phone, Lando had texted to say that he was back in the hotel room now and not to wake him. 

“We both know that I’ll be tired until I get into bed and then I’ll be jumping on Lando again” Ollie laughed as you pulled a hair tie off your wrist and pulled your hair out of your face. 

“I know my dads here, and he’ll be in the garage tomorrow, but I’d really appreciate it if you would be in the Ferrari garage tomorrow. You’ve got this great way of calming me down” You smiled, looking up at him 

“You know I’ll be there if you want me there. Lando really won’t care” You hummed, and he nodded, stopping as you passed a fountain. You looked at him with a frown as he looked down at you with a smile on his face 

“Make a wish” He hummed, and you turned to the fountain and made a wish before starting to walk back to the hotel. Walking you up to the hotel room stopping outside of your room with Ollie, who smiled at you 

“Thank you for coming out with me” He smiled 

“Of course. I really enjoyed it, Ollie. Thank you” You smiled, opening the hotel door up after giving Ollie another hug and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Walking into the hotel room silently, assuming that Lando would be asleep by now. you let out a scream when you saw Lando sat staring at you 

“Jesus fuck Lando” You swore hand going to your chest as Lando laughed at you. There was a knock at the door 

“Y/N?” Ollie called, and you opened up the door to see a worried looking Oliver Bearman. 

“I heard you scream. Are you okay?” He asked, looking to check you for any injuries 

“Yeah. Just got a heart attack from my lovely brother. He told me he’d be sleeping, but he was sat staring at me” You explained as Lando was still laughing in the background 

“Oh good. I’m gonna go back to my room then” he smiled 

“Night Ollie” Shutting the door again, you turned back to Lando, rolling your eyes as you sat on your bed, taking your shoes off 

“How was your date?” Lando asked, raising his eyebrows as he turned in his seat 

“It was good. We went to a little cafe then walked around the park. I got a little too excited when I saw some swings” Lando laughed 

“So you admit it was a date?” He asked, and you rolled your eyes again 

“Yeah. I admit it” You grabbed your clothes walking into the bathroom as Lando cheered obviously very happy with the outcome.

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[beansandsprouts]

Sunshine (Part 2)

Part 1

Summary: Bucky interacts with you here and there and finds himself feeling more connected to you. Driving him to want to see your soulmate mark even more.

Warnings: none

Sorry it took so long! College and work got me dying lmao. Updates will continue to be kinda spaced out. Fingers crossed I can get another one out over the weekend.

Also I am absolutely delighted by how much interest there's been in this! Thank you all sm for reading. Down below with the tags there's a link to a little survey, even if you're already on the tag list please fill it out. It's how I'll be keeping track of the tag list. If you don't fill it out you won't be tagged.

He hadn't been able to sleep that night.

You were right across the hall. Two doors separated you from him. And it drove him crazy knowing that you, his possible soulmate, were so close yet just out of reach.

He had dozed in and out of consciousness through the night, but found himself wide awake when he heard shuffling coming from your room. Super soldier hearing meant he heard you get out of bed and pad to your closet. What were you doing?

He heard your door shut quietly, and you make your way down the hall, and, after a few moments, the ding of the elevator door.

His mind raced, wondering what you could be doing. The next thing he knew he was tugging on a hoodie over his tank top and sweats over his boxers. He padded down the hall to the elevator, the little number above lit up saying the elevator was stopped at the floor right underneath him. The training room.

That made sense. From the way you'd spoken about your time in the military yesterday, you were highly trained and a huge asset, you likely had gotten up this early to train for years. He stood there for a moment, debating on going down as well.

The thought that maybe he'd get to see your soulmate mark was enough to have him going back to his room to get his shoes, water bottle, and towel. He wanted to make sure he looked like he was actually down there to train.

Hey, maybe he'd even get to spar with you, get to see what you were capable of.

The elevator moved only one floor, but it felt like it was taking forever. The doors opened to the small lobby and he pushed open the doors to the training room. You were doing some stretches, warming yourself up, and you looked up when he entered.

"Mornin!"

He mumbled the greeting back, now suddenly extremely nervous and starting to wonder why exactly he thought this would be a good idea.

"Didn't think I'd catch anyone this early." You seemed unbothered, warm smile despite the fact that it was so early you could still see the stars in the dark sky if you looked out the window.

He grunted in response, not being able to find the words to respond. He stood there for a moment, watching you, before walking off to start his own warmup. Which consisted of lifting more weight than you could even dream of getting even an inch over your chest. But it was light work for him.

You continued stretching but subtly watched him. You were a little disappointed he was wearing a hoodie, it did kind of obscure everything. Though you could imagine how good his muscles looked lifting that weight. Your face warmed a bit at the thought and you tried to force yourself to focus on the light burn in your calves as you stretched.

After a bit, you moved to wrap your hands and feet, wanting to practice on one of the dozen punching bags Tony had in there. He'd offhandedly mentioned he had to design a lot of the equipment himself so they could withstand the beating of the two super soldiers living in this place.

You focused on the swaying bag in front of you, vaguely aware of Bucky doing things behind you, but not paying him too much mind. Your mind was on getting out that pent up energy. Working with the Avengers was going to be very different from your previous work, and you knew there'd be a lot less for you to do on the daily. You had a feeling you'd probably be spending a lot of time in here.

You barely registered Bucky saying your name from behind you. When it did you paused your beating on the punching bag and turned to him.

"Whats up?"

"Spar?"

"Huh?"

Bucky gestured to the mat meant for sparring a little ways away. It was a little padding so whoever got dropped on their ass only hurt their pride.

"Oh! Yeah, sure." You grinned, you had to admit the idea was exciting. You were curious to see how you'd fare against one of these two.

The two of you settled into stances on the mat and you gave him a teasing grin, "I'm not gonna go easy on you."

You saw the corner of his mouth twitch with amusement as he raised a brow.

"Oh?"

"I don't have to be as worried about breaking you."

His eyes lit with curiosity, just what exactly were you capable of.

He watched you closely as you circled each other before lunging, swinging his non-metal arm at you. You blocked the hit easily and returned it with a swing of your own, which landed. His head snapped to the side as your fist connected with his jaw.

He took a step back, rubbing where you'd hit him. He hadn't expected you to hit that hard. Hell, Steve was one of the few people who's hits actually made his body ache. You packed some heat he was not expecting.

He squared up again and the two of you traded some blows back and forth before he realized you were barely flinching at the hits he landed. So he decided to turn it up a notch, striking harder than he had before. You reciprocated that.

As the two of you sparred, his eyes narrowed, and Bucky's focus turned to seeing how far he could push you. His blows struck hard, one particular hit to your abdomen forced the air from your lungs, and you stepped back gasping.

He pushed forward, though, and despite the lack of air, you fended him off well. To anyone watching, it would seem like a friendly sparring match had turned malicious. However, both yours and Bucky's eyes were lit with delight at the fact that you'd found an equal opponent.

You finally decided to end the session with a swift attack to knock him to the ground and taking the opportunity to pin him, his arm twisted behind his back.

"I surrender." He chuckled. You released him quickly and offered a hand to help him up, which he took.

"Youre...tougher than I expected."

You tilted your head, "Did Tony not tell you?"

"Tell me what?" He asked.

"I'm also a weird military experiment. Except they aimed more for stealth than brute strength with me, still gave me that enhanced strength though." You explained as you used your towel to dab the sweat from your neck.

"You haven't been particularly stealthy."

You laughed, "Haven't been trying. Tell you what, turn off the light and see if you can find me in the dark."

Bucky's eyes scanned you curiously before walking over and flicking off the lights. When he turned back, he tried to peer through the darkness to find you. He even tried to listen for your breathing and heartbeat, but the room was dead silent.

It was unnerving as he stepped further into the room as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He slowly turned in a circle, hoping to spot you.

He thought he'd spotted you in a corner of the room until he felt a kick to the back of his knees, knocking him down. Suddenly, there was a hand gently resting around his throat and two fingertips pressed against his head in a mock figure of a gun.

"Surprise." You giggled and released him and went over to turn on the lights as Bucky stood up in a daze.

"How?" He demanded.

"My special serum gave me the ability to slow my heart and breath rate to the point where it's imperceptible, even to you. And I can move lightly so you can't even hear me walk. I can see in the dark, and all other senses are enhanced. Plus, the whole strength and pain tolerance thing. Literally, you just stealthy."

Bucky stared at you as you explained. He slowly realized you weren't really an equal. In fact, you were probably "better" than him in a sense. You had the ability to be completely imperceptible, even to him. You'd just proven you could have killed him easily, and he wouldn't have even seen it coming. It half scared him, and half had his heart racing with attraction.

"You ok?" You asked. He'd been staring at you silently for a good few seconds.

"I've just never met someone who could take me down like that."

"We're good though right?" Your expression had changed to one of nervousness.

"Why wouldn't we be?"

"Some men have a tendency to feel threatened or emasculated."

He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him.

"Don't gotta worry about that here."

"Good." You smiled softly at him before it turned into a mischievous grin, "Wanna see who can squat the most weight?"

His mouth quirked up in a half smile as he followed you. The next two hours consisted of you challenging him to see who could handle more. Endurance wise, you did better. However, in terms of raw strength, he did better than you.

Bucky found himself feeling amused, you were so different from him and Steve. They had a tendency to be a bit more reserved. Quieter. But you were bubbly and all over the place, all smiles and energy. It was strange knowing that you'd come from the military.

After a while, the two of you headed upstairs to eat breakfast. By then, most of the others were already awake and were surprised to see Bucky willingly hanging out with you.

It was amusing in a sense. You were like a living ray of sunshine, and Bucky was like a living storm cloud. Polar opposites. However right about now Bucky didn't seem to be as "rainy" as he usually was. The look on his face was more relaxed, and he nodded attentively as you spoke. He was genuinely interested in whatever you were saying.

The second you excused yourself for a shower, the teasing began.

"Seems Bucky has taken an interest in our new teammate." Natasha said slyly.

Bucky shot her a glare and busied himself with a cup of coffee.

"Can you blame him? She's a cute little thing." Sam chuckled.

"I heard she's a great warrior. That makes her even more attractive." Thor said from his seat.

Bucky gritted his teeth and sat down on the couch by Steve with his cup of coffee. He didn't want to tell them exactly why he was so interested. He knew if he did they'd want to get involved and it would just ruin everything.

So for now, he'd deal with the teasing and hope it wouldn't be long until he found out if it was his name marked on your arm.

He stared down into his mug, ignoring the joking going on around him. He barely knew you, and yet he was practically praying that you were his soulmate. That the name he had on his arm was written in your writing. That the name on your arm was his written in his messy chicken scratch.

-------------------------------------------------

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[novaursa]

Hello:) I love your writing and I saw that you're still taking requests, so I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in writing about my idea??

So the whole idea is Cregan x wife!reader where (before her marriage) she was from a more southern house that's closer to Kings landing (Tyrell, Lannister etc. you can choose)

Now, the main plot is that she wants to help during the war, but she's not that good at fighting and also has no dragon. However, she wants to prove that she can help.

So she fakes/has a little argument with Cregan and then, after a cute goodbye, infiltrates the greens in Kings landing.

There, she acts as if she's no longer close to cregan because he is a black supporter and because of her previous house, she's a green loyalist (in reality, she's team black and a true lady stark)

While she's there, she infiltrates them and sneaks information to cregan and rhaenyra etc. While both of them (or at least cregan worry about her)

Larys and aemond are obvi kind of suspicious of her.

You can choose how you want this to end. If it's angsty because she gets caught or happy even though she got caught, or maybe she doesn't get caught at all. You can choose, with your writing, I'm sure you'll find a great solution:)

The whole scenario is inspired by "She Wolf" by shakira (I hope you know the song😅)

For the rating 16+/18+ depending on the violence/gore/sexual themes.

(Also I wanna thank you for actually considering and writing about my idea for your harwin story "chasing the inferno". I was the anon)

I hope the idea isn't too confusing. Have a great day :)

The Silent Game

- Summary: When your family took the side of King Aegon II, the usurper, you felt the need to support the rightful Queen and your husband, the Warden of the North. No matter the cost.

- Paring: lannister!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 8 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I hope this is what you had in mind. 🙂 That idea you had (about Chasing the Inferno) was brilliant. And just what I needed to continue the plot, as my imagination was at the halt at that time. And I know that song. I was in my Shakira era when it came out. 😄

The North had always been a place of bold contrasts: the cold and the warmth, the silence and the howling winds, the dark nights and the flickering lights of Winterfell. You were still adjusting to these contrasts, even after months of marriage to Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North. Your union had been one of strategy, a lioness from the Westerlands joining forces with the wolves of the North. But in time, your marriage had grown into something deeper, something that transcended the cold calculations of politics.

Yet now, as the war between the Greens and the Blacks brewed, you found yourself increasingly restless. Winterfell felt like a prison, even with its ancient walls and the comforting presence of your husband. You longed to be more than just a silent supporter; you wanted to take action, to show Cregan that you were his equal in all things, that you could be the lioness who fought alongside the wolves.

But Cregan’s attention had shifted, as it often did with the coming of autumn. The Wall and its endless duty had consumed him, and the war in the south seemed a distant concern compared to the threats of the North. It was a reality you understood but did not accept. You needed to contribute, to show your devotion to him and his cause—Rhaenyra's cause.

Tonight, as you sat by the fire in your shared chambers, the flames casting long shadows across the stone walls, you decided to act. You would provoke Cregan, force him to send you away, to the very heart of the enemy’s territory—King’s Landing. There, you could serve as his eyes and ears, a lioness among snakes, sending back crucial information to the Black faction and to your beloved husband.

The plan was simple in theory, but your heart clenched at the thought of deceiving him, even if it was for a greater purpose. You had to make him believe that you no longer wished to stay in Winterfell, that you felt suffocated and out of place in the North. The thought of causing him pain was unbearable, but you knew it was necessary.

Cregan entered the chamber, his dark hair still damp from the cold air outside. His grey eyes softened when they met yours, and he offered you a small smile as he moved to sit beside you. His presence was comforting, a reminder of why you had fallen in love with him.

"You've been quiet tonight," he observed, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate with the very stones of Winterfell.

You looked into the fire, gathering your resolve. "I’ve been thinking, Cregan. About our place in this war."

He frowned slightly, not out of anger but concern. "Our place is here, in the North. The Wall needs me, and Winterfell needs its lady."

His words were reasonable, grounded in the reality of your lives, but they ignited the spark of frustration you needed to fuel the argument. "And what of the war in the South? What of Rhaenyra? Do we not owe her our loyalty? Our support?"

Cregan’s brow furrowed further as he regarded you. "We support her, but our duty is here. The North is vast and unpredictable; it cannot be neglected."

You stood up, letting your anger seep into your voice, even as it tore at your heart to speak such words. "I am a Lannister, Cregan! My brothers are in King’s Landing, one serving on the Small Council of the Greens. How can I sit here, idle, while they plot against Rhaenyra and our cause?"

Cregan stood as well, towering over you, his expression a mix of surprise and hurt. "You would leave Winterfell? Leave me?"

The pain in his voice nearly broke your resolve, but you pressed on, knowing this was the only way. "If it means contributing to this war, then yes! I am not some helpless maiden to be kept in the North while the world burns. I want to fight, to serve, to show that I am as much a Stark as I am a Lannister."

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you feared you had gone too far. "You think I don't need you here? That I don’t want you by my side?"

You softened your tone, taking a step closer to him. "I know you do, Cregan. But I need to prove my worth, not just to you, but to myself. Send me south. Let me be your eyes and ears in King’s Landing. I can be of more use there than I am here."

He looked away, the muscles in his jaw tightening. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between his desire to protect you and his understanding of the larger game at play.

"I cannot send you into the lion’s den, not when your brothers are part of it," he said finally, his voice strained.

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "They are my brothers, yes, but they are also men who have chosen the wrong side. They may not trust me, but they will allow me close enough to gather information, to play the part of the loyal sister while serving Rhaenyra and you."

Cregan’s gaze returned to you, searching your face as if trying to find any hint of doubt. "This is dangerous. You know that."

"I do," you whispered. "But I am willing to take that risk for you, for our house, for our future."

He closed his eyes, his grip on your hand tightening. "You ask too much of me," he murmured. "But how can I deny you when you speak of duty and love in the same breath?"

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly brushed away before he could see. "Then you will send me?"

Cregan opened his eyes, the decision made but the weight of it clear in his expression. "I will. But promise me, when this is done, you will return to me. I cannot lose you."

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I promise, Cregan. I will return."

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you would slip away then and there. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent, committing this moment to memory. 

When he released you, his expression was one of determination mixed with sorrow. "I’ll make the arrangements. You’ll leave within the week."

You nodded, unable to speak, your heart heavy with the knowledge of what you were about to do. But you reminded yourself of your purpose, of the love that drove you to this decision. You would prove your loyalty, your devotion, and your love for Cregan Stark, even if it meant walking into the lion’s den to do so.

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of your chamber, casting a muted glow over the room. The warmth of the fire had long since faded, leaving a chill in the air that seemed to seep into your very bones. You had spent the night sleepless, lying in the large bed you shared with Cregan, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Today was the day you would leave Winterfell, your home, and your husband, to embark on a dangerous mission to the South.

The thought of leaving him, of being apart from the man you loved, filled you with a deep ache. But this was necessary. For Rhaenyra, for the Blacks, for Cregan. You had to believe that.

A soft knock at the door drew you from your thoughts. You sat up, wrapping your robe tightly around yourself as the door creaked open, revealing Cregan. His expression was a mixture of sadness and resolve, a reflection of your own emotions. He entered the room silently, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other.

"You’re leaving soon," he said quietly, his voice rough from the early hour.

You nodded, unable to find the words to respond. You knew that if you spoke, your voice would betray the turmoil inside you.

Cregan crossed the room to stand before you, his large hands gently cupping your face. His touch was warm, comforting, and you leaned into it, closing your eyes as you savored the moment.

"I wish there was another way," he murmured, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. "I wish I could keep you here, safe, by my side."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. "I know, Cregan. But this is what needs to be done. For Rhaenyra, for the North...for us."

His jaw clenched, and you could see the struggle in his eyes. "I hate that you have to do this, that I have to send you into danger."

You placed your hands over his, squeezing gently. "You’re not sending me into danger, Cregan. I’m choosing this. I want to help, to do my part. And I know you would do the same if our positions were reversed."

He pulled you into his arms then, holding you close against his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breath, and you closed your eyes, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. The thought of being without him, of not feeling his warmth beside you at night, was almost unbearable.

"You must be careful," he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "Promise me you’ll stay safe, that you’ll come back to me."

You tightened your hold on him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. "I promise, Cregan. I will return to you. I will always return to you."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, his expression serious. "If you find yourself in danger, if things become too perilous, you must come back. The war, the cause—it’s not worth losing you."

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. You needed to be strong, for him, for both of you. "I will be careful, I swear it."

Cregan leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss. It was a kiss full of love, of longing, of a desire to hold on to this moment for as long as possible. You returned it with equal fervor, pouring all your emotions into that kiss, as if it was the last one you would ever share.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I love you," he whispered, the words carrying the weight of all the things he couldn’t say.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice barely more than a breath.

The two of you stood there for what felt like an eternity, holding each other, neither wanting to let go. But eventually, you knew the time had come. You stepped back, breaking the embrace, and Cregan’s hand lingered on yours as you moved away.

"I’ll be waiting for you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Winterfell will be waiting for you."

You nodded, unable to speak, your heart heavy with the knowledge that this might be the last time you saw him for a long while. But you had to stay strong, for both of you.

Cregan escorted you to the courtyard, where a horse had been prepared for your journey. The Northern wind whipped around you, biting at your exposed skin, but you barely felt it. All your focus was on Cregan, on the way his hand gripped yours, as if afraid to let go.

As you approached the horse, Cregan helped you mount, his hands lingering on your waist, his touch warm even through the thick layers of your clothing. Once you were settled, he stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You’ll have a small escort until you pass the Twins, just enough to keep you safe without drawing too much attention," he said, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "I trust you, my love. I trust you to do what needs to be done."

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "And I trust you, Cregan. I will send word as often as I can."

He gave a small, tight smile. "I’ll be waiting for your letters, but more than that, I’ll be waiting for you to return."

You looked down at him, your heart breaking at the thought of leaving him behind. But you steeled yourself, knowing that this was the path you had chosen.

"I will come back to you, Cregan," you promised, your voice firm. "No matter what happens, I will return."

He reached up, his hand brushing against your cheek one last time. "Goodbye, my lioness. Until we meet again."

With a final nod, you urged the horse forward, the sound of hooves on the stone courtyard echoing in your ears. You didn’t look back, knowing that if you did, you might lose the resolve to go through with this. Instead, you focused on the path ahead, on the journey south, on the mission that awaited you.

But as Winterfell disappeared behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that a part of you was being left behind, with the man you loved.

The towering walls of the Red Keep loomed ahead as your carriage (courtesy of Lady Frey when you rested in the Twins) rolled through the gates of King’s Landing. The familiar, oppressive weight of the capital settled on your shoulders the moment you crossed into the city. You had grown up in these streets, and while the grandeur of the Lannister seat at Casterly Rock had always called you home, there was something about the Red Keep that felt equally like a gilded cage and a battlefield. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what lay ahead.

The journey south had been long and grueling, but that was nothing compared to the task you now faced. You had to convince your brother, Tyland, that your presence here was born out of desperation and exile, not strategy and loyalty to Rhaenyra. Every word, every gesture would need to be calculated, yet natural, to ensure he believed you were truly the sister he thought he knew.

The carriage came to a halt, and before you could fully prepare yourself, the door was pulled open by a Lannister guard. You stepped down, your legs stiff from the journey, and barely had time to straighten your skirts before you saw him—Tyland, rushing down the steps of the Keep, his face etched with worry.

"Sister!" His voice was strained with concern, and he reached you in a few quick strides, enveloping you in a tight embrace.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to melt into his embrace. It had been years since you’d last seen Tyland, and despite everything, despite the sides you had chosen, he was still your brother. The scent of his familiar cologne brought back memories of a simpler time, before the realm had been torn apart by dragons and treachery.

"Tyland," you breathed, your voice trembling as you wrapped your arms around him, drawing on the emotions you needed to sell your story. "I didn’t think I’d ever see you again."

He pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he scanned your face, searching for any signs of harm or distress. "What happened? Why are you here? Why are you alone?" The questions came in a rapid, breathless stream, his eyes wide with worry.

You looked down, feigning shame and sorrow, before meeting his gaze with a carefully crafted expression of despair. "Cregan found out about our family’s support for King Aegon. He was furious, Tyland. He said he couldn’t have a Lannister—a traitor, he called me—living in his house. He… he exiled me. Sent me away with nothing but a few guards and this carriage. I had nowhere else to go."

Tyland’s face darkened with anger, his grip on your shoulders tightening. "That bloody Northern savage," he spat, his voice low and dangerous. "How dare he treat you like this? How dare he?"

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes as you allowed yourself to lean into the role you had to play. "He said he never wanted to see me again, that I was nothing but a stain on his honor. I begged him to reconsider, but he was adamant. I had no choice but to come here, to you."

Tyland’s expression softened, his anger giving way to concern as he pulled you into another embrace. "You’re safe now," he murmured against your hair. "You’re with your family, where you belong. We’ll protect you, I promise."

You nodded, clinging to him as if for dear life, even as your mind raced with the lies you had spun. "I was so afraid, Tyland. I thought he might… I thought he might harm me. The way he looked at me…"

Tyland pulled back, his eyes fierce with a protective fury you hadn’t seen in him before. "He’ll pay for this, I swear it. But you’re safe now. I’ll make sure of it."

You allowed yourself to sag against him, letting out a shuddering breath as you feigned relief. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice shaking. "I didn’t know where else to turn."

He stroked your hair gently, guiding you back towards the Red Keep. "You did the right thing, coming here. The war… it’s tearing everything apart, but you’re safe with us now. We’ll figure out what to do next."

You let him lead you inside, your heart pounding with the fear that he might see through your act. But Tyland was focused on comforting you, on reassuring you that you were home now, that you were safe. The gods old and new were merciful, it seemed, as he didn’t question your story, didn’t probe deeper into your supposed exile.

As you walked through the familiar halls of the Red Keep, Tyland kept a protective arm around you, guiding you towards the chambers that had been hastily prepared for you. His anger at Cregan, his love for you, were palpable, and you leaned into that, praying silently that you could maintain this charade.

When you reached your chambers, Tyland dismissed the servants, wanting a private moment with you. He led you to a chair by the fire, urging you to sit, and then knelt before you, taking your hands in his. "You don’t have to be afraid anymore. We’ll protect you. The Greens will win this war, and when they do, you’ll be safe, and you’ll have your place in the new order."

You nodded, your eyes fixed on his as you forced yourself to believe in the role you were playing. "I just want to do what’s right, Tyland. I want to support our family, to do whatever I can to help."

He smiled, a hint of the boy you once knew shining through the hard exterior he had built over the years. "And you will, sister. You will. We’ll make sure of it."

As he stood to leave, you squeezed his hand, forcing yourself to look vulnerable, desperate for his protection. "Please… don’t let anyone else know what happened. I don’t want to be seen as a failure, as someone who couldn’t hold onto their marriage."

Tyland nodded, his expression serious. "Of course. We’ll keep this between us. No one will think less of you for what that Northern brute did. You’re a Lannister, and you’re my sister. That’s all that matters."

You nodded, offering him a weak smile as he left the room, closing the door softly behind him. The moment he was gone, you allowed yourself to collapse into the chair, your hands shaking with the weight of the deception you had just woven.

The Red Keep was your tie to home, but now it was a den of enemies, a place where every word, every action, could spell disaster if you were not careful. You prayed to the gods old and new, begging them for strength, for cunning, for the ability to play this dangerous game.

You had convinced Tyland, but there were many others who would not be so easily swayed. You had to be vigilant, careful, and above all, you had to keep Cregan in your heart. You would send him word when you could, slip information back to him and to Rhaenyra. But for now, you had to be the lioness among lions, playing your part in this deadly dance.

And all the while, you prayed that Tyland, or anyone else, would never see through the mask you had so carefully donned.

The grand halls of the Red Keep were as cold and imposing as ever, despite the ornate tapestries and blazing hearths that lined the corridors. You had grown accustomed to the hollow echo of your footsteps as you navigated this labyrinth of stone and secrets, but today, the weight of your task felt heavier than ever. The shadows seemed to cling to you, whispering of the dangers that lurked behind every corner.

In the privacy of your chambers, the faint scent of burning parchment still lingered in the air. You had just destroyed a letter—one that had arrived under the cover of darkness, smuggled into your hands by a loyal servant of the North. The letter had been from Cregan, your heart's anchor in this sea of deception.

You could still feel the warmth of his words lingering in your chest, a reminder of the love that bound you to him, even across the distance. He had written of his worry for you, of the nights he spent staring out over the frozen landscape of the North, wishing you were there beside him. He thanked you for your courage, for the sacrifices you were making, even as he admitted how much it pained him to have sent you away. His words were full of love, but also fear—a fear that you would be caught, that the game you were playing would turn deadly.

My brave lioness, he had written, I know the strength you carry within you, but I cannot help but worry for your safety. Every day, I pray to the old gods to watch over you, to keep you safe in the den of our enemies. You are my heart, my soul, and I am so proud of what you are doing, even though it tears at me to think of you so far away. Return to me, my love, when this is all over. Until then, be careful, and know that my thoughts are with you always.

You had read the letter several times, allowing yourself a few moments of vulnerability as you traced the familiar curves of his handwriting. But you knew that every word was dangerous, that keeping such a letter would be a risk you couldn’t afford to take. So, with a heavy heart, you had burned it, watching as the flames consumed the last tangible connection to your husband.

Now, as you walked through the Red Keep, you carried the memory of that letter with you, tucked away in the deepest part of your heart. You had to be careful, more so than ever before. The walls had ears, and the slightest misstep could unravel everything.

As you rounded a corner, heading towards the private dining chamber where you were to meet Tyland for dinner, you caught the tail end of a conversation that sent a chill down your spine.

Aemond Targaryen’s voice, sharp and filled with frustration, echoed down the hallway. "It’s impossible that Rhaenyra could have known about the ships. Someone must have tipped her off. The fleet from the Free Cities was our best chance to cut off her supply lines at the Gullet!"

You slowed your pace, your heart beginning to race as you listened. Larys Strong’s voice, oily and calm, responded in a tone that made your skin crawl. "It is troubling, my prince. We must consider that there may be a leak within our ranks, someone feeding information to the Blacks. We cannot afford any more missteps."

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized the gravity of their conversation. Rhaenyra had been warned about the ships—a piece of information you had managed to send north discreetly through one of your own messages. If they suspected a spy in their midst, it would only be a matter of time before they began to scrutinize everyone, including you.

As you continued down the hallway, forcing yourself to remain calm, you felt a pair of eyes on you. You turned your head slightly and saw Aemond and Larys watching you from the shadows. Aemond’s single eye glinted in the dim light, his gaze sharp and assessing. Larys’s expression was unreadable, but his presence alone was enough to set your nerves on edge.

You met their gazes briefly, offering a small, polite nod as if nothing was amiss, before continuing on your way. The chill that ran down your spine was unlike anything you had felt before, a cold, creeping fear that settled deep in your bones. They had seen you, and you could only pray that they did not suspect you of anything more than passing by.

As soon as you were out of their sight, you quickened your pace, eager to reach the safety of your brother’s chambers. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself to maintain a composed exterior. You couldn’t afford to show any sign of fear or guilt—especially not now.

When you finally reached the private dining chamber, you found Tyland already seated at the table, a glass of wine in hand. He looked up as you entered, his expression softening into a smile.

"Sister," he greeted, rising to embrace you. "You look troubled. Is everything all right?"

You returned his embrace, taking comfort in the familiar scent of your brother, but the tension in your shoulders refused to ease. "I’m just tired," you lied smoothly, offering him a weary smile. "The journey was long, and the atmosphere here… it’s oppressive and difficult to adjust in a few months."

Tyland nodded, leading you to the table where a simple but elegant meal had been laid out. "The war weighs heavily on all of us," he said, pouring you a glass of wine. "But you’re safe here, with family."

You accepted the wine, taking a small sip as you tried to push the encounter with Aemond and Larys from your mind. But the memory of their scrutiny lingered, a constant reminder of the precarious position you were in.

As the meal progressed, you made light conversation with Tyland, discussing family matters and memories of your childhood at Casterly Rock. He seemed genuinely pleased to have you back in his life, and his presence was a balm to your frayed nerves. But even as you laughed at his stories and shared in his plans for the future, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking on a knife’s edge.

Every word you spoke, every gesture you made, was calculated to keep up the facade. Tyland must not suspect anything—nor could anyone else. You were playing a dangerous game, and the stakes were higher than ever.

As the night wore on, you excused yourself, claiming fatigue from the journey, and Tyland kissed your cheek warmly before you left. "Rest well, sister," he said, his voice filled with affection. "We’ll speak more in the morning."

You nodded, offering him a final smile before retreating to your chambers. Once inside, you closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a shaky breath. You had made it through another day, but the fear remained, gnawing at your resolve.

You crossed the room and knelt by the hearth, staring into the dying embers of the fire. Closing your eyes, you whispered a prayer to the gods old and new, asking for their protection, their guidance. You needed every ounce of strength and cunning to survive this—to complete your mission and return to Cregan’s arms.

As the night deepened, you crawled into bed, but sleep eluded you. Instead, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of your deception pressing down on you like a heavy cloak. The memory of Cregan’s letter played over in your mind, a reminder of why you were doing this, of who you were doing it for.

No matter the danger, no matter the fear, you would see this through. For Rhaenyra, for the North, and for the love you carried for the man waiting for you in Winterfell.

But as you drifted into an uneasy sleep, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could keep the truth hidden, how much longer you could play this deadly game before someone discovered the lioness in their midst was indeed a wolf.

The skies above King’s Landing were thick with the smoke of burning ships, the sound of clashing swords and the cries of the wounded echoing through the streets. The city had fallen, its walls breached by Rhaenyra's forces, and now the Blacks had taken control of the capital. The Red Keep, once a symbol of power and authority under the Greens, had become a battlefield, its halls filled with the triumphant and the defeated.

You stood in the throne room, surrounded by the black and red banners of House Targaryen, your heart heavy with a mixture of relief and dread. The mission you had embarked upon months ago had finally reached its conclusion. You had done what you had set out to do—played your part in the fall of the Greens from within their own stronghold. But the price of your success now weighed heavily on your soul.

At the far end of the hall, Rhaenyra Targaryen sat on the Iron Throne, her dark hair cascading down her back, her gaze as fierce as the dragons she commanded. Daemon stood beside her, his presence as menacing as ever, his eyes glittering with the thrill of victory. The throne room was filled with the murmurs of courtiers and soldiers alike, all of them awaiting the queen’s judgment on those who had opposed her.

As you approached the throne, your heart pounded in your chest, knowing what was about to happen, dreading it. Tyland had been captured along with the other members of the Green council, and now they awaited their fates. You had pleaded with the guards to see your brother, to speak to him, but they had refused. You had been kept away from him, kept in the dark until this moment.

"Your Grace," you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you as you curtsied before Rhaenyra. "King’s Landing is yours, and the Greens have been defeated. I am at your service, as always."

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened slightly as she looked down at you, a rare moment of warmth in the midst of the chaos. "You have done much for our cause, my lady. Your loyalty and bravery have not gone unnoticed. It is thanks to your efforts that we were able to anticipate their moves, to strike where they were weakest. For that, you have my gratitude."

You bowed your head, accepting her praise, but the words felt hollow. Gratitude could not ease the tension that coiled in your gut, the fear that gripped your heart as you awaited her next words.

Rhaenyra’s gaze hardened again as she turned her attention to the prisoners being brought before her, shackled and defeated. Among them was your brother, Tyland, his face pale but his expression resolute. He had always been a proud man, and even now, in chains, he refused to show fear.

"Tyland Lannister," Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, echoing through the throne room, "you stand accused of treason against the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You served the usurper Aegon and conspired to destroy House Targaryen. For your crimes, there can be but one punishment."

You felt the blood drain from your face as the words you had feared most were spoken. "No," you whispered, barely audible, before finding your voice and stepping forward, your heart in your throat. "Your Grace, please, I beg you to spare him."

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath as you spoke, all eyes turning to you. Rhaenyra’s gaze was sharp, questioning. "He is a traitor, my lady. His actions led to the deaths of many, and he must answer for them."

You sank to your knees, desperation in your voice as you pleaded for your brother’s life. "He is my brother, Your Grace. He may have been misguided, but he did what he believed was right, just as we all have. I know his loyalty was to the wrong cause, but I beg you to show mercy. Let him live, and I swear he will never pose a threat to you again. He is all I have left of my family."

Tyland’s eyes met yours, and for the first time since you had reunited in King’s Landing, you saw something break in his stern facade. The love and concern in his gaze were unmistakable, and you felt your heart wrench as you saw your brother—the man who had always protected you, who had stood by you when no one else did—now reduced to this.

Rhaenyra’s expression remained impassive, but you could see the conflict in her eyes. She was a queen, but she was also a mother, a sister. She knew what it was to love and to lose, to be torn between duty and family.

"You ask much of me, my lady," Rhaenyra said slowly, her voice measured. "Tyland Lannister’s hands are stained with the blood of my loyal followers. Mercy for him could be seen as weakness, a precedent that might encourage others to rise against me."

Daemon’s gaze flickered to you, then to Tyland, and back to Rhaenyra. His voice, when he spoke, was cold and calculating. "Mercy is a luxury we cannot afford in these times, Rhaenyra. Traitors must be dealt with swiftly, without exception."

Tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t afford to be weak now, not when your brother’s life hung in the balance. "Please, Your Grace," you implored, "I will do anything you ask of me. Anything. Just spare him. I will leave the capital, return to the North, or anywhere else you command. I will serve you however you wish, but please, do not take him from me."

The silence that followed your plea was deafening. Rhaenyra looked at you, truly looked at you, and you could see the wheels turning in her mind, weighing your words, considering the options. You held your breath, praying that the love you had for your brother, and the service you had given to her cause, would be enough to sway her.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Rhaenyra spoke. "Tyland Lannister has committed grave crimes against the realm, crimes that warrant death. But in recognition of the service you have rendered to my cause, I will grant him his life." 

A gasp of relief escaped your lips, and you bowed your head in gratitude, tears now streaming down your face. "Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you."

"But know this," Rhaenyra continued, her voice stern and unwavering. "He will live, but his life will be one of exile and dishonor. He will be stripped of his titles and lands, and he will be sent to the Wall. He will live out his days in the service of the Night’s Watch, far from here. He will never again set foot in the South."

You nodded, unable to speak, overwhelmed with a mix of relief and sorrow. It was a harsh sentence, but it was life. Tyland would live, and for that, you were endlessly grateful.

Tyland was led away, his eyes lingering on you until he disappeared from view. You rose to your feet, still trembling, and Rhaenyra gestured for you to approach the throne. 

"You have done much for me, and for that, you have my thanks," she said quietly, so only you could hear. "But remember, this mercy I have granted comes with a cost. Loyalty must be earned and maintained. See to it that you do not waver."

You met her gaze, understanding the weight of her words. "I will not forget, Your Grace."

With that, you turned and left the throne room, your heart heavy but filled with a sense of purpose. Tyland would live, and that was more than you had dared to hope for. But the road ahead would be long and treacherous, for both of you. You had made sacrifices, and you would have to make more. But as long as you could keep the people you loved safe, it would all be worth it.

As you walked through the halls of the Red Keep, the echoes of your footsteps accompanied by the distant sounds of a city under new rule, you prayed once more to the gods old and new. You had survived this day, but there would be many more challenges ahead. And through it all, you would need to stay strong, for yourself, for your brother, and for the North that still awaited your return.

The road to the North was long and arduous, the chill of autumn creeping steadily into the bones of everyone who traveled it. The once green fields had turned to barren landscapes, the sky a constant blanket of grey. You sat in the carriage, wrapped in furs, the bitter cold seeping through the heavy fabric. Beside you, Tyland sat quietly, his expression unreadable as he stared out the window at the bleak countryside.

The silence between you had stretched on for days, the weight of everything that had happened in King’s Landing hanging heavy in the air. You had saved his life, but at a cost. Tyland had lost everything—his titles, his lands, his place in the South. And now, he was being sent to the Wall, to a life of exile and duty in the farthest reaches of the realm. You knew he struggled with the reality of his new fate, and the words he had not yet spoken weighed on your heart.

As the carriage rumbled along the rough road, you finally mustered the courage to speak, breaking the silence that had settled between you like a shroud. "Tyland," you began, your voice soft but steady, "I know this is not the life you envisioned for yourself. I’m sorry for what has happened, for the choices that led us here."

Tyland turned his gaze from the window to you, his eyes searching your face for a moment before he sighed, a heavy sound filled with all the emotions he had kept bottled up. "You did what you thought was right," he said finally, his voice tinged with bitterness but also a hint of resignation. "You always were the clever one, the one who saw the bigger picture. But I can’t say I’m not angry, or that I’m not filled with regret."

You nodded, understanding his feelings all too well. "I had to make a choice, Tyland. I couldn’t let you die, not when there was another way. But I know the Wall is not what you wanted, and for that, I am sorry."

He leaned back against the cushioned seat, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the weariness of the past few months. "The Wall," he muttered, almost to himself. "It’s a place for criminals, for bastards, for those who have nothing left to lose. And now I am one of them."

"But you’re alive," you said gently, reaching out to take his hand in yours. "And you’re still a Lannister, no matter where you go. The North may be harsh, but there is honor in serving at the Wall, especially now that winter is coming. The realm will need men like you, strong and capable, to defend it."

Tyland looked at your hand in his, then back at you, a shadow of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You always did have a way of making the worst situations seem bearable. I suppose that’s why you’re still alive, too."

You smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "We do what we must to survive, Tyland. But that doesn’t mean we have to face it alone."

The rest of the journey was spent in a tentative peace, the bond between you and Tyland slowly beginning to heal, though it would never be the same. He had accepted his fate, though with a heavy heart, and you had accepted the burden of knowing that your actions had brought him to this point. But as the carriage drew closer to Winterfell, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief.

When Winterfell finally came into view, its ancient walls standing tall against the sky, you felt a wave of emotion wash over you. This was home now, the place where you had found love and purpose, and where you would begin the next chapter of your life. As the carriage rolled through the gates, you could see the figures waiting in the courtyard—Cregan among them, his tall, broad-shouldered form unmistakable.

The carriage came to a stop, and before you could even step out, Cregan was there, pulling the door open and helping you down. His hands were warm, his touch grounding you as he pulled you into a tight embrace. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of pine and cold air that clung to him.

"I missed you," you whispered, your voice muffled against his furs.

"And I you," he replied, his voice thick with emotion as he held you close. "Every day, every night, I thought of you. But now you’re here, and that’s all that matters."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up into his eyes. "I brought Tyland with me. Rhaenyra spared his life, but she sent him to the Wall."

Cregan’s gaze shifted to where Tyland was stepping out of the carriage, his expression unreadable. He nodded in acknowledgment, though there was no warmth in his eyes. "Lord Lannister," he greeted, his tone respectful but formal.

Tyland straightened, meeting Cregan’s gaze with a mixture of pride and resignation. "Lord Stark," he replied, bowing his head slightly. "I’m here to serve, as ordered."

Cregan studied him for a moment, then nodded. "The Wall is not a punishment, Tyland, but an honor. The Night’s Watch may be seen as a place for those with no other options, but the truth is, it’s a place for men who understand the weight of duty. The realm needs protectors, especially now, with winter coming. You will find purpose there, and in time, perhaps even a sense of belonging."

Tyland’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he nodded in agreement. "I will do my duty," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of determination. "If this is my fate, then I will embrace it."

Cregan’s expression softened slightly, and he extended his hand to Tyland. "Then you have my respect, and the respect of the North. You are welcome in Winterfell until you take the black."

Tyland accepted the handshake, and for a moment, the two men stood in silent understanding. You felt a sense of relief wash over you—there was no animosity here, only a shared understanding of the burdens they both carried.

As the three of you made your way inside Winterfell, the warmth of the great hall enveloped you, the familiar scents of wood smoke and roasted meat filling the air. You felt a sense of peace settling over you, knowing that you had done what you could to protect your family, and that here, in the North, you would find the strength to face whatever came next.

That evening, you and Cregan sat together by the fire, the weight of the past few months slowly lifting as you shared stories of what had transpired. Tyland joined you, his demeanor more relaxed than it had been since his capture. The three of you spoke of the future, of the challenges that lay ahead, but also of the hope that lingered just beyond the horizon.

As the fire crackled and the shadows danced on the stone walls, you felt a deep sense of contentment. The North was harsh and unforgiving, but it was also a place of honor, of loyalty, and of love.

The warmth of the fire had long since faded, leaving only the soft glow of embers to illuminate the room. The heavy furs that covered the bed provided a cocoon of warmth, sheltering you from the cold that seeped in through the stone walls of Winterfell. Outside, the wind howled, a reminder of the harshness of the North, but here, in Cregan’s arms, you felt only the warmth of his body against yours.

The two of you lay entwined beneath the blankets, your skin still tingling from the intensity of your lovemaking. It had been so long since you had been together like this, since you had felt the press of his body against yours, the way his hands knew every curve and hollow of your form. You had missed this—missed him—with an ache that had grown unbearable during your time apart.

Cregan’s fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine, his touch light but possessive, as if he was reminding himself that you were truly here, that you were his once more. You pressed closer to him, your head resting on his broad chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. It was a sound that had become your anchor, a reminder that you were home.

"You’re quiet," Cregan murmured, his voice rough with the remnants of sleep. His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. "What’s on your mind, my love?"

You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of his touch, the safety of his embrace. "I’m just… grateful," you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "Grateful to be here, with you. I missed this, missed us."

Cregan shifted slightly, rolling onto his side so that he could face you, his dark eyes searching yours in the dim light. "I missed you too," he said, his voice low and full of emotion. "Every day you were gone, I thought of you. Wondered if you were safe, if you were thinking of me as much as I was thinking of you."

You reached up, your fingers brushing the stubble on his jaw, feeling the roughness beneath your fingertips. "You were always on my mind," you confessed, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of your emotions. "There were times I didn’t know if I’d make it back, but the thought of you, of us… it kept me going."

His expression softened, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. "You’re here now," he whispered against your skin. "And I won’t let anything take you away from me again."

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, needing the reassurance of his presence. "I don’t want to be apart from you ever again," you said, your voice fierce with determination. "I’ll do whatever it takes to stay here, with you, in the North. This is where I belong, where we belong."

Cregan’s hand moved to cradle your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down your cheek. "You’re my wife, my love," he said, his voice steady and sure. "Nothing will keep us apart again. We’ve been through too much, and we’re stronger for it. This is our home now, and we’ll face whatever comes together."

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. It was true—together, you could face anything. The challenges you had overcome, the dangers you had braved, had only strengthened the bond between you. And now, here in the safety of Winterfell, in the warmth of Cregan’s arms, you knew that you could finally allow yourself to rest, to trust that you were where you were meant to be.

Cregan’s lips found yours again, the kiss slow and tender, full of the love and longing that had built up during your time apart. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss, wanting to lose yourself in the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, you rested your forehead against his, your eyes closed as you savored the closeness between you. "I love you," you whispered, the words slipping out as naturally as a breath.

"I love you too," Cregan replied, his voice rough with emotion. "More than anything. More than the North, more than duty, more than life itself."

You smiled, feeling the truth of his words settle deep within your heart. There was nothing more important than this, than the love you shared, the life you were building together. And after everything you had been through, you knew that you were ready to face whatever the future held, as long as you had him by your side.

The two of you lay together in silence for a while, simply enjoying the warmth of each other’s presence, the quiet intimacy that had been so hard-won. The world outside might be harsh and unforgiving, but here, in this moment, you were safe. You were loved.

As you drifted off to sleep, your head resting on Cregan’s chest once more, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them with the strength of the North in your veins and the love of your husband in your heart. And that, you knew, would be enough.

[ms-demeanor]

since twitter has become actively hostile to its users, so they came to tumblr, and reddit has become actively hostile to its users, so they came to tumblr, what do we do now that tumblr is becoming (more) actively hostile to its users? i’ve been here for over a decade so i know tumblr users are the type to cling on despite everything and revel in undoing every change, but i’m so tired of the way this website breaks the way it fundamentally works in order to appeal to new users. the twitterfication of the site seems so much worse than when people jumped ship after the porn ban, and even then, only small communities (and twitter) cropped up as solutions. you might not be the person to ask for a definitive answer, but i figured a tech blog might be interested in considering - what do we do when there’s nowhere left to go?

Okay so, I mean this very seriously: how has tumblr meaningfully become like twitter?

I don't personally find the sidebar view obnoxious and it seems to me like just another layout change that's pretty typical to tumblr. New users are getting signed up with a bit more emphasis on algorithmic feeds, but that is still very easy to change (MUCH easier than on any other social platform) and the algorithm has been there for everyone for quite a while, we just typically don't notice it because a lot of long-term tumblr users don't go into the "for you" feed.

I don't think that tumblr *has* fundamentally broken the way that it works to appeal to new users. My dash now is still very much like my dash in 2019, and still very much like my dash in 2018 (though much less pornographic). Reblogs are still reblogs, likes are still likes. Replies, for all that they seem like they've been around forever, are new and good and I think they work well. I'm irritated that the notes menu doesn't have a "view all" option but I think that's a worthwhile tradeoff for an easy way to see tags.

I *do not* understand why tumblr has broken linking back to previous reblogs but I don't think that's out of an effort to act like twitter; it is a bizarre choice that I dislike and don't understand but I also don't think that it has fundamentally changed the way the site works and i mean you've been around long enough that I'm sure you've had the same experience I have of going into the notes of a post and randomly clicking until you found a version that you wanted to reblog without a bunch of bullshit at the bottom. Tumblr has always kind of sucked, this change DOES suck but it doesn't suck in a way that is particularly novel or insurmountable. (For instance, I think this change sucks MUCH LESS than when they made posts with links invisible to the search, that is something that is genuinely bad that has been long lasting but doesn't get brought up much in lists of the ways that tumblr has gone wrong)

Tumblr *is* changing, but I think it is changing more incrementally and less terribly than other parts of the internet. I also hate the floating clown, the login walls, the dash-only view for blogs (you can't archive it and I HATE that), and - to an extent - the new lightbox on mobile. And I dislike that less than I thought I would but I don't think it's a fundamental change that necessarily impacts my interactions with the site - it *adds* a feature that I don't care for but it doesn't *break* anything that I require to have a good time on tumblr - in that way I think of it very much like Live. People hate Live so much and I find that perplexing because it is so easy to simply ignore it.

But that's not really your question; that's just some stuff I want people to think about because as much as tumblr has changed in the last two years it is nowhere near as fucked up as the recent things that twitter and reddit have pulled.

So, as to your question: where do we go?

Well. Not to be an extremely old person on the internet, but damned if I don't miss email lists. And forums. God I miss forums. Neither of those things has all the bonuses of platforms like twitter or reddit or tumblr or facebook, but they were great ways to hang out with people you liked on the internet.

The internet is changing. I can feel it, you can feel it, I'm pretty sure we're all like cattle in a field lifting our noses and hearing some distant rumbling and becoming slowly aware that it's almost time to run. There's a coming stampede and it isn't here yet but you know it's on its way. You're not imagining that, that's how things feel right now and there are a shitload of things contributing to it.

Things like SESTA/FOSTA and KOSA (which has not passed yet but is a big red flag waving on the horizon) have been eroding away the way that users on various platforms can function. Some platforms have consolidated in ways that harm users; some new platforms have popped up and shaken up the map of the internet; some platforms are being torn apart brick by brick by owners who don't care about the users. It kind of seems like people are actually looking up and realizing that advertising is A) bad and B) doesn't actually work and I think we're running straight toward another advertising-based crash like we saw in 2017. It feels like all the desperate things that tumblr is doing is just rearranging deck chairs on the titanic as the internet as a whole starts to sink into the ocean.

Honestly, I don't think it's that bad. I think it *feels* bad, but I think we're looking at a slow whimpering death of the platforms, not a bang. I think tumblr is going to hang on at least for a few years and I think it's going to end up like livejournal and myspace, which both still exist as websites that are recognizable as updated versions of the sites they were in 2004-2010. The thing that I think would really, honestly hurt tumblr in a fundamental way is if it moved to a more algorithmic and data-sales based model of advertising, and I think that's still pretty distant. I think Automattic is aware that killing the chronological feed would be the one unforgivable sin that would cause a mass exodus and a final crash, and I think when we see that, when we can't just scroll through the feed and see what our friends did that day in order of when they did it, that's when the party is over here.

But that's still not answering your question.

So, where do we go? What do we do? Well, for now, I'd say it's a good time to get contact info for your friends across various platforms. Get email addresses, get phone numbers.

Now is also the time for you to set up a personal website. NeoCities is currently the best place to do this, though it takes a lot more effort than just starting a blog on tumblr. I think that various oldschool blogging sites like Wordpress and Blogger/Blogspot/whatever the hell the google one is are a better place to have your emergency backup than a more platform-y platform if you aren't up to doing something with NeoCities.

If you've got the ability to do so and a group of people who are interested in the same core subject, set up a forum. There's a decent amount of off-the-shelf forum software out there and a text-and-small-images forum isn't prohibitively expensive, but it's never going to be huge and you're never going to have the kind of spread and virality and random connections that you would on a platform with millions or billions of users.

If you can't set up a forum, setting up or joining a discord server for your friends is a decent enough option at the moment, and may be a very good option for people who are looking to keep their interactions more private.

But yeah i think right now is a great time for people to start setting up their own personal websites, to start visiting actual webpages again, to start bookmarking their friends' websites, and to start collecting contact info that isn't tied to platforms.

[jasntodds]

Burial Plot [J.T.]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Summary: Jason thinks back on memories of your relationship

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, mentions of injuries, self-deprecating thoughts (jason), mentions of previous homelessness, mention of addiction (not jason or the reader), mentions of blood, character death, open ending

Words: 8,451

A/n: Dayseeker dropped Replica and Burial Plot really did something for me (again). If you wanna be tagged in my fics, you can click the link below, send me an ask/comment, or follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!!

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The cold Gotham breeze nips at Jason’s cheeks as his hands grip the ledge of the roof so hard the solid concrete almost wants to collapse at his feet. The streets are busy below him, the streetlights and buildings illuminating the otherwise dark and gloomy city. Something here manifests and metastasizes into something cruel and unusual, a type of suffering that almost brings the city pure and unfiltered joy. It’s something about this city that feels unbearably cruel sometimes.

Gotham always felt like it was filled of poison with no antidote so maybe that’s why Jason always managed to find himself back in the dreary city.

It’s how he always saw himself, drenched in poison, ruining everything around him even when he desperately tries not to. It’s as if he was cursed from the very beginning and the more he tries the more he messes up. Even coming back from the dead didn’t seem right since even Bruce wanted nothing to do with him. It took him so long to even get into the family’s good graces again because even when he would try his hardest, it always blew up in his face. So, to Jason, there had to be something wrong with him.

But, then, there was you.

Jason remembers the first time you had a proper conversation. You'd met a handful of times prior but never really talked past the usual pleasantries. Dick had asked for your help on a mission even when Jason insisted they had enough help with the other bats and a few of their tag-a-longs. But, Dick insisted.

----

“Red Hood.” You’d snickered through your mask as you watched Jason on his stomach watching the building in front of you through binoculars.

“Something funny?” Jason quipped back with a gentle force of annoyance.

He could do this himself. He did not need to be teamed up with anyone and he had no clue why of all people, he was teamed up with you. You didn't even know each other. At least Jason knew the other bats and their ability and capabilities. You were an unknown factor in this even if he trusted Dick's opinion on you. He knew he could do this himself...in peace and quiet.

“Irony.” You’d stated back. “Red Hood. Joker. Boom.” You shrugged dramatically, earning a glance from Jason. You couldn’t see it through the helmet, but if looks could kill, you’d have been dead on the spot. “It’s not a very threatening name.” Your voice was nonchalant it made Jason want to groan for ten minutes.

“Excuse me?” Jason shook his head.

“I mean…Red Hood." You stated again, just as casually as before. "Not very threatening for a guy who decapitates people and blows people up.”

Jason moved the binoculars from the helmet and looked back at you. “Okay, so what would you have suggested then, huh?” Jason questioned and he’d have been lying if he said he wasn’t somehow both annoyed to hell and back and also, a bit intrigued about where you’d go with this as you knew anything at all about him.

“I think it would have been hilarious if you kept the Robin mantle actually.” Your voice had been airy and filled with amusement as a smile reached your eyes.

Jason had to bite back his own snicker. “Don’t think anyone would else would have.”

“Well, that’s cause they have shit senses of humor. I mean if I hear Dick say one more pun tonight, I think I’ll have an aneurism.”

“Yeah.” Jason lets out a chuckle this time and you felt as though you had won something from it. “His jokes are the fucking worst.” Jason almost groans through the helmet. “But yours aren’t much better, princess.” Jason stated before picking up the binoculars again to go back to watching the building.

A genuine smile came over your features. “I know.”

Jason's eyes had softened when he’d glanced back over at you. Something about how you held yourself during the stakeout, the ease of the conversation and you bringing up his death. He knew your fighting style, knew about your powers. He knew what you could do and how well off you were and how you were able to perfectly handle yourself. But, the ease of you held yourself on that rooftop was as if everything else were going to be easy for you even if it wasn’t. It was interesting and a bit fun.

“How’d Dick rope you into this anyway?” Jason had asked as he kept his eyes on the building.

“I had nothing else to do.” You laughed softly.

It was true. You didn't and Dick asked. His jokes might be bad but he was always one of your best friends so you'd always help when he asked. But, it wasn't all that big of an ask when Dick mentioned Jason would be helping, too. Maybe you had asked to be teamed with him instead of Steph or Tim this time.

“How about you? Dick said you don’t do the team thing very often.” You asked.

“Had nothing else going on.” Jason had chuckled softly. “If Dick was asking me and everyone else, I felt like I had to help." Jason stated even if he didn't really mind helping out his siblings.

“That’s nice of you.” You’d said.

“It’s nothing.” Jason keeps his eyes on the building you were supposed to be watching.

It’d be a lie if you said you weren’t the least bit intrigued by your friend’s brother. Dick talked about him often enough. You knew stories about The Red Hood. Jason Todd had almost seemed interesting from your perspective. The misfit son who gets brutally murdered and comes back to be, somehow, more of the misfit troublemaker that pisses everyone off. Hero turned anti-hero (you’d refused to call him a villain). It was tragic but he still comes back and instead of deciding to make innocent people suffer like most other people would do if they were him, he decided to just do something about it. Maybe his methods are a bit extreme and maybe he’s a bit of an asshole, but he’s doing something for the greater good. That’s not all bad and you’d always thought that was still better than him doing worse or doing nothing. You’d always thought that made him more interesting, more admirable.

And, maybe it doesn’t hurt that he’s kind of pretty with the blue eyes and white streak of contrast amongst the rest of his black hair.

“So…” You cleared your throat.

Jason looked back at you and then back to the building. “What?”

“Are you always so broody?” You asked bluntly as you moved your eyes back to him.

“I’m not broody.” Jason snapped. He was not broody, he was just busy.

“Kind of are.” You’d smiled with confidence.

“We’re supposed—“

“Blah blah blah." You waved him off because you knew exactly what he was going to say. "I know. We are. We can do the stakeout and get to know each other.”

You were not bad company. But, you were blunt and talkative. Jason didn't really know what to make of it, really. This small conversation had shown him that you would ask and say whatever crossed your mind and he has learned that is not always a good thing. Though, your bluntness and how casual you were about the whole thing was a bit intriguing. This was a job, however, and Jason did not come to make friends with Dick's friend.

“Who the hell said I wanted to get to know you?” Jason had snarked back.

“Ouch.” You huffed as you started feeling a little disheartened. “That was mean.” Your nose had scrunched under your mask.

“Look, princess, we’re on a job. That’s all it is. Don’t take it personally.” Jason shook his head and he didn't intend to hurt your feelings but this was supposed to just be a job.

“You can't me princess and one minute it sounds fine but condescending the next. That’s weird. And the job doesn't have to be boring. Doesn’t silence ever bother you?” You’d asked and it was that question that always irked him.

It’s silent a lot for him. He’s used to it but silence is still deafening. Since getting into the good graces with the family finally, it hadn't been as bad. There was usually someone calling him or something he needed to tell one of them. But, silence can eat at him still. It bothered him, just not on a mission or a job. Silence there was always fine though he didn't think that was entirely the point of your question.

“I’m sorry.” Jason muttered. “I’m not trying to be an asshole. Just wanna get this shit done.” He hadn’t looked back at you once.

You were still intrigued by him. You still wanted to get to know him even if he didn't want to get to know you yet. It wasn't some secret Jason was guarded. That was fine. It didn't really bother you. So, maybe it was dumb then but you decided to just go for it.

“Wanna grab something to eat after then?” You asked bluntly, getting Jason’s attention.

“What?” Jason asked quickly as he turned his head to look at you again.

“Like food?” You quipped. “You and me. Food, get to know each other.” Your voice had sounded a little more nervous this time.

"You actually want to get to know me?" Jason questioned. "Thought you were making conversation."

"Well..." You shrugged softly. "Yeah, conversation but I also want to get to know you. You seem fun." You'd managed to pull off a cheeky smile with your last sentence.

Jason had actually laughed. “I seem fun?”

“Are you an owl?” You quipped back as you matched his laughter. “Yeah, Red Hood seems like he’d be fun." You urged. "Get food with me.” You shrugged softly as hope echoed into your eyes.

Jason almost said no. Lately, he regrets not saying no. He should have. He swears left and right, up and down, every piece of him should have just said no. But, he thought you were pretty and funny and interesting. It’d been a while since Jason just got to know someone. He thought it would have been nice and you had so much hope in your eyes, he wasn't sure he could have mustered up a no if he really tried. There was something about you that made him interested enough to just get food. That would be all it would be. Just food. A no was never going to be an answer.

“Fine but I pick the place.” Jason stated before he looked back at the building.

You’d beamed from under the mask, a rush of heat coming to your cheeks. “Okay, Red.” You nearly laughed. “I trust you.”

----

Jason's legs are trembling and it's getting harder to breathe. It is as if his own memories are strangling him from the inside out, a desperate attempt to suck the life out of him one last time. He used to look at that night with a sense of fondness, almost nostalgia because of how far the two of you had come in three years. But, now it's just tainted memories haunted by the vision of you and the false concept of Jason Todd being allowed to be happy.

He remembers so vividly you telling him you trusted him as if it were somehow something so easy for you. You trusted him and you barely knew him. Jason knew then Dick likely told you some stuff about him, Steph, too probably. Maybe the other bats if you ever asked but under no circumstances should you have just so blindly trusted him after meeting him a handful of times, this having been one of the only actual conversations you had. But you did and something about it made Jason both want to jump off the roof and fall right onto the concrete below him and make his heart melt from his chest.

He thinks about it for just that single second, it was nice. It was a silly thought, he swears it was. No one should trust him because people trust him and then they get hurt, right? That’s how the story goes. In one way or another, they get hurt. Maybe it’s Jason doing the hurting in his typical self-destruction way or it’s worse. But, they get hurt. You trusted him and he thinks that’s the exact moment he should have evacuated. That night changed everything because he didn’t. He didn’t evacuate like he had all but been trained to do. He went to get food with you.

----

“So, tell me about you, Jason Todd.” You had grinned wickedly at him as you pointed a limp french fry at him from across the booth.

Jason shook his head as he leaned back. “Like what?”

“Dunno.” You shrugged and the grin never left your face. “What do you like to do for fun?” You asked so sincerely Jason had burst into a fit of laughter.

It echoes through the small diner. Booms off the booth and the glasses. You’d thought it was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. His nose had scrunched and his head tilted back. The laugh was hearty and somehow soft. It fit him so well and he seemed so genuinely happy.

“What I do for fun? That’s what you want to know?” Jason quipped back as he caught his breath.

“I’m sorry that question wasn’t up to your standards?” You had laughed back and Jason felt his heart skip a single beat.

“No, not that. Of all things you could ask though, that’s what you want to know?” Jason asked.

“Well, yeah.” You’d answered easily. “I know what you do for a living. So, what do you like to do when you’re not doing that?”

There was something so honest and sincere about how you’d asked, Jason almost felt comfortable laying it out. His interests are his and in a way, he always likes keeping them a little close to his chest. Some things he doesn’t tell everyone but others…it’s okay that they know but they’re his. But you were eating your fries, just waiting, filled with hope.

“I like to read.” Jason stated simply as he plucked one of his fries from his plate.

“Oh! Like what?” You asked with eyes wide as you put an elbow on the table to lean in. Dick said Jason was guarded so you didn’t think you’d get too much out of him tonight but you were so relieved you got something from him.

Maybe you’d had a crush on him from a distance for a while.

“Uh..” Jason offered an awkward chuckle. “Like Jane Austen.” Jason shrugged. “Mary Shelley.”

You shook your head in surprise. “Not what I expected.”

“Yeah, yeah--” Jason had started to wave you off.

“No, I mean, I dunno. Thought it’d be like…Godfather-type books. Or something.” You were the one who offered an awkward chuckle that time. “I love Frankenstein.” You'd said it softly with a tender smile and Jason felt relieved.

Jason had asked you what it was about Frankenstein you liked so much and you just went on a whole ramble about it. Jason hung onto every word as if your voice was the sound of his favorite song played on repeat. He just...listened and something about the way he smiled made your heart jump and spin. You may not have had the excessive amount of trauma Jason did but...there was always something that felt comforting when someone let you ramble and he did. Not once did he seem bored or disinterested and then you got to watch his face light up when you asked him why he liked Jane Austen and what his favorites were.

It was Jason's turn to ramble and it wasn't much at first but the more he got going, it was like the more excited about it he got. His face lit up like a Christmas tree and he got a little more dramatic and he relaxed a little in his seat. Jason didn't get a lot of chances to really ramble about his interests, not like this. But, you gave him that in the little diner booth and it felt comforting. It felt nice. It was fun and he'd have been lying if he said he didn't really enjoy it. And the more you asked about his interests and participated in conversation, the more comfortable he felt.

He was still guarded but you shared some interests so it felt easier to let the conversation go where it wanted, bouncing back and forth between some of both of your favorites and hobbies. It felt good to let go for a few hours. You wanted to get to know him and as it would have turned out, he was really enjoying getting to know you, too.

“What else do you do for fun?” Jason asked as he rested his elbow on the table, now a few hours into this getting to know each other thing.

“Ask broody men out to get food.” You’d laughed that was more of a snicker as if you were proud of yourself for the comment and it got Jason to chuckle right back.

“Oh, so I’m just a meal ticket tonight?!” Jason had asked with sarcasm.

“And a conversation!” You had defended, the both of you laughing.

“I am so hurt.” Jason had said it dramatically, easily.

“Oh, I am so sorry.” Your eyes had widened with sarcasm. “How will you ever recover?” You faked a whine, a hand over your heart and then Jason gained this smirk.

Jason knew it was getting to be early in the morning and you'd have to end this whole thing soon but that did not mean he didn't want to continue getting to know you. You were right. This was fun and maybe he liked your company after all. He liked how easy you made this whole thing seem. No part of him really wanted this to end so he decided to go for it, just as you did.

“What are you doing Thursday?” Jason asked bluntly.

It caught you off guard and it took everything in you not to burst at the seams. You hoped Jason didn’t notice.

He did.

“Uh…” You stuttered with a gushy smile. “Nothing, I don’t think.” You bit the inside of your cheek to try to calm down the smile while you failed miserably. “What’d you have in mind?”

----

Tears are hot on Jason’s cheeks as he remembers that night as if it had just happened. His teeth are clenched so hard they might just shatter right through his gums. His breathing is quick and everything starts to ache.

You had been so happy that he asked you to do something with him, he never thought twice about taking it back. The thought could have crept up on him and he would have shoved it into the darkest corner of his mind because the idea of disappointing you nearly shattered him. He didn’t even know you but there was hope and kindness and sarcasm and you were funny. You didn’t care. You told him Red Hood was not scary. You looked at him with kindness and hope, two things most people do not look at him with and he felt important for those four hours in that booth with you. So, he decided to take that risk.

Risks are a part of his daily life. They are usually calculated and you had told him they were not always calculated in a way that was really all too beneficial to him. The odds were never on his side very often. But that’s just part of the job, something you did understand. Jason was used to risk. His whole life had been one risk after the other just to survive. He was good at taking risks and showing them he didn’t care. This was a risk he wishes he never took though. Showing you these parts of himself and finally letting his guard down. He regrets that risk because he had just done what he always does and wouldn’t have caved about it, none of this would have happened because you would have given up. He bites his tongue as he remembers the exact moment he wanted to flee and decided not to.

----

You were on a rooftop in Crime Alley, not too high up and below you, Jason was kneeling in front of a few kids. You were not spying on him. You were supposed to meet up together while you were in Gotham, this was the spot but apparently, the kids had other ideas. He was just kneeling down to their level, no helmet and a smile beaming back at them. The two kids who couldn’t have been older than seven, looked at him like he was their hero. Jason was not the scary Red Hood who blows people up with c4 or the guy who will decapitate people to get what he wants from other people or the guy who might as well be a sharpshooter and is not afraid to display it. They do not look at him like a weapon. They look at him like he will protect them and he is so kind.

You’d been on a few dates over the last few months, nothing too serious even if neither of you were looking or talking to anyone else. It was nothing too serious even if you both talked nearly nonstop and maybe you couldn’t stop thinking about each other. But, it’d only been a few dates and you didn’t know each other too well yet and that was okay. But, something you had learned was that Jason is very kind. He is a huge asshole but he is so kind. Innocent people, kids, he is nice to them, far nicer than most people are. Jason Todd can and will kill people but he is not as ruthless and calloused as other people think he is and maybe have convinced him he is. So you had sat on that rooftop and watched him with those kids.

He laughed at what you would only assume were bad jokes and Jason never let the smile fall from his lips. It was just the two kids at first then there were five and then ten. He somehow had gathered a group of kids who were just interested in meeting the Red Hood. One of them had a scraped knee so you watched as Jason pulled out a bandaid from his tactical belt. You couldn’t make it out but you did see it was purple and black. He spent an hour just entertaining these kids before they finally decided to disburse.

“Kids, huh?” You had asked once your feet were on solid ground.

Jason quickly turned around, a quirked brow raised as he looked to the roof. “How long were you watching me?”

“Well, I’m never late so…” Your mask covered your smile but he could tell by the way you looked down and the crinkles by your eyes you were smiling. “You’re different with them.” You stated, blunt as always.

“Well, they’re kids so….” Jason said, unsure what your point would have been.

You nodded. “Yeah, I mean…kids…the, uh, the homeless, sex workers, addicts. You're different. You’re different with people here.” You pointed it out because you'd noticed before.

This was your third time in Crime Alley with Jason and he was always different here. It was always rooted in an understanding and a genuine kindness and empathy for things people have dealt with. He never treated someone differently because of their circumstances and instead, he fought for them. You'd seen your fair share of people being cruel to kids and the homeless, sex workers, addicts, the poor. Jason just isn't. Jason gave you a little more faith in humanity.

Meanwhile, Jason could never wrap his head around your bluntness. You never cared how something sounded or how it came off. You just said what you were thinking. That scared him. And made him feel at ease. He knew he would never have to question your intentions but he also had absolutely no idea what you were thinking.

“Grew up here.” Jason pulled in a breath as he rested the helmet on his hip. “I know what it's like.” Jason admitted and it was a small sliver of information he gave up willingly.

You had nodded softly. “Yeah, uh…Dick said you grew up here. Shit was hard for you until Bruce caught you.”

Jason had let out this sort of scoff that was almost a chuckle as he looked up to the sky and then the right. You couldn't tell if it was something bitter in him that was turning or something pleasant. You'd have put your bet on something bitter if he'd asked.

“Yeah, something like that.” Jason looked back to you, shifting his weight.

Dick had warned you to be careful. It was not to be mean towards Jason by any means. It was more because Dick knew Jason tended to push and self-sabotage things. He wanted you not to pry too much too quick. You knew you’d likely have to ask him direct questions if there were things you wanted to know but you knew not to pry too much. You didn’t want to scare him off but it’s been a few months and a few dates and you were curious about it. You wanted to know what made Jason Todd, Jason Todd.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” You asked and you were cautious, something you never really were when asking him things.

Jason had hesitated for a second. It was not a secret. He just prefers to not talk about himself and there was a little bit of something bitter thinking about all of it. Thinking about his life in Crime Alley brings back to him meeting Bruce and then dying. It brings him back to coming back and the way Bruce looked at him like he were a monster before throwing a baterang at his neck. It was the way Jason couldn’t figure out why they couldn’t just forgive each other. It brings back bitterness and pain he can’t quite explain. But, it wasn’t all bad and if he were being really honest, he kind of really liked you. Maybe he could tell you some things about it. You'd yet to give him any reason to not tell you so he decided to take that risk and let you into a small part of his world.

“What’d ya wanna know?” Jason asked before he put the helmet back on.

“Uh…” You weren’t sure if he’d be okay to talk about it so you were unprepared. “Whatever you wanna tell me.” You stated simply as you closed the distance between you.

“Well,” Jason cleared his throat. “It wasn’t all bad.” Jason managed a chuckle before he started telling you things about growing up here and things about his parents, helping you better understand him as a person while also allowing Jason’s trust in you to grow.

----

He stands on this rooftop, desperately begging to go back in time and take the risk back. He wants to fall back to three years ago and rip that night from the both of you. You will be disappointed but that is significantly better than this. Jason swears it is better than this. He can not have you. That is fine. You will do better, you will find better, you always deserved better. He wants to go back and take everything back.

His hands are gripping the cement as if that’ll send him into the past and it only makes his chest feel like it might split open and spill his heart out. He'd dig his own hand into his ribcage and rip his heart from his chest if it would fix any of this. Jason's hands shake with his grip and he would do anything, sacrifice anything he could just to go back. He wants to take it all back even if it’ll hurt you because he remembers that time you told him you had a crush on him.

----

“How long?!” Jason had scrunched his face, confused and insane amused.

“Like a year.” It was more of an awkward giggle that you let out. “I don’t know!” You threw your arm out dramatically, almost regretting telling him. You knew he would be teasing you forever over it now.

“You’ve liked me for a year?” Jason chuckled. “Fucking why? You didn’t even know me!” Jason repositioned on the couch, resting his arm on the back of the couch as he faced you.

“That was part of the fun!” Your eyes had widened as you defended yourself. “I don’t know. Something about the white streak of hair and broad shoulders and…” You pulled in a breath as you shook your head at him, more to try and tease him. “I don’t know. I thought you seemed interesting.”

Dick introduced you at one of the Wayne party things they had at the manor. You were so nervous you could have died right then and there. It really was something about the white streak of hair and the broad shoulders, the thick thighs, and the way his eyes were so damn pretty you could have combusted. His canines were a bit sharp so it looked like he had tiny fangs when the sun hit them just right. Jason didn’t say too much but you thought he was pretty. And you caught glimpses of him throughout the day, laughing with his siblings and rolling his eyes at Bruce and helping Alfred with some of the food. He was big and tall and a little intimidating but not when he was just existing with his family and you found that interesting. The crush went from there.

“Was this before or after Dick told you about me?" Jason had raised a brow, still trying to fathom why you were so interested in him without having had a single conversation.

"After." You answered simply. "He told me all of your stories pretty early on into the friendship. Got to hear all about the kids of Bruce Wayne and company." You stated with a soft smile.

"Why then?" It was a genuine question he had. "And why didn't you say anything for a year?" Jason probably wouldn't have said anything at all if it were him but he's surprised you waited so long since you never seemed to hide any of your emotions.

"I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it." You laughed softly, looking down for a second before looking back to him. "I didn't see you often, thought maybe it'd fade but it did not." You scrunched your nose as your smile grew. "But, uh, I don't know. Dick told me you died and how and…that you guys didn’t get along to put it lightly…since you came back. At first. You were all good then now but it took awhile. But then I meet you and…” You shook your head. “You didn’t seem…mean or…threatening. I don’t know.” You could feel the heat start to burn your cheeks.

You had only heard the story from Dick's point of view at that time. You've since gotten Jason's side but only hearing Dick's was different. There was anger and a sense of betrayal even if it wasn't rightfully placed. It was as if Jason being brought back brought back all of their guilt and grief, too but they never had any way to deal with it. They didn't know where to put it so they put it on the person that caused it, in a roundabout way. It wasn't right and it wasn't right what Jason was doing either. It was just a mess of miscommunication and the inability to move on. Dick spoke fondly of Jason by the time you met, but he told you about all of it so despite his kind words about Jason, you thought maybe he'd be a bit mean and cold and broody and intimidating. But he was not. He was warm and kind and he looked happy. You found it interesting that after everything, Jason was not a cold and cruel person.

“Hey, you can’t go around saying I’m not threatening.” Jason had given you this teasing grin. “You’ll ruin my rep.”

You let out a snort. “Didn’t you just save like a litter of kittens from a car, gave the driver the dirtiest look I had ever seen, and then wouldn’t leave the shelter until they told you they would be fine? Did you not just do that two days ago? Did you not call today to check on them?”

“I’m sorry, should I have let that dickhead hit the kittens?!” Jason asked in horror.

“No!” You let out this laugh that Jason nearly melted into. “I’m just saying, it is not me saying you aren’t threatening. It is going to be those kittens. They’re gonna tell all the other kittens and they’re gonna show up here and then you’re gonna have beef with Selina. I don’t think that’s something you want.” You shrugged casually, trying to withhold your own laugh.

Jason’s booming laugh consumed his entire apartment. “I did not realize saving those kittens would have such a butterfly effect on my relationship with Selina.”

“Shut up!” You groaned as you tossed your head back.

“Okay can we go back to you having a massive crush on me for a year?” Jason eyed you with big doe eyes, mocking you.

“I hate you.” You deadpanned.

“No, you don’t.” Jason pulled in a breath as he gained a giant smile. “Because of your crush on me.” He batted his eyes at you and you wanted to kiss the growing smirk right off of his lips.

“Yeah, I hate you actually. You suck.” You crossed your arms and gave him a fake pout. “My feelings are hurt and everything!”

Jason chuckled before he grabbed your hand from your arm. “I hurt your feelings?” Jason questioned with disbelief, knowing damn well he did not.

“Yes, you did.” You struggled desperately not to break into a fit of laughter as Jason pulled you into his lap.

“You look really hurt.” Jason nodded his head sarcastically, his eyes looking up at you and you thought you'd melt into him.

“I am!” You said it dramatically as a laugh slipped from your lips.

“Right.” Jason nodded his head, his hands coming to your hips. “I am so sorry, could you ever think to forgive me?” Jason questioned with so much sarcasm, you thought he’d start to lose his composure.

“I don’t know.” You answered with a dramatic pout.

Jason let out a laugh. “Your big ole crush on me won’t let you stay mad at me.” Jason leaned toward you, his eyes dodging to your lips.

“You are insufferable.” You stated quietly.

“Sure.” Jason muttered before his hand came to your cheek and pulled you in for a kiss. “So insufferable.” Jason muttered against your lips.

“Just shut up and kiss me.” You rolled your eyes and Jason did not waste a single second more to complete the request.

----

Jason remembers how happy it all was. You were like this beam of light in his life and for once, it didn’t seem so damn grim. Half the time, he didn’t care if he came home or not. But then you started dating and he fell so hard for you that he didn’t think he’d ever stop falling. And suddenly, there was this big reason to come home every night. The loss of him for you would hurt, even if it were momentary. And…he liked being able to come home to you on weekends when you'd stay in Gotham. He liked having someone to come home to. He liked being happy and having a reason to be happy.

Half that time he didn’t care if he came home or not and that caused its fair share of fights. Jason's breath shakes in the cold breeze as his chin quivers, remembering the fights you'd have about it. There were never many because you just didn't fight. Jason would sometimes push and pull, try to sabotage things and you always just called him on his shit, rarely ever even raising your voice at him. But, these fights happened because you cared about him and Jason didn't know what he was supposed to do with that. He was never entirely sure if he could carry it even though you became one of the most important people in his life. He thought you'd leave, maybe, until the last time you fought about it. As tears spill from his eyes, he remembers the last fight you ever had about him being careful.

----

“Why the fuck are you mad now?” Jason groaned from the bathroom as he cleaned up the first aid supplies.

“I don’t fucking know, Jay. Why the fuck would I be mad?!” You yelled back, storming through his apartment. Everything felt too tight, too hard, too much.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have fucking asked!” Jason yelled back as he followed you into the living room.

You didn’t normally fight and if you did, it was small stuff. Not this. This felt big. It had scared him because as much as he loved to push, he didn't want to lose you. It was never about him, it was always about you deserving better than him or deserving more. But, he almost felt paralyzed at the thought this fight wasn't going to be like the others. He thought you'd finally had it.

“Maybe that’s the problem.” It was more a mutter but Jason was close enough to you not that he heard it.

“What’s that’s supposed to mean?” Jason questioned and he could feel his heart breaking into pieces through his throat.

“Maybe you should fucking know why I’m pissed. But you don’t. Did you ever consider that is the problem, Jay?”

It was not that you were even mad. It was that you were worried about him. You'd just cleaned up a few really nasty cuts again and that was fine. You didn't mind. He always did it for you, too. It was part of the job. It was how frequent it happen and how nonchalant he always was about the whole damn thing. It terrified you and you'd told him over and over. He was normally a good listener but...not when it came to this. And it hurt.

“You were fine earlier! Now you’re not?!” Jason looked to the ceiling in frustration. “I am not a damn mind reader!”

You nearly pulled your hair out. “I am not asking to be a mind reader!” You screamed back at him as tears burned your eyes. “I am asking you to fucking listen to me!”

“I do listen--”

“No! I get it.” You caved, bringing your voice back down but it is far more in frustration. “I get what you do. I am not asking you to give it up. I am asking you to be careful.” The last few words had come out as a plea and the fury and annoyance Jason had disappeared.

“That’s just part of the job.” Jason tried to defend softly this time.

“We both know you can be more careful, Jay.” You said it so candidly that Jason felt guilty for not trying harder. You were right. “Uh…I, uh, I had a nightmare a few nights ago.” You confessed. “And, uh, it was about you. And I’ve been thinking about it ever since because it felt really real. And then today…it just…” You shook your head. “This has been…the best year of my life.” You admitted as your chin started to wrinkle and your bottom lip quivered. “Because of you so I think…about losing you and I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Jason almost felt frozen because he couldn't tell where this was going to go and he wasn’t sure where he wanted it to go. The only thing he did know was that he didn't want you worrying so much about him and he felt guilty for putting it on you.

“I know it’s part of the job.” You nodded easily. “I know. I do it, too. But that doesn't make it hurt any less.” You admitted. “And I just…I wish you would be a little bit more careful because I love you.”

Everything froze for Jason. The idea of being loved is almost something he had chased for so long, he never thought he’d get it. He always chased it only to bite it when it comes close to him. It’s scary. The idea of someone loving him and him loving someone else. What if he fucks it up like he’s done to everything else? He couldn't believe he hadn’t fucked this up yet. You’ve clocked him self-sabotaging a few times, he hadn’t in a while but you caught it. You swore he never needed to because you liked him for him. You didn’t care about the dark and scary shit inside his head or the things he’d done. That never mattered to you because he is kind and a good person. He never could believe it but he chose to trust you anyway. And now he was standing here and he had no idea what to do because he could run but the idea of that made him want to burn through the floor.

“What?” Jason finally got out.

“I love you.” You said it again, honestly. It wasn't really how you wanted to tell him. You knew you would eventually but Jason can be a little skittish so you only wanted to do it when you thought he was ready to hear it. You were not sure if he was ready but you couldn't hide it from him anymore. “It’s okay if you don’t feel that way.” You nodded your head even if you didn’t think that was the problem. “Or if you’re unsure if you can say it. I just…I wanted to tell you so maybe…” You had let out a breath. “You’ll know why I worry and I want you to be more careful. I know that…this might not go the way we want in the end but…I just want you to try.”

He thought he didn’t deserve you. He did not deserve that sort of kindness or care or worry but you offered it so easily. You offered it to him as if it was the same as taking a breath. You offered an understanding with it. It’s something even Jason didn’t think about much, you being the one that didn’t make it home. He pushed it away because he felt like he might fall into the center of the earth if that would happen. It would be earth-shattering to him if it were you. You were at least careful when you would go on patrol and he did think that would help, to know you tried to come home to him. It is not fair to not offer you the same deal.

Jason closed the distance between you and you didn’t think he’d say it back which was okay. It would hurt but he had told you so much. Ever since that night months ago when you asked about his childhood, he had told you so much. You knew about being homeless and the things he has witnessed even as a child. You knew. You knew the horrors he had encountered through his life and if it were you, you weren't so sure you would offer those words. But just because he may not be able to say them, did not mean he did not deserve to know how you felt. That did not mean he did not deserve to know people loved him and they wanted him to stay alive. It would hurt but you thought it’d be fine because you knew he loved you.

“I’m sorry, princess.” Jason stated, his voice rough and honest as a hand came to your cheek. His thumb rubbed over your cheek as you nodded against him. “I’ll be careful.” He stated. “I didn’t know.” He admitted.

“I know.” You started back, eyes locked on his. They were red and his eyes were a deep shade of blue like he was on the verge of bursting into tears. “That’s why I told you.”

“Promise, I’ll be more careful out there.” Jason nodded down at you. “I, uh…” Jason pulled in a breath. “I love you, too.” He said carefully but honestly as a gentle smile came to your face.

“Was hoping you did.” You nodded back at him. “I’m sorry for getting so mad. Just worry.”

“It’s okay.” Jason pulled you into him, his arms engulfing you. “I know you worry. I’m sorry for yelling back.” Jason apologized, placing a kiss to your head.

“Can we just get takeout?” You let out a soft laugh, looking up to him. “We can eat and watch some bad reality TV.”

Jason let out a laugh. “What food were you feeling?”

----

A sob rips through Jason’s throat, clawing its way into the cold of Gotham’s air. His legs give out before he can catch a breath and he collapses onto the pavement of the roof. It all hurts. Every piece of his body is aching and crashing like it never should have made it this far. His arms and legs shake as he turns to rest his back against the ledge. He pulls his legs to his chest as his face becomes soaked in his own tears. His lungs start to burn with every sob as he can’t get a full breath in. The world around him starts to spin and it all hurts. Why does it have to hurt so much? He loves you and he will always love you and it will always be painful.

----

Lightning ripped through the sky and you were handling yourself as you always did. You were good on your own. But that night, five days ago, was different. It was different because it was not some big bad that would be the cause. All of that was going so well. It was a simple mistake. Wrong timing. An accident.

Jason had been fighting one of the goons, a nasty fistfight. The goon had some sort of training. Jason was confident, he’d beat him he put up a hell of a fight. It was a hell of a fight until it turned more brutal, getting more physical with punches and kicks, the goon picking Jason up and trying to throw him across the lot. It was getting messy while you were dealing with one of the metas. You were throwing lightning bolts as fast as you could manage while minding where Jason was. It should have been fine because you’d done this before. But, Jason tripped.

He tripped over something left on the ground and that gave the goon enough of a gap to grab him. When he was grabbed, Jason was thrown right into a pile of glass and metal just as you were throwing a lightning bolt in that direction at the meta. You missed Jason but you hit the reflective metals, sending the bolt back to you.

You went down immediately and Jason stopped breathing. The goon and meta took off while Jason was back on his feet, rushing over to you. Panic had flooded his body in that exact instant. You went down hard and the lightning threw you back. He knew.

He pulled your body into his lap, checking for a pulse and trying to feel if you were breathing only to find nothing. His hands were shaking so bad he could barely hold you in his lap.

He called your name with a tremble of his voice. “Come on, you gotta wake up.” He said it quietly, trying to keep himself together, desperately still trying to find a pulse. “Wake up.” He said it more sternly that time as he shook your head lightly.

You were lifeless in his lap and he was at a loss. What is he supposed to do?!

He moved to put your back on the ground and he started CPR before he used the comms to get ahold of Oracle. He told her what happened as he performed CPR, desperate to bring you back to him. You had to come back, right? It was your own lightning bolt. How can you be killed by your own powers? That sounds like such a rip-off. And Jason bit his sobs back because it shouldn’t have been you. It couldn't be you. It was supposed to be him because he needed to be more careful. He didn’t have powers. He already died before. He put a bomb in his helmet. It was supposed to be him to go first but you were not breathing.

You wouldn't breathe.

He tried and he tried until the other bats started showing to offer some help. He tried and tried and tried and it wasn’t good enough because the lightning was too much and he was clumsy. He fucking tripped and he slipped and that was it. It led you to getting hurt. It led you to getting killed. It is all his fault.

----

Jason’s hands cover his face as he keeps sobbing, nausea filling his stomach. His stomach is in agonizing pain and he can’t bear to even attempt to pull himself together. What is he supposed to do? It’s his fault. He can never forgive himself for it and he knows it. You deserved better and he should have just said no three years ago. Had he just turned you down, you’d be alive and off somewhere living your life. Had he just been more careful. It doesn’t matter that everyone has tried to convince him it wasn’t his fault because he always sees it that way. And he misses you.

He wakes up and he misses you and that’s if he can even get any damn sleep. He wakes up and he misses you and he tries to eat and he misses you. Bruce comes over to check on him and he misses you. He sees some of your stuff littered over his apartment and he misses you. His entire chest feels like it might cave right in every single second of every day. It’s as if he is dragging his feet from one minute to the next with no real destination or desire. He moves because he has no choice. He just wants the pain to stop. He wants you back. You didn’t deserve to die.

How he is ever supposed to move on from this? From you?

The memories he once looked back on are now tainted with pain. And that is the only thing he has left of you. What is he supposed to do?

How is he supposed to live with the pain of losing you?

Hands rest on Jason’s knees, gentle and soft, gathering Jason’s attention. Jason’s own sobs were so loud, he entirely missed the presence of another person coming onto the roof with him and he missed the sound of footsteps approaching and then stopping in front of him. He missed it all and not a single part of him even cares. But, he looks up anyway and his breath catches in his throat as his eyes widen. How?

“Jay?” Your voice is quiet and broken with the sight of him.

Tag List: @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai  // @makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @mayfieldss // @ghostkingblake // @dgraysonss // @im-done-with-this-im-out // @velvetskies // @vivian-555 // @kebonita // @deyja-the-duck // @jasontoddslover // @captainmarvels-blog // @totallynotkaibiased // @scarlovesyou // @whydoyoucare866 // @littlemeowmeow1000 // @septixtrash // @kplatzman // @killxz // @achromaticerebus // @lovefks // @kolpvii

[jenchan-writingmultis]

Twisted Wonderland Boys x Fem Reader in their respective Fairytales (Series)

(Idia's Part)

Previous part (Kalim)

─────❅─────

A/n: Out of every housewarden, I felt like sobbing writing Idia's cause of how fluffy he is, I love him so much. Content Warning: This Fic will be tagged as 16+ since it is a bit suggestive along with mentions of Gorey themes (Azul), it’s very vague. I haven’t finished Book 6 and Book 7 because I’m stuck in Tartarus, but they’re not done here yet. Potential Inaccuracy in Indian Tradition, Indian and Greek clothing, if ever you see inaccuracy about it, please let me know, I only did a bit of research about it. The reason for potential OOC was cause I mixed both the classic Villains with the personalities of our beloved boys. You have a child with Kalim here!

─────❅─────

First Batch would be: Riddle, Leona, Azul

Second Batch would be: Kalim, Idia, Malleus

List of Villains interconnecting with each character:

Kalim = The sultan Idia = Hades ─────❅───── Idia: The underworld has always been Idia’s little comfort zone, although at first, he didn’t want to rule it, due to how depressing it gets sometimes, but along with his brother Ortho who takes care of “outside” activities, aka meetings with those overbearing gods and goddesses who think they’re better than anyone, he didn’t mind the work as long as it’s with him. So far, his duties were all just about guiding souls into whatever the fuck they want or are allowed to go, honestly if they all became lost souls, he wouldn’t give a flying damn.

One day, however, an odd discrepancy appeared in the calculations of souls being accepted—an unregistered soul had entered the narrative. Concerned, he strolled toward the portal of Tartarus to investigate. When he peered inside, a sudden flash of blinding light erupted, disorienting him. Before he could react, a heavy force slammed into his body, causing him to stumble.

“What the!” he grunted, feeling a heavy body on top of him, he rubbed his head, opening his eyes, adjusting to the sudden light-to-darkness transition.

You stirred, finding your hands pinning him down. His eyes widened in shock as he pushed you off, scrambling backward so quickly that he hit his back on the wall with a loud slam.

“What In the world?!” he screeched, his hair glowing brightly meaning he was incredibly nervous, while you seemed to be lost, standing up, you pat away the dust off your outfit, taking notice of Idia who still was pressed on the wall.

“Idia?” you went closer to him, he looked like an angry kitten, glaring at you at first but the moment you got closer he stiffens up, pushing his hands to protect himself from you.

“Stay back! You anomaly!” he shouted that it echoed around the empty room, you were taken aback, “Idia, it’s me.” you said, eyebrows knitting in frustration.

“H-how do you know my name?” he asked, looking at you confusedly, were you sent by his other brother who he doesn’t even think of one, Zeus? You look kind of angelic so there’s a suspicion.

“Idia, you’re my boyfriend” Wow point blank you decided to kill him with those words, boyfriend his ass, what boyfriend, all he knows is that he prefers to be single than have a lover, also he wants to add that you are way out of his league, there’s no way you like him that way, and this is the first time you met him, was there a camera around here? The edited laughter? Where is it? He’s waiting for that to come.

Realizing that he was overthinking again, you snapped your fingers catching his attention; stating your name you tried to see if you got any reaction, but nothing. He really didn’t remember you.

You were going to be saddened by this, if it weren’t for the fact that the tips of his hairs had a slight pink on it meaning was still a chance for you to get your boyfriend back.

Okay, you two might be misunderstanding things, while Idia was observant, he can’t think straight when he’s in front of someone, his black and blue robe being a perfect cover for himself, he even had a hoodie knitted for him to cover his hair with.

You noticed that he was taller than before, raising your eyebrow, you grabbed his arm, which made him freeze up, looking at you like you just harassed him, his sweat drops. “What?”

“Since when did you get taller?” you asked, he slides your hand off of his arm, rubbing it a bit, “I don’t know?” he answered confusedly, before waving his hand dismissively, “No more questions, I’m bringing you back to Zeus” he grumbled, his stupid brother playing pranks on him again.

“What? Zeus?” you walked faster to catch up on him when he started speedwalking away, “Y’know, God of Olympus?” he said, weirded out why you didn’t know Zeus, everyone knows him.

“Wait, Zeus as in the God from long ago?” you asked further, which made Idia stop his tracks, turning to look at you, his figure looming, he looked like a grim reaper when he stands with you before, but now it’s more evident.

“What do you mean long ago?” he asked as bewildered as you are, why are you acting this way anyways? Anomaly that popped out of nowhere and almost giving him a concussion and right now you’re giving him a migraine, what’s next huh? brain aneurysm?   

“Are you not my Idia?” you frowned, looking at him closer, he exhibited a different style, he was taller, slightly shorter hair, bluish skin instead of pale.

“Your” Idia? What does that mean?

The more you open your mouth the more questions pop out, sighing he decided to cover your mouth with his hand. “Please… just shut up for a minute”

Okay, first theory! You’re not from around here, I mean you just got spat out like trash by the Tartarus and suddenly proclaiming that he’s your boyfriend, he feels bad for you, your standard is in hell if you’re dating him, you’re pretty too, a disrespect to your face really.

Second theory, which he’s leaning on more, you’re a spy sent by his brother Zeus; to make him fall for you and you break his heart and upload it to magicam or something.

If you think he’s self-deprecating too much, please, he’s just being realistic with the situation.

“First off, I am not yours” he clarified, lifting his hands as if he’s surrendering to you. “I never met you in my whole life, you’re cute but no”

Rejected by your own boyfriend, you wanted to pinch his cheeks for it, you were going to be hurt by this, but the thing is, the way he acts reminded you of the first stages of your relationship with him, he wasn’t the best with it.

“Okay,” you said, being short with him, for some reason that made him feel bad, scratching the back of his neck, he wanted to hold your cheek or hand to comfort you, an odd feeling.

“Sorry- I mean if you want to, I can act like your boyfriend or something” he murmured, his voice gradually decreasing to the point you barely heard the last words.

“It’s fine Idia, no need” not wanting to force him into that kind of thing, however, you noticed that his little fire hair started to fizzle out, panicking a bit you touched his hand, holding it, “wait I mean, okay, sure we can act”

Phew, that got his fire back up, lucky you. “Okay…” he said awkwardly coughing as he uses his tech to call for Ortho. “Ortho, can you come here?”

Ortho was impressively fast with going back to the underworld, looking the same except his clothes or rather his cyborg parts looked Greek like, it explains why you were wearing a tunic.

“Scan her” Idia said, using his eyes to signal ortho who to scan, in which Ortho grins brightly. “Okay!”

You stayed still as Ortho used his eyes to scan you, it was something that came natural for you, especially since your Ortho does that often.

“So?” Idia asked, leaning on the wall, Ortho shook his head, looking conflicted. “Nope, she doesn’t have any data around Ancient Greece, or anywhere”

“Huh” he didn’t seem surprised. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, patting Ortho’s head. “Yeah! I did another scan but there’s no indication of her presence anywhere.

So, you really were just transported by Tartarus to Ancient Greece, connecting the dots, that means Idia here is…

Noticing you staring at him in deep thought He smiles a bit, you looked funny thinking like that, pouty and all. “Since you’re really not from here, my name is Idia, God of the Underworld, and this is Ortho, my brother.” Ortho waves at you enthusiastically and he was genuinely surprised that his brother introduced him instead of himself.

“I know” you hummed, crossing your arms. “I told you already, we’re dating- “

Idia tried to cover your mouth before you spout that out but failed as Ortho’s eyes widens. “You’re dating my brother in the other world?! You mean there’s another version of us in your world?”

Oh dear, you’re in it now.

Ortho basically asked you plenty of questions, already happy that his brother pulled someone like you, you were gorgeous!

Idia was a bit happy you got along with his brother, he sometimes feels bad that he keeps Ortho in such a depressing place instead of being a normal kid outside and playing.

Also he can’t help but get flustered whenever you randomly get physically affectionate with him, he’s been trying to find a way to get you back in your world, but it’s proving to be difficult since Tartarus maybe his domain, but it’s a system that’s entirely independent from him, think of it as the pity system in his gacha games, even if you hit enough 80 pulls, it doesn’t guarantee the limited character you want.

But, as long as he can, Idia tries to make sure every time he hangs out with you is worthwhile, it’s the first time he made effort to spend time with someone, when he’s off work, he finds himself going to the guest room, asking if you wanted to come eat with him and Ortho, or sometimes, you end up in his room, playing a two-player game with him.

Ever since you came into his life, he started going out of his room more, back then he usually just… does his work and go to his room. That’s all Now he’s trying to go outside more, especially when Ortho told him that to get you back faster was by “thinking outside the box” which just meant that he should go touch some grass and let the gears in his brain think of a solution.

He didn’t really know when he fell for you, but he noticed it when you were outside with him, in the largest field that had nothing but nature around. The outfit that Ortho lend you fits your palette so perfectly, it almost made him want to take a picture.

You were admiring the view while glancing around, picking up flowers.

Confused with what you were doing he walked to you. “Hey what-“ getting cut off as you shove a bouquet of flowers on his chest, a ribbon clumsily wrapped around the stems of the flowers.

“For you” you said, smiling, making his heart skip a bit, he accepted the gift as Ortho called out for you, giving him a glance before you grab his collar, pulling him down to kiss his cheek before walking away.

That got his hair to burn bright pink, shaking from the adrenaline, he coughed awkwardly, hopefully, Ortho didn’t see what you did.

Well, he’s having a hard time finding a way to send you back home, so… it might take a while.

─────❅───── A/n: ACCCCCCK IDIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ILYSM ༼;´༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽ Malleus' Part

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Ace's Story - 7

Source for pic

Firestarter 7

Word Count: 4883

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader, slight NSFW (It's mature, not explicit), slightly sugestive behaviour, flirting, jealousy, frenemies, sexual tension, miscommunication, unresolved tension, slight angst, slow-burn, romantic comedy vibes, alternate universe modern setting, swearing, drinking, fluff, feelings realisation, denial of feelings.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You intended to have some alone time, to reflect and heal, but your childhood friend's older brother, Ace, seems to be there just to upset that fragile peace you're striving for. He's a flirt and a womaniser. But why does he also have to be so handsome and perfect? And how long can you resist his charms?

Notes: Just enjoy this one 🥰

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48

Masterlist for previous introductory chapters.

|Previous Chapter| | |Next Chapter🔞|

You get home early by party standards, but it is still past midnight and Shanks is already in bed, so you try your best not to make much noise, even though you are forced to bite down on your cheek to stifle the annoying sobs that won’t stop clawing at your throat. 

Robin was kind enough to drive you home before returning to the party, because she was still sober, and you thanked her all the way. She did not ask why you were in the state you were and you did not share. Robin was very wise in realising you needed space and not probing and she knew that you would share what had happened once you were ready for it. 

After going to the bathroom you curl up in your bed and finally sob relentlessly, letting your pain drip away with every tear you shed. 

It’s official and there’s no denying it now. You are desperately in love with Ace.

And you’re sobbing the hardest because of that realisation. Because you know he’s not boyfriend material and he won’t settle for one girl. Especially you. Because you’re nothing special. He can have any girl he desires, so why would he want you?

You should have known better than to give in to your feelings. You should’ve never kissed him. You would’ve still been hurt, sure, but you would not know the softness of his lips, the warmth of his touch, the feel of his tongue and the intensity of his gaze. 

You’re broken.

But maybe time will fix it?

-*-

Shanks knocks lightly on the door of your bedroom before opening it. You’re awake. You’ve heard the rooster call. But you’re still curled up in the same ball as you were when you tucked yourself in last night.

“Bug?” He calls gently but you do not stir. You pretend to be asleep and Shanks closes the door again. 

Sighing, you grab your phone to check the time. It’s almost ten in the morning. And you have around ten missed calls from Ace and an increasing amount of texts. You don’t open any of them and throw your phone to the floor with a soft thud.

Another fresh wave of tears threatens to spill from your eyes and you let it, covering your head with the sheets and biting down the pillow, trying to stifle the painful gasps. 

If only there were a way to stifle the ache in your chest.

-*-

You keep ignoring calls and texts and by lunchtime Shanks makes another visit. This time he purposely makes some noise so you can’t really pretend to be asleep. Rising, you sit cross-legged on the bed.

“Hey, bug.” He sets a glass of water by your nightstand with two pills, thinking that you are hungover. “Are you well?” He lets his body fall at the foot of your bed, making you jump slightly when the weight shifts. 

You simply nod, not trusting your voice, and take the water but not the pills. 

“You’re not sick? Hungover?” He asks with a mischievous grin and you shake your head. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“No.” You say, but your words resemble a weak whimper and you fall back into the comfort of your bed, throwing the sheets back over your head in a silent plea to be left alone. 

Shanks remains in silence for a few moments before rising. “I’m going to leave you, then. There’s lunch in the fridge, if you’re hungry. I’m leaving for the Jubilee but I will come home before dinner to check on you, okay?”

“Yes.” You croak.

You hear Shanks’ footsteps all the way to the door before he pauses and sighs heavily. “Ace keeps calling. He says you’re not answering any of his calls or texts. Want me to tell him anything?”

Biting your lower lip, you will your voice to come out firm and steady.

“Tell him to go to hell and leave me alone.”

The silence weighs heavily while your shoulders rock with the effort of keeping your sobs and wails quiet. 

“Alright.” Your father answers before leaving and closing the door. 

-*-

You doze off for the rest of the day, only getting up to go to the bathroom or to fill your glass of water. You’re not even hungry. You keep returning to bed but you’ve already made up your mind: you will only allow yourself one day to wallow in misery.

Tomorrow is a new day and you will no longer think about Ace or your shattered heart. 

So you take time to be depressed today. 

You manage to answer some texts from Nami and Robin, just assuring them you are fine and that you’re just feeling a bit ill, not really wanting to get into details when everything is still so raw. But you still leave all of Ace’s growing pile of texts unread.

You don’t even care what he has to say.

You must have closed your eyes again at some moment or other, because when you wake up, the sunlight coming through the window is casting a lot of shadows already, so it must be nearing dinner time.

You hear muffled voices but can’t tell who it is or what is being said. It must be your dad and Beckman, probably. 

After a few moments, you hear footsteps and, sure enough, Shanks knocks and enters the room, just to find you still curled up in bed. 

“You’re still in bed?” He seems upset, the wrinkles in his eyes prominent and his lips turned down into a scowl. 

“I’m fine, dad.” You sigh.

He grunts and rolls his eyes, opening and closing his mouth, not really saying anything, but clearly meaning to say something. Until he closes his eyes tightly and exhales a breath. 

“Ace is downstairs. Should I let him up?”

You comb your fingers through your hair in a desperate gesture as you inhale deeply, trying to regain composure.

“No. I don’t want to see him.”

Shanks breathes out heavily and nods. “Okay, bug. I’ll tell him. You need to eat something, though. I will be waiting for you so we can have dinner.”

Then he closes the door and leaves. You hear the heavy thumps of his boots against the steps and quickly get up, opening the door just a smidge so you can listen in on their conversation. 

“Can I go up?” Ace sounds hopeful.

“No.”

“Fuck!”

“Language, young man.” Shanks seems pissed.

“Sorry.” A pause. “Sir.”

“What did you do to her?” Your father’s voice is raspy and tense. 

You hear Ace groan. “Nothing! It was all a misunderstanding!”

Shanks scoffs. “She told me you were only friends and I didn’t want to meddle. I knew she would get hurt. I should’ve intervened!” He’s talking more to himself than to Ace, at this point. 

“I never meant to hurt her, Shanks!”

“It’s sir!”

“We had… we had a moment. And then a random girl appeared and-...”

“And you traded my daughter for some other girl?” Shanks’ voice echoes in the corridor and you gulp.

“I would never, Sh-... sir!” There’s a pregnant silence and you can bet they are having a staring contest. “She misunderstood the situation. It was a mistake. That’s all.”

You scoff and close the door again, not wanting to listen to anything else he wants to add. Obviously you misunderstood. You were the mistake he made. And you thought you were more than you actually are. You thought that kiss had actually meant something, that you could be special. 

That was the only misunderstanding that happened. 

Because Ace will always have his girls, his fans… and you’ll be left on the sidelines. Because why would he settle for someone as boring and bland as you? When he could have the whole world?

-*-

You sit at the dinner table, fork in hand but barely eating. Your cheek rests against your fist and you sigh from time to time. Shanks has an unreadable expression on his face, though he seems to be struggling with emotions. 

You set down your fork and stare at him. “Can I, please, be excused?”

“No. You haven’t eaten all day.” He pouts.

“Dad, I’m no longer a child.”

“You’re still living under my roof, aren’t you?” You raise your eyebrow and he sighs, setting down the fork on his untouched plate of food. “Sorry, that was out of line. Please, bug, eat something. I’m worried.”

Forcing a smile, you nod and place another piece of meat in your mouth. Chewing it is akin to chewing rubber. You’re drained.

“I’m fine, dad.” You pick up the conversation after swallowing the meat with water. “There’s no need to worry. I just needed to process some things. I’ll be up and about tomorrow, okay?” You try to sound confident.

Shanks nods and repeats the process that you’ve been through with the meat himself. He must not be very hungry either.

“You know, for what it’s worth, Ace seemed really apologetic. He claimed that whatever made you mad, was a misunderstanding on your part and he never meant it to happen.”

You scoff and your mouth hangs open. “Are you seriously taking his side?” He shrugs and opens his mouth to speak but you don’t let him. “Unbelievable! You don’t even know what happened! Goddamned Ace and his smooth ways! I can’t believe he fooled you too!” You slam the fork on the table.

“Calm down, bug, I’m not taking anyone’s side on anything. You’re both adults. I’m just saying that he made some valid points when speaking to me earlier. Perhaps you should just listen to him.”

What is he talking about? You heard their conversation and Shanks was pissed! No, wait. You did not hear the entirety of the conversation. And now you’re regretting it because what could Ace have said to your dad to actually get him on his side?

Gritting your teeth, you collect your plate and water glass. “Can I, please, be excused?” You try again, forcing the words out of your mouth through pursed lips.

Shanks nods with a heavy sigh and you go. Then, after cleaning your plate and without even bothering to change clothes - tank top and pyjama shorts - you grab your car keys, put on sneakers and open the door. “I’ll be back in a while.”

You barely give time for Shanks to mutter a ‘be safe’ before you bang the door, purposely irritating him with the process. 

Getting in the car and turning the ignition makes your mind blank. Where were you aiming to go? There’s the Jubilee in town, the beach will probably have another party going on, and the lake as well… everybody must be out during Jubilee week. 

Sighing, you start driving. Driving aimlessly it is. Just to try to clear your mind, anyway.

You blast the music because music always helps you relax, and open the windows to let the wind flow freely inside of the car. It’s all bliss for almost an hour. Until your car decides you’re being too harsh on it and starts fuming.

You pull over, turn on the blinkers and get out, opening the hood and letting out an intense cloud of smoke that leaves you coughing. You’ve been here before… Your dad said Kid didn’t need to replace the engine, but perhaps he should have because you’re pretty sure this has no salvation at the moment. 

Resigning to your fate, you call your dad. “Bug? Are you all right?”

“Dad, sorry for earlier…” You start, having cooled off by now. “We’ll talk some more about it later, but I need your help. I’m stranded again! The engine is fuming and I guess this time it really is dead. Kid’s shop is closed so I need a ride.”

Shanks stays silent for a moment and you hear the loud noises of the Jubilee in the background. He’s still working. You’re hoping Beckman can cover for him as he comes and saves your ass.

“Okay, hang tight, tell me where you are.” You tell him and he grunts. “You’re in the middle of nowhere! Where were you going? Were you leaving?” He lets out a deep, resigned sigh. “Stay inside the locked car, please. I’ll be there soon.”

You hang up and do as he says, leaving the hood open, you crawl back inside the car, turning off the lights and leaving only the blinkers on, so ongoing cars can see you. Picking up your phone, you settle for a long wait. Shanks doesn’t drive too fast. 

You shiver unconsciously because the air is a bit cold and you’re only wearing shorts.

There’s no music because you turned off the car but the nightly sounds are quite relaxing. There is a big, full moon in the sky and, though your heart still clenches and aches, you know you’ll be fine. 

-*-

The wait doesn’t seem as long as you thought it would, so you are still inside your car when you see a pair of taillights parking behind you. It doesn’t look like Shanks’ pickup and you start to breathe a little faster and make sure the doors are locked. 

Until you can get a good look. A guttural groan leaves your throat as you close your eyes.

It’s Ace.

You hide your face in your hands to stifle a frustrated scream. You will be so angry at your father when you see him again.

You still haven’t moved when you hear him knocking at your window. Shaking your head but keeping it hidden behind your hands, you groan again. “Go away, Ace! I’ll wait till morning for the tow truck.”

“You’d seriously rather spend the night in the car than come home with me?”

“Yes!” You hiss, still hiding from him.

“Fine. You can stay there, but I’m not leaving either.”

He presses his butt against your door, leaning in, and crosses his arms over his chest. Removing your face from the safe cocoon of your hands, you cross your arms over your own chest. And realise you don’t even have a bra on, since you’re basically wearing pyjamas. 

And you’re uncomfortable.

And cold.

And pissed off.

“Fine! You’re unbelievable!” You groan, grab your stuff and open the door with all the might you possess, trying to unbalance him, but he moves out of your way with ease. 

As soon as you set foot outside you gasp. The temperature dropped a lot while you were inside the car and you shiver while hugging yourself. “Let’s just go.” You mutter, closing the hood of your car with force. You haven’t looked at his face once.

And you don’t intend to.

You can almost feel his eyes on you and, when once that left you flattered, today it only leaves you flustered. Since he seems to take forever to move, you stomp towards his jeep and try to open the door but it’s closed. 

He approaches, car key in hand and slow steps. “I locked it. I was ready to spend the night outside your car.”

“How chivalrous.” 

Before opening the doors, he reaches through the open window of the back and fishes out the jacket of his fireman uniform, setting it over your shoulders. It falls just under your butt, longer than your shorts, and it’s warm so you slip into the sleeves, cradling yourself in its warmth.

Fuck.

It smells like him. Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply. Then you shake your head and try to clear the knot in your throat. “Can you open the door now, please?”

He presses the button and you open the door. Just as you’re about to climb up, he settles one hand on your hip to help you and you hiss. “Don’t touch me.”

Ace retreats and you look at him over your shoulder. He seems hurt. Actually you have yet to hear or see a hint of a smile or a jest coming from him since he arrived. Which is very weird.

“You’re right, sorry.”

You climb on your own as he goes around the jeep and enters. Putting on your seatbelt and staring out the window, you prepare yourself for a long, uncomfortable drive.

Yet, he doesn’t start the car. 

You turn your eyes away from the window to see what he’s doing and catch him texting. Rolling your eyes and scoffing you mutter ‘figures’ under your breath, automatically assuming he’s texting a girl saying he’s busy.

“I’m telling your father that I’ve got you and you're safe. In case you’re making up stuff in your mind already.”

You can’t even argue with him. You were making stuff up already. Suddenly, a thought crosses through your mind: how much of your musings are merely assumptions and how much are actually true? Could he have been telling Shanks the truth about everything being a misunderstanding?

And what would that actually mean?

He sets his phone down and starts the car. The music is very low on the radio and that makes you very attuned to all of his noises. For a few times it looks as if he’s about to speak, yet he doesn’t.

His sighs and little tsks fill the air. Sometimes even a groan or a grumble. But not a single word.

You’re not in the mood to speak, anyway, so you’re glad. 

And you were right. The ride is pretty awkward. Until he makes a wrong turn and your head whips towards him.

“Where are you going?”

His eyes are still on the road but his lips curve a little bit up. “I want to show you something.” You are about to protest, but you don’t. Maybe you should really clear the air. Just to let him know that nothing will ever happen. You will stop being mad soon enough and you can go back to being friends, or neighbours, or acquaintances, and that’s it.

His jeep makes its way up the mountain very easily and you soon understand where he’s taking you: to the viewpoint. A prime location to take lovers to. Secluded and ideal for lovemaking under the stars.

You scoff. “What exactly do you want to show me here, Ace?” Your words are full of scorn and disbelief.

“You’ll see.” He mutters. 

But you’re at a loss once he passes the exit for the viewpoint and continues up. After a while, he stops the car in front of a battered-up pebbled path that has a chain closing it off, and he stops the car, leaving the engine on.

“Hang on.”

Getting out of the car, he unlocks the chain with a key he fishes from his pocket and then climbs back into the jeep, making his way across the path.

It’s really bumpy and you grab onto the handle of the door with strength. Your other hand almost instinctively goes for Ace’s hand but you stop just in time and settle it under your leg.

“Almost there.”

After a few moments, he parks the jeep and gets out, telling you to do the same. As soon as you look around, your lips open up to let out a small gasp as you take in the breathtaking view. You remember the viewpoint, but it only overlooks one side of the town, and a little bit of the beach. This place has a panoramic view of everything, including the vastness of the sky and all of its shining, twinkling stars.

You twirl on your feet, eyes up in the sky and arms slightly open. A small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.After your little exhilarating twirl, your eyes land on Ace. He’s staring intently at you, a full smile finally on his lips. 

“This is beautiful.” You exhale in a whispery breath.

“Yes. It is.” But his eyes remain locked on you. You hold his stare for a moment before turning back to the view. There’s a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. He must bring all of his girls here. To this special place.

To have them. To fuck them.

You grit your teeth as he removes the duvet and pillow from the back of his jeep and you start to hum negatively. This is where you draw the line.

“No, no, Ace. I’m sorry but I’m not one of your bimbos. You can’t just wow me with an astonishing view, have your way with me and then leave me to rinse and repeat with another random girl. I refuse.”

Tears threaten to spill from your oversensitive eyes again. God, you’re such a crybaby. 

He still sets the duvet down and props the pillow up against a rock. “I don’t bring girls here.” The finality of his words and the gravitas with which he delivers them make you believe him without questioning. “Come here.”

You approach him with slow steps. 

“See.” He points at the rock where the letters ASL are carved. “Luffy, Sabo and I used to come here when we were teens. This place is closed off to people because, since it’s private property, it doesn’t have any fences like the viewpoint below, but Grandfather had a key from when he helped the rangers patrolling in summer, and we made a copy.”

He sits and motions for you to sit near him. You are still eyeing him suspiciously. “This place is special. You’re special. I wanted to show it to you.”

And once again, you believe his words. Because he is being serious Ace and not silly, goofy Ace.

You move forward and sit down, far from him, almost at the feet of the duvet.”Fair enough.” He replies and chuckles softly.

You missed his chuckle. 

Only one day without him and you missed his goddamned chuckle. 

“I want to apologise for yesterday. You have every right to be upset, but I didn’t ‘arrange’ any encounter with that girl. I was going to leave the party alone.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Or with you, if you would have me. She just assumed something. That was all, I swear.”

Taking a deep breath, you concentrate on the faraway lights from the Jubilee. If you listen closely, and when the wind turns your way, you can almost hear the music and the gleeful screams of the crowd. Nodding slowly, you show Ace your acknowledgment even though you don't say anything. So he continues.

“You said before that you wanted honesty from me. Ask whatever you want to ask. I will answer honestly. You have my word.”

You turn to stare at him and you can only perceive truthfulness and seriousness in his warm gaze. So you nod again.

“Okay.” But you’re not quite sure where to begin. Though your mouth opens up immediately and the phrase rolls from your lips without having been properly processed by your tired brain. “Am I just another girl to you?” Your lower lip trembles and you will it to stop by clamping your teeth over it. 

“Easy question, Firestarter. You were never just another girl to me. Make it harder, will you?”

His easy grin makes an appearance on his face and you sigh in relief, letting out a small, hidden chortle at his answer. Which is short-lived as you think of another question that’s bothering you.

“Did… did you end up getting together with that girl yesterday…?” Your voice is a mere whisper and you are actually dreading his answer. You thought you both had shared something special at that beach, if he says he got with the girl…

Well… That will end everything before it even has a chance to start.

“Obviously not. I couldn’t stop thinking about you and about how I might have messed up the greatest thing to happen to me in a long time… I told you just now, I was either going to leave the party with you, or alone.”

You unconsciously cuddle against his jacket and take a whiff of his scent. He keeps saying all the right things. But he promised you the truth. So it must be true.

Your eyes are still trained on your feet and you remove your sneakers so you can put them over the duvet and hug your knees against your chest. 

“Why can’t you have a serious girlfriend? And do you want one?”

He leans back, arms crossed behind his head and stares up at the endless sky. “I told you back at the fire station that I never felt good enough for a number of things, that I always fell short on any kind of achievements.” He scoffs. “I just never felt like I could be enough for a girl. Like I’m not worthy of that kind of pure, devoted love that comes with a relationship.” His eyes lock with yours and soften. “Obviously I can also tell you that I had never met the right girl before you, but that is such an obvious line that I doubt you’d believe me. Despite it being true.” He shrugs and you blush deeply, your heart skipping a beat and making you gasp. 

Your eyes dart downwards and you bite your lower lip again but this time it’s not to stifle a sob or a trembling, but a smile. You focus on the bracelet on your ankle and there’s a warmth in your chest that fills your heart.

“I do want one.” You raise your eyebrow at him. “The second part of the question, if I want a serious girlfriend.” He smirks. “If you’re willing to, of course.”

Your blush deepens and you gulp. “I’m not done yet.”

Raising his hands in the air, he chuckles again. He’s much more at ease now, and you realise that it’s because you are also more at ease. 

Like mirrors reflecting each other.

“Since we’ve reconnected, I’ve seen you with a bunch of girls. Deuce called me ‘this one’ at the fire station, meaning you’ve been using all your usual moves on me.”

You’re about to ask your question when he interrupts. “Not true.”

“What?”

“I’ve not been using any moves on you. You’re not that predictable. I’ve been shirtless around you more times than I can count and you didn’t even bat an eye! And that’s usually all it takes.”

That’s not true, either! You batted an eye! In fact, you ran the battery of your vibrator dry because of said chest and abs, but you’re not going to admit it. 

“You’re blushing!” He replies. “Ohhh, so that affected you?” You blush deeper and try to look away. “Firestarter! Did you use up your batteries for me?”

Just thinking about it has you flustered and gasping for air. What you wouldn’t have given for the real thing these past days. 

“You’re so damn cute.” He mutters, more to himself than for you to hear. 

“That's not the point. I'm not the one answering the questions!” Regaining your composure never seemed like such a daunting task, but you inhale deeply until he stops chuckling. 

You don't even know where you were going with that question anymore. So you have to take a moment to gather your thoughts. 

“How can you be sure that I’m different? That, once you’ve had me, you won’t lose interest and want to move on to another more challenging chase? A prettier, more interesting girl?”

You want to look at him for this answer, so you do. And he gazes back at you, a strange intensity in his dark eyes.

“All I know is that I’ve never felt this way before. You fill every thought of my day and you’re there even in my dreams. I want to be with you. Not just have you, like you say.” Your breath accelerates as his eyes bore into yours. “And I don’t even know what you mean with prettier and more interesting girl. You’re all I could ever ask for.” He’s speaking the truth. You can tell. 

But your heart is still so bruised and tattered from the past. Will you be able to trust?

“Any more questions?” He says softly.

You downcast your gaze and get on your knees to shift closer to him. He straightens up, sensing your seriousness and you stop just a few inches from his face, sitting on your legs, never dropping his gaze. 

Your heart's thumping against your chest in an unholy rhythm and you're shaking from more than the cold. 

“Are you going to break my heart, Ace?” Your voice is nothing but a whisper and carries with it a sliver of hope. 

Ace searches deep into your eyes, his freckles move with his sincere smile and he uses the tip of his fingers to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“I don't intend to, Firestarter.”

He's leaning in, or you're leaning in, you're not quite sure. Does it really matter, anyway? 

“Ace… Please, please, don't make me regret this decision.” His forehead touches yours and the hand hovering near your face cups your cheek. He's not forcing anything. He's waiting for you. 

“I won't. Give me a chance to prove it.” He murmurs your name. 

“I have one more question.” You murmur back, your lips ghosting his, both your breaths mingling with unspoken promises. “Can you kiss me?”

“Yeah, I can definitely do that.”