#I need to write a full fic on this one day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

damneddamsy · 7 hours ago

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second sight | modern!cregan stark x fem!oc ONESHOT

a/n: on this exciting version of 'second sight', it's the modern day, folks! Phones, fast cars, college, apartments, tabloids, money! (@justdazzling - I LOVE YOU, thank you, little genius)

summary: Cregan Stark, old-money, a grounded hockey star on scholarship, and Claere Velaryon, the botany-loving black sheep of a powerful dynasty, share a secret romance that teeters on the edge of scandal. Between the clash of their worlds, a gilded gala, and looming chaos, love either blossoms—or explodes.

warnings: I write this from beyond the Tumblr grave. too much fluff can kill you and this fic is proof. mild smut 16+. language. alcohol.

words: 20,000+, 1 hr read (full-time job + sleepless nights = ?)

This was it.

Final period. Tie game.

One shot could win it, and the puck was his to take. With every second, that little flat cylinder started to appear as a bomb.

The air in the arena was electric, thick with the howl of the crowd and the sharp scrape of blades against ice. Cregan Stark crouched low at the centre of the rink, the number on his jersey stretching, his stick planted, grey eyes locked on the puck. Around him, his teammates circled like wolves closing in for the kill, their jerseys streaked with sweat and ice shavings.

He could feel the pulse of the game in his veins, as natural as breathing, as wild as his home. His ears tuned out the deafening cheers and jeers of the crowd, the taunts from the opposing team, and even the PA announcer hyping up the stakes. Everything narrowed to a razor-sharp focus on the puck and the players around him.

He caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye—a man in a sharp suit stepping into the bleachers, clipboard in hand, right behind his coach. That was him. The scout. He didn’t need to hear the whispers from the bench to confirm it. The guy had been making the rounds in the college leagues for weeks, cherry-picking talent for a shot at the pros.

And Cregan was under his microscope.

Not for the first time, he felt the significance of his family’s name burning a brand at the back of his neck. The Stark boy. He wasn’t here because he was a Stark; he was here because he had fought like hell, clawed his way in, and earned every inch on this rink through blood and sweat. His scholarship wasn’t a handout. His leadership wasn't for the welfare of his parents. It was proof that he belonged.

To his left, Jacaerys Velaryon skated up beside him, his usual cocky grin flashing behind his mouthguard. Jace was different—here on his mother’s dime, her political sway. Rhaenyra Targaryen was a storm in a blazer, a powerhouse who could buy her son the world. Not that Jace ever let anyone forget it.

"Feeling the pressure, Cap?" Jace said, just loud enough for Cregan to hear over the din.

Cregan didn’t look at him, keeping his gaze on the puck. “Yeah, you should feel it some time, Velaryon. Builds character.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jace blow him a dramatic kiss, mouthguard and all. Cregan rolled his eyes.

Gods, it was impossible to hate the guy. Annoying as hell, sure, but Jace had turned out to be the kind of teammate Cregan couldn’t help but respect. A love-hate friendship: hate off the rink, love on it. When the chips were down, he was the first one in the fray, throwing elbows and taking hits like his life depended on it. More than that, he was someone Cregan could trust, on and off the ice. He could think of one, sweet thing Jace had shut the hell up about...

“Eyes on the puck, Romeo,” Cregan said, smirking as the ref blew the whistle.

The faceoff was clean. Cregan exploded into motion, stick snapping the puck toward the boards, his legs pumping with the rhythm of the game. He barked out orders to his wingers, cutting through the defense like they’d choreographed it in practice. The crowd surged to its feet as the opposing team scrambled to keep up.

“Jace! Far post!” he shouted, spotting the gap in the defence.

Jace was already there, skating into position like he’d read Cregan’s mind. A quick pass, a deflection, and the puck was back in Cregan’s control. He faked left, cutting around the defender, his body moving on instinct.

The goal was in sight.

He barely registered the crunch of skates behind him, but he heard Jace’s voice, sharp and clear. “Take it, Cap!”

Cregan planted his skates, leaned into the shot, and let it fly.

The puck sliced through the air like an arrow, slamming into the back of the net with a satisfying clang.

The arena erupted.

Cregan’s teammates swarmed him, whooping and pounding his back as the scoreboard flashed their victory like a glitching billboard. His name was a chant through the crowds, as he yanked off his helmet, sweat dripping into his eyes, and grinned like a madman. The praise, the noise, his name—this was his addiction. He ran a hand into his mussed hair; this was a victory, ten times over.

“Not bad, Stark,” Jace said, slapping his shoulder as they skated toward the bench.

“Coming from you? I’ll take it as a compliment,” Cregan shot back, ruffling Jace’s hair just to annoy him.

As they lined up to shake hands with the opposing team, Cregan glanced toward the stands. The scout was gone, but that didn’t matter. Tonight, he’d proved himself. To the crowd, to the team, and to the name Stark.

And maybe, just maybe, to himself.

The locker room was alive with noise—players laughing, hooting, the showers roaring in the background. The air was thick with the sharp tang of sweat, soap, and the lingering charge of victory. Cregan stood apart from the chaos, leaning against the cold metal of his locker. His towel hung low around his hips, and his focus was locked on the ivory card in his hand. The embossed letters shimmered under the fluorescent lights like they knew they were about to ruin his day.

“A charity gala invite,” he read aloud, voice flat, unimpressed.

Across the room, Jace was busy toweling off his hair. The ends of his grin peeked from beneath the towel, smug as hell.

“You’re welcome,” Jace said, his tone soaked in self-satisfaction.

Cregan squinted at him, holding the card like it might bite. “It’s not for me, is it?”

Jace shrugged, yanking off his shirt. “Technically, it’s a family thing.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed as suspicion settled in. “So, what—you’re trying to set me up with a scout?”

Jace snorted, tossing his towel into the laundry bin. “I'm not that nice. It’s just an invite.”

“To your family’s gala,” Cregan shot back, the card feeling heavier in his hand. “Where your dad’s gonna be. The one who made that Tyrell boy piss his trousers.”

Jace smirked as Cregan tossed the card into his bag. “Daemon. And, yeah, he’s gonna be there. That’s kind of the point.”

Cregan sighed, crushing a palm into his eye, already regretting where this was headed. “Gah, why me? Why can't you?”

“Because you’re the team captain,” Jace said, leaning casually against his locker. “You’re the guy who gets shit done. And, oh yeah." He tapped his chin, pretending to think. "You need him. Talk about sponsorships for the playoffs, Stark. You know, things that could keep our asses out of the red.”

Cregan let out a bitter laugh, dragging on a pair of pants. “Oh, I see. So I’m supposed to waltz in, make nice with your dad, and beg for his money? Like none of the hard work I’ve done to get here matters?”

“It’s not begging,” Jace said, rolling his eyes. “It’s strategy. And it’s not just for you—it’s for the team. C'mon, man. Play the game.”

Cregan scowled, staring at the card again. “I worked my ass off to get here. You really think I’m gonna throw that away by showing up to some—”

“Claere’s going to be there, too,” Jace said, cutting him off.

That stopped Cregan cold. His head snapped up, his wide-eyed stare meeting Jace’s infuriatingly smug grin. “Shut the fuck up.”

Jace took a step closer, lowering his voice just enough to make Cregan’s stomach tighten with dread. “Maybe you’d like to explain to Daemon why you’ve been sneaking around with his darling daughter?”

Cregan’s pulse kicked up. His eyes darted around the room, checking if anyone was listening. Most of the guys were too busy horsing around to pay attention, but he still stepped closer to Jace, his voice a harsh whisper. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” Jace said, his grin widening. “You’re going out with my sister. Daemon’s dear daughter. So unless you want to make that public knowledge—”

“You’re such a dick,” Cregan muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Absolutely,” Jace said cheerfully. “But hey, I’m trying to help.”

Cregan tilted his head. “Sounds like you're threatening to out the one good thing in my life.”

“H-E-L-P.”

“Ah, what ironic last words.”

Jace chuckled. “You show up, be the good guy, make a solid impression on my dad, and maybe—just maybe—you don’t end up on his shitlist. Hell, you might even get that sponsorship. Everybody wins.”

Cregan stared at him, torn between strangling him and walking out the door. “Or maybe this just guarantees I’m on his shitlist for life.”

Jace shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to find out.” He smacked Cregan on the shoulder and turned toward the showers. “Clock’s ticking, Stark. Better get that new suit pressed.”

Cregan glared at Jace’s retreating back, his jaw tightening as his fingers curled around the stiff card. The edges dug into his palm, a sharp contrast to the suffocating load settling in his chest. Anger was easy to name—it simmered just under his skin, directed squarely at Jace’s smug, grinning face. Dread, too, made its home in the pit of his stomach, twisting with every thought of the Targaryens’ judging stares. But there was something else, something hotter and heavier that sat in his chest like a stone.

He hated how well Jace knew him, hated the way he could be backed into a corner with nothing more than a pointed nudge and a knowing smirk. Hated, even more, the flicker of anticipation threading through his frustration—the thought of Claere, her silver hair catching the light, her sharp wit softened only for him. It made his stomach churn and his heart beat just a little too fast.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, stuffing the invite into his bag like it might disappear if he just crumpled it hard enough. “You fuckin' owe me, Velaryon. Big time.”

The room felt too small, the laughter and banter of his teammates grating against his ears. He wanted to slam his locker door, but it wouldn’t help. Nothing would, not when he was stuck between two impossible choices: walking into that dragon's den of a gala or giving Jace the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.

From across the room, Jace’s voice echoed as he sauntered toward the showers. “You’re gonna thank me for this someday! Right on my mouth!”

Cregan flipped him the bird without turning around, his scowl deepening as the other guys burst into laughter.

He should’ve ripped the card in two. Should’ve tossed it in the trash and called it a day. But he didn’t. Instead, he zipped up his bag, the crisp corner of the invitation peeking out from between the seams. He slung the strap over his shoulder and headed for the door.

Secrets had a way of thriving in the dark, and tonight, Cregan Stark was stepping straight into the shadows of his own.

The greenhouse was like something out of a fairytale or nightmare, depending on the beholder—old, forgotten, swallowed by ivy and moss. Glass panels speckled with dirt softened the moonlight, casting the place in a hazy glow. Somewhere in the back, the faint sound of water dripped, rhythmic as a heartbeat. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp soil and blooming flowers, the kind of stillness that made it feel like the world outside didn’t exist.

Cregan stood just inside the glass doorway, gold medal in hand, his breath still uneven from the game. He should be out with his teammates, sharing victory beers and soaking in their roaring laughter. He should be walking into a party, medal clinking against his chest, grinning like he owned the world. Instead, he was here, surrounded by shadows and greenery, drawn by a force he couldn’t name but didn’t dare fight.

And there she was. Claere.

She sat hunched over a parapet slab near the back of the greenhouse, her silhouette framed by an unruly braid that escaped the tie meant to tame them. Her fingers moved deftly over a sketchbook, shading lines with the tip of a pencil, her rings catching the low light as her hand darted across the page. She hummed to herself, her head bobbing lightly, earphones tucked in. She hadn’t noticed him yet, completely absorbed in her work.

His heart twisted at the sight of her. Gods, this girl. She was every rumour, every ridiculous story spun about her by the campus vultures: the weirdo who talked to squirrels, who fed crows in the quad, who disappeared into forgotten corners like this greenhouse for hours on end. But to him, she was so much more. She was warmth and chaos, the perfect motley of sharp wit and shy smile. His enigma. His Claere.

He could barely believe his luck every time he laid eyes on this girl. He should be dragging her out of there, into his car, kissing her breathless in the parking lot where his teammates could see just how fortunate he was. Instead, he was standing here like she was some impermissible jewel. A dirty secret. Something precious, hidden, just for him.

Cregan shook his head and took a quiet step forward. Then another. He stopped just behind her, close enough to see the faint blue smudge of ink on her cheek, the way her lips pressed together in concentration. Without a word, he reached out and poked her waist.

Claere yelped, her legs jerking against the parapet. Papers and pencils flew everywhere, her phone clattering to the stone floor as she twisted around.

“Don’t do that!” she hissed, smacking his chest with a feeble fist.

Cregan laughed, catching her wrist before she could hit him again. “Couldn’t resist,” he said, leaning down to pepper dramatic, open-mouthed kisses along her cheeks and temple, one after another, until she gave up trying to squirm away.

“Cregan, enough,” she muttered, though her voice had softened, her hands busy gathering her scattered papers of botanical drawings. She was so good at it, weirdly good. He envied how detailed she was when it came to her diagrams.

He grinned against her temple and pulled back just enough to look at her.

“How did the game go?” she asked, pulling her notebook onto her lap and brushing a curl out of her face.

Wordlessly, he raised the gold medal before his winning smirk, letting it swing from his finger.

Her face lit up, that radiant smile of hers robbing him of a breath. It was one of those rare moments, a prize earned every time she graced that smile.

“Go Wolves,” she cheered, clapping her hands together before her gaze darted to the flowers nearby. Her eyes gleamed as she reached out, plucking a feathery blue orchid.

“Congratulations, my lord,” she said, presenting it to him with a dramatic little flourish.

Cregan laughed, twirling the orchid between his fingers. “Thank you, princess.” He winked, dropping his hockey stick and bag to the ground before climbing onto the parapet beside her.

On instinct, he nudged her papers, notebooks, and pencils aside and laid his head on his favourite spot in the world, letting out a long, contented sigh. The cool skim of her skirt and the warm scent of her combined was a balm, soothing every ache from the game.

“This,” he murmured, his eyes falling shut, “this is the best feeling in the world. Victory and you.”

Claere smiled down at him, her hand finding its way to his hair, fingers threading gently through the strands, scratching at his scalp.

“You look tired,” she said softly, full of affection. The sound of music itself.

He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her palm. “Not anymore.”

For a moment, there was only silence, the kind that made the world shrink to just the two of them. But even in this moment of calm, Cregan’s thoughts tugged at the edges of his peace. He thought about the whispers that followed her everywhere. He thought about Daemon, her father, and what he’d do if he found out.

But mostly, he thought about how none of it mattered. Not when she smiled at him like that. Not when he was in love with the campus, but moreover the city's so-called weirdo.

Claere leaned down, her lips grazing his forehead, soft and warm, the kind of touch that lingered even after it was gone. “You’re not going to tell me how many goals you scored, are you?”

Her voice, light as spun silk, carried an almost playful accusation, and Cregan couldn’t stop the smirk from curling on his lips.

“Only if you promise not to fall even more in love with me,” he teased.

Her laughter that followed was like a bell, ringing and airy, and when he opened his eyes, there she was again. Alarmingly violet eyes framed by lashes that cast soft shadows against her pale skin. Her silver hair tumbled around her ears and forehead, catching faint glimmers of moonlight filtering through the greenhouse glass. She was this arcane entity, spun from the fabric of a half-forgotten dream, so far removed from mundane that it made people uneasy.

This exotic little thing. Put there, it seemed, just to spite the ordinary.

“Jace asked me to drop by at the gala this weekend,” he murmured, letting the words fall softly between them like a test.

Her fingers paused mid-stroke in his hair, the stillness giving way to a small, almost imperceptible exhale. “Oh.” Her lips parted briefly, pressing together in thought before she nodded, the gesture light but resolute. “I’ll stay back then. You should have fun.”

“You don't have to do that, baby,” he murmured, guilt pooling in his chest. He hated this with all his heart, hated that he was making her feel worthless.

She scrunched her nose in that way she always did when he called her that, like it embarrassed her and pleased her all at once. “I never wanted to be there anyway,” she dismissed, though her eyes gave away more.

“It’s for the team,” he admitted, holding her gaze. “Daemon’s support could mean playoffs. And Jace…” He trailed off, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

“You don’t need to explain, Cregan. This must be hard enough for you,” she said gently, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “ I can’t imagine what sort of nonsense my brother pulled to make you go.”

“For one, he lacks imagination,” Cregan muttered, a dry laugh escaping him.

Her laughter joined his, light and melodic, but it faded just as quickly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re the one who wanted to tell him.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face in despair. “You can break my jaw for that, really. What was I thinking?” But he knew the answer. He needed someone who had their back—both of them—if things went wrong.

Her fingers resumed their slow, soothing path, sliding down the slope of his nose, and it was almost enough to coax his eyelids shut. Almost.

“How long do we…” she trailed off, her voice dipping into a murmur.

“Claere,” he started, his voice gentle but firm, and her name tasted sacred on his tongue.

“It’s fine,” she answered quickly, brushing off the hesitation with a smile that refused to reach her eyes.

He sat up slightly, the sorrow behind her words tugging at his chest. “You know why,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. “Just until I’m done. A few more months, we're almost there. Then we can do whatever you want. Hell, we can stage a whole make-out session outside the rink. Kiss before a thousand cameras. You can even put my nudes on a T-shirt. Let the whole world know I'm all yours.”

Her palm pressed against his chest, her touch so steady it was almost enough to convince him. Almost. “I'm just tired of pretending like we don't exist,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

His hand found hers, pulling it to his lips. “You know it kills me too, right?” he whispered against her skin, an edge of desperation slipping through.

“I know, I know,” she mumbled, her lips twitching into a rueful smile.

Her violet eyes softened, and for a moment, they stayed like that—caught in each other’s orbit, as if the world outside didn’t exist.

“You worked so hard to get here,” she said finally, her voice trembling just slightly. “Me and my family name cannot be the reason anyone questions that.”

“You’re not,” he said fiercely, his eyes locked on hers. “You’re the reason I get through it.”

She exhaled, her fingers brushing against his cheek. “Then don’t make me wait too long, Stark,” she murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I’m not a patient girl.”

He couldn’t help the grin that broke across his face, a lopsided thing she always teased him about. “I’ll make it worth it,” he promised, and he meant it. Every word.

“You better,” she replied, her tone playful but laced with that steady, quiet assurance she always carried.

And then, with a swift motion, she shoved his head off her lap, laughing softly as he sprawled onto the greenhouse floor. “Come on,” she said, already searching for the greenhouse keys in the mess of notebooks and pencils scattered around her. “It’s getting late.”

Cregan groaned, propping himself up on one elbow. “You could at least kiss me for bringing home hardware,” he complained, watching her stack up her papers and zip up her sling bag.

“I already kissed you, and you’re not helping,” she retorted, her tone half-scolding, half-amused. He groaned with exaggerated effort as he rose up on his feet, cracking the tension on his shoulders.

“Not true,” he argued as he walked over to her, looping his arms around her waist as she tried to pull away. “I’m providing all the moral support.”

She huffed but didn’t resist when he pressed a lingering kiss to the curve of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin in a way that made her pause mid-zip.

“Cregan,” she murmured, though it lacked any real bite.

“Baby?” he asked, his voice muffled as he trailed more kisses along her shoulder, content to bury himself in her warmth.

“Don't call me that. Let me go,” she said, twisting around to face him, though the small smile tugging at her lips betrayed her sternness.

“Never,” he replied simply, his mischievous eyes gleaming as he tightened his grip for a moment before finally releasing her.

Claere shook her head, muttering something about sportsmen and their stubbornness, but the pink in her cheeks betrayed her. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she led the way out of the greenhouse. Her steps were light, but her shoulders were tense, as though she knew what was coming next.

They walked hand in hand, their fingers entwined, their conversation bubbling with the kind of playful ease that felt too private for the quiet campus night. Cregan exaggeratedly held the greenhouse door open for her as she locked up, bowing like an old-fashioned knight.

“After you, my lady,” he said, his grin boyish and crooked.

She rolled her eyes, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “Oh, such chivalry,” she muttered, but the teasing lilt in her voice made his grin widen.

Outside, the dim campus lights caught the sleek white of her electric Vespa. The thing gleamed as if it were her proudest possession, standing defiant against a world of roaring engines and gleaming sports cars. She clipped on her helmet, the scuffed and slightly dented thing perched atop her silvery hair like some bizarre crown. She'd even named her noble, janky steed—Luna.

“You know,” Cregan began, leaning lazily against his truck just behind her, “in a world of racecars and motorbikes, you ride this thing. It’s like a moving punchline.”

“Luna saves the environment, you disrespecting neanderthal,” she shot back without missing a beat, her tone so matter-of-fact he burst out laughing.

“And you never learned to drive a car,” he teased, his grin taking on a mischievous edge.

Her violet eyes narrowed at him, but before she could counter, he was already in front of her. His hand caught hers, pulling her close, his arm circling her waist with a practised ease that made her breath hitch.

“Cregan,” she warned, her voice low, but her wide, startled eyes darted around. “We’re still on campus.”

“It's too late for anyone to hang about,” he murmured, his voice soft but rough around the edges, filled with something she couldn’t name but always felt in her bones. “Kiss me. Make it big.”

She scoffed, her cheeks flaming. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, her palm pressed against his chest as if to hold him back, but the pressure was light, hesitant.

“Please, you like me unbelievable,” he countered, his grin tilting into something downright sinful as he leaned in again, trying to capture her lips.

This time, her helmet came between them with a soft, comedic thud, and she stepped back, shaking her head with an excessive sigh. “See you later,” she said, her voice airy as she mounted the Vespa, flipping the visor down with an air of finality.

He stepped back, arms spread, watching her like the lovestruck fool he was as she revved the little engine to life.

“I love you!” he hollered after her, his voice ringing out over the hum of her Vespa.

Her hands froze on the handlebars, and she turned, her cheeks redder than ever, her expression somewhere between scandalized and flustered.

“I thought you said low-key!”

“I said I love you, Claere!” he repeated, louder this time, laughter bubbling out of him.

“Shh!” she hissed, her violet eyes darting around like she expected the entire student body to emerge from the shadows.

He waved her off with a theatrical air kiss, his smile wide and utterly unshakable as her Vespa’s hum faded into the quiet of the night. For a moment, he just stood there, watching the tail light grow smaller and smaller until it vanished entirely.

Leaning back against his truck, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, the grin still tugging at his lips. It wasn’t just the way she made him laugh or the way she said his name like it was her favourite secret. It was everything—her quirks, her sharp tongue, her fierce independence wrapped up in a frame so delicate he sometimes felt like just touching her would leave a mark.

Yeah, he was a goner. Completely and utterly.

And for her? For the girl who rode a funny scooter like it was a chariot, the girl who made the world feel small and vast all at once? He’d fall over and over again. And not regret a single fucking thing.

The lecture theatre was stifling. Not because it was warm—the air conditioning hummed overhead, doing its job—but because Cregan could think of a hundred better places to be than in this impractical "Philosophy of Human Civilization" module. Yes, because business administration called for the incredible knowledge of metaphysics.

He slouched in his seat, one leg stretched out beneath the fold-up desk, his pen twirling aimlessly between his fingers. The professor’s droning voice blended into white noise, accompanied by the faint clatter of keyboards and the occasional rustle of papers. The only reason he was putting up with this shit was that it was the only class Claere and he shared together. Who—surprise, surprise—was running late.

Cregan’s mind wandered. There was the game footage he still needed to review. A term paper he'd barely started. The extra drills Coach had suggested for tomorrow. And Claere. Always Claere. What was she doing right now? Probably something strange—like drawing the new dandelions around the quad. Or finding another crow to befriend. He smirked to himself, the thought warming him, even as he toyed with the pen between his knuckles.

And then it happened. The door at the base of the lecture theatre burst open, and all the simmering thoughts in his head vanished.

Claere Velaryon rushed in like a summer storm. The clicking of her sandals echoed off the walls as heads turned, the low hum of the room snapping into silence. Her long, thin brown dress clung to her frame as if she'd run halfway across campus, the loose sleeves slipping scandalously down her shoulders. She was red-faced, her silver hair a wild, untamed halo around her, strands sticking to her flushed skin. She clutched a tote bag like it might tumble out of her hands at any moment, panting as if she'd just completed a marathon.

Cregan straightened in his seat, pen forgotten in his palm.

Gods, she was a mess. A beautiful, heart-wrenching, completely irresistible mess.

The whispers started immediately. Of course, they did. This was Claere. She could walk into a room and turn every head, for better or worse. Cregan could already hear the vicious murmurs—the snide comments about her tardiness, her flushed cheeks, her dishevelled hair. He clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to glare at everyone around him.

“Miss Velaryon,” the professor’s voice cut through the tension, dry and unimpressed. “Late as usual. Do I even bother to ask for—”

“I’m sorry,” Claere gasped, her voice trembling but polite as ever. She clutched her tote tighter, her eyes darting to the professor. “I—I lost track of time.”

The professor sighed heavily, clearly debating whether to continue chastising her. Thankfully, he waved her off with an irritated gesture. “Sit down. I've got much to cover.”

Cregan watched as she nodded quickly, eyes wide, before hurrying up the steps. She climbed the rows with an elegance no one seemed to notice, her dress swaying with each step. Their eyes met for a fleeting second—just a heartbeat—but it was enough to send a jolt through him. Then she slipped into an empty seat a few rows ahead of him, pulling out her laptop in a flurry of quiet, frantic movements.

He fished out his phone from his pocket, sliding it under the desk deftly. His fingers flew across the screen.

Good morning, sunshine. That dress is tempting fate with me. Feeling okay?

She didn’t look at her phone, too busy digging through her bag. He frowned and texted again.

Hey. Overworked already?

Still nothing. Her computer whirred to life, and she tapped furiously at the keys. Cregan’s fingers hovered over his phone, his frustration bubbling over.

Baby.

Right behind you.

Answer me.

CLAERE.

The fourth ding caught her attention—and the professor’s.

“Miss Velaryon,” the man snapped, his irritation palpable. “I trust you can figure out how to silence your phone without further disrupting the class?”

“Sorry.” Claere’s cheeks burned as she scrambled to mute it, shooting a disconcerted glance around the room. The whispers flared up again, though most students had their eyes glued to the professor.

Cregan smothered a laugh, setting his phone face down on his desk. He stared at the back of her head, watching how her hair cascaded past her elbows, still slightly mussed from her rush. He wanted to close the distance, to sit beside her, to hold her hand, give her a sip from his water bottle, and dab away her sweat.

But he stayed put, grinding his teeth, the itch to be near her gnawing at him.

The lecture dragged on, and Cregan’s focus was entirely on her. It wasn’t fair, he thought, the way her presence could pull him out of his own head so completely. He couldn’t stop watching her—the delicate tilt of her head, the way her fingers flew over her keyboard, the little sigh she let out when she finally settled. He wanted to reach out, touch her, reassure her. He wanted—

A spark of mischief lit in his chest. He slid his phone back into his hand, shielding the screen between his chest.

Turn around if you love me.

He hit send, his smirk growing as he propped his elbow on the desk, feigning disinterest. He ran a hand over his face, trying to rub away the grin threatening to split his face.

Claere glanced at her phone, lips parting in alarm. She barely turned, eyes peeking through the curtain of her hair, shooting him a look that was equal parts caution and exasperation.

Cregan met her gaze with an unabashed wink, biting back a laugh. Her eyes narrowed, and her fingers tightened on the edge of her laptop, but she didn’t reply. Instead, she whipped her head back around and refocused on the presentation slides ahead.

Up ahead, Claere’s phone buzzed once, then again. She glanced at it, her lips parting in alarm as her shoulders stiffened. Her fingers twitched on the keyboard, clearly debating whether to check it. She gave in, the faint glow of the screen illuminating her frown.

Cregan had already sent a follow-up.

Panting into class like that. What’d you do, chase another mouse?

She rolled her eyes, typing a quick response.

Good morning, Cregan. I dropped Viserys off at school because he wanted to ride the scooter with me instead of the car. Now, please focus on class.

Undeterred, he sent another.

Oh, so, your little brother gets a free ticket, but I'm considered too big. Where's the justice?

When she didn't bother to respond, he scowled at her head and typed again.

You didn’t even look at me before. I love you so much that I shampooed my hair, especially for you.

Her phone buzzed audibly, and her head shot up, violet eyes darting around the room. When no one seemed to notice, she let out a small breath and typed furiously.

I will throw this phone at you, Cregan. Stop distracting me.

Cregan grinned at her threat.

With your aim, you might just get the professor instead.

He saw her shake her head, obviously masking a smile. Gods, how he wished he could see it. He leaned forward and typed.

Turn around before I come down there.

That one must have hit a nerve, because her shoulders straightened, and her fingers paused mid-hover over her keyboard. Slowly, she turned her head just enough to shoot him a glare that could've melted steel, her silver hair framing her face like a storm cloud.

He touched his chest, impersonating a broken heart. You're killing me, baby, he wanted to say. A side of her twitched up before it smoothed back into the same glare.

He tipped his chin to his phone, gesturing at her to text. She rolled her eyes and retrieved her phone, beginning to type again.

I love you very much. Could you shut up?

Time stopped. The grip on his phone tightened, heart racing. He looked both ways, seeing if someone caught sight of the irredeemably giant smile on his face. He typed through trembling fingers.

That's more like it. You chose a dress for tomorrow? May I kindly suggest red? Very short? Easy access and all. Also, stockings.

He saw her pause before she began typing again.

I'm not coming. Let's not risk it.

He nearly stood off his seat in irritation. Instead, he typed so hard, that he feared denting the screen.

We aren't risking shit. You're coming, Claere. I will throw you over my shoulder and lug you there if I have to.

When she didn't type back, he sighed and then followed up calmly. This had to work.

Please come, baby? For me? Please.

She turned around, sneaking a look at him again, thinking for a long moment. She gave him an infinitesimal nod before shifting away. He controlled every urge that made him want to punch the air in victory.

He puckered his lips, blowing a small kiss to the back of her head, thoroughly pleased with himself, but the professor’s sharp voice cut through the moment.

“Stark.”

Cregan straightened in his seat, leisurely lifting his gaze to the dais in the front of the room. The professor’s eyes were fixed on him, brows raised in expectation.

“Perhaps you’d like to share with the class what's so interesting on your phone or how Plato’s Allegory of the Cave applies to modern societal hierarchies?”

A ripple of amused murmurs spread through the lecture hall. Claere’s shoulders went rigid, and she sank lower in her seat, clearly praying she could disappear into the floor.

Cregan, however, leaned back with an air of calm confidence, resting one arm along the back of his chair. He could handle a little heat.

“I'll take option two,” he drawled, his tone smooth, “it’s about perception versus reality, isn’t it? How people are trapped by their limited perspectives, thinking shadows are the truth when there’s a whole world they’re not seeing.” He let the words hang for a moment, then added with a lazy grin, “Kind of like how people in this class assume they know everything about others when they really don’t have a single clue.”

The murmurs turned into a few low laughs, though the professor’s unimpressed glare remained.

“That’s… a creative interpretation,” the professor replied, his tone clipped. “Perhaps next time, you could demonstrate your engagement by listening, rather than texting.”

The class chuckled again, and Cregan shrugged nonchalantly.

“Noted,” he said, flashing a quick, disarming smile.

The professor sighed and returned to the lecture, but Cregan could feel Claere’s mortified glare burning between his head. He glanced down at his phone, considering sending her another message, but thought better of it.

Instead, he settled back in his seat, smug and unbothered, stealing one last glance at the silver hair a few rows ahead of him. Definitely pushing his luck.

The low hum of the lecture was interrupted by a series of sporadic buzzes and chimes from phones around the room. At first, Cregan ignored them, tapping his pen idly against his notebook, his mind wandering back to Claere. But when the faint murmurs started—those hushed, vindictive whispers that only grew louder—his focus sharpened.

Furrowing his brows, he slipped his phone from the desk, angling it over his thigh. One notification stood out in bold:

Breaking: Rhaenyra Targaryen Sparks Debate as "Unfit Parent" in These Latest Photos.

His stomach dropped. He clicked on it, and there it was—Claere.

The image was grainy, clearly taken from across the street, invasive but unmistakable: Claere leaning down to kiss little Viserys on the cheek from her scooter, waving as he ran toward the school doors. The headline was grotesque, spinning the scene into some damning evidence against her mother.

Cregan clenched his jaw, swiping at the screen to close the article. The pit in his stomach wasn’t just anger; it was fear. This—this circus—was what waited for Claere at every corner. They didn’t care about her life, her compassion, her unfailing talent. All they saw was scandal, drama, and an easy target. And if their relationship ever got out?

His chest tightened. He could take the scrutiny. They could call him a joke, a flash-in-the-pan athlete, whatever they wanted. But Claere? They’d shred her apart, drag her name through the mud, and no matter how much she pretended she didn’t care, he knew it would crush her.

He glanced up at her. She sat a few rows ahead, her back stiff, head bowed low, silver hair falling in curtains around her face. One hand was curled around the edge of her desk, the other fidgeting at her neck, rubbing the skin like she was trying to soothe herself.

Cregan’s fingers hovered over his phone for a second before he typed out a quick text.

Ignore them. It's not worth your time.

Her phone buzzed on her desk, and he saw her shoulders tense. She glanced at it briefly but didn’t respond. He frowned, tapping out another.

You're incredible, Claere. Viserys is lucky to have you.

Still nothing. She didn’t even look this time, just kept her head down, pretending to take notes.

Cregan sighed, setting his phone face down on his desk. His frustration wasn’t with her—it never was. It was with the world they lived in, the world that refused to leave her alone.

He glanced at her again, biting the inside of his cheek. She looked so small, so... tired. He couldn’t fix this, couldn’t shield her from all of it, but maybe he could remind her of one thing: she wasn’t alone.

He picked up his phone again, typing deliberately.

Rink tonight ;) After practice? I love you.

The response came quickly this time.

Okay.

He allowed himself a small smile, relief flooding his chest. His fingers itched to send something else—something cheeky, playful—but he stopped himself. For now, that one word was enough. Cregan leaned back in his seat, ignoring the professor’s droning voice, ignoring the whispers still circulating the room. His eyes lingered on the silver head a few rows ahead of him.

She'll be okay. He'll make sure of it.

The ice rink was silent now, save for the scrape of Cregan’s skates and the dull thwack of his stick against the puck. The overhead lights cast an icy glow on the smooth, untouched surface, the air was crisp and faintly metallic. One by one, the last of his teammates had filtered out, offering casual goodbyes that he barely registered, too focused on the rhythm of his movements.

He practised shooting goals, each slap of the puck echoing in the empty space. One. Two. Three. Each strike was sharp and precise, but his focus wavered as the minutes ticked by. He glanced at the clock mounted on the far wall. Twenty minutes late. Was she even coming?

He tried not to let the disappointment settle in. She’d been off all day—he’d noticed it in the way she fidgeted, her avoidance of his texts during class, and the weariness in her posture. Maybe she needed space. Or maybe…

No. He didn’t let himself finish the thought.

Just as he bent down to retrieve the puck again, the sound of the swinging doors creaking open cut through the silence. He straightened, his breath catching as he turned toward the sound.

There she was. Of course, she'd never disappoint him.

Through the plexiglass, he caught sight of Claere, her silhouette bright and out of place against the stark white of the rink. Her bag hung lazily over her shoulder, bracelets and sandals jangling as she made her way to him. She moved with an easy grace, that grin he loved lighting up her face as she spotted him. She leapt over the players' bench with a playful bounce, landing softly and leaning casually against the barricade.

“You finally made it,” he called, skating toward her, his voice teasing. “Thought you forgot about me.”

Her grin widened, and she propped her chin on her hand, her violet eyes sparkling. “You can hunt me down if I ever do. I was caught up in labwork.”

He laughed, pulling out his mouthguard and letting it dangle from his fingers. “You're never that hard to find.”

She tilted her head toward the doors, thumbing the direction. “What’s Jace doing out there? Don't you usually lock the front door?”

Cregan shrugged, smirking as he glided closer to the plexiglass, wishing it wasn’t in the way. “Your shitty brother owed me.”

Claere’s giggle was like a bell, light and melodic. “So he’s chaperoning us now?”

“Standing guard,” he corrected, his grin sharp. “Until I say we’re done. Son a bitch deserves it.”

She threw her head back in a full laugh, the kind that made her whole body move. “Our personal bouncer, huh?”

Cregan had threatened to dump estrogen into his daily intake of protein shakes one way or another following his lousy uptake to make him come to the gala. He was getting his revenge and this was the perfect out. Cut to Jacaerys, sitting on the curb outside the rink, grateful it wasn't the winter time. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, smoke curling lazily into the air. He flicked ash onto the pavement and leaned back, whistling at a couple of students who wandered too close.

“Oi! It’s closed, lads!” he called, waving them off with farfetched authority. “Run along, nothing to see here!”

One of them raised a brow but turned around with a shrug, clearly not in the mood to argue. Jace smirked, taking another drag.

“What a racket,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “Little asshole.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the rink doors, his whistle turning into a lazy hum. The things he did for his little sister and her lovesick puppy.

Inside the enclosure, Cregan skated off the rink with a dexterity that came with years of practice, his blades cutting a sharp curve across the ice as he made his way to where Claere leaned against the barrier. Her arms were crossed, her nose red from the cold, but she still managed to look every bit like the faerie she was, completely out of place and somehow owning it anyway.

“Your turn,” he said, tugging her bag from her shoulder and setting it down. He pulled out a pair of skates from under the bench, holding them up like an offering.

She groaned, already shaking her head. “No way. It’s freezing, and I’m not wearing pants.”

He crouched in front of her, tapping the skates against the ice. “Freezing? You live in cardigans, baby. Come on, the ice is lonely without you. Lace up.”

Her protest was half-hearted, and within minutes, he’d coaxed her into the skates, inching them up her feet himself. She sat on the bench, her dress pooling around her knees, muttering complaints, pushing at his shoulders as she tied the laces.

“Do you always bully girls into skating?” she asked, huffing.

“Only you,” he replied, grinning. He stood and held out a hand, steadying her as she wobbled on the thin blades. “Let's go, chief. Just skate it all off.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips as she stepped onto the rink. It took a few hesitant glides before she found her balance, her movements rusty yet elegant.

Cregan hung back, leaning lazily against the barrier, his weight on one skate as he watched her begin to move more freely across the ice. Her arms swung naturally at her sides, the fabric of her skirt flaring with each gliding step. She spun slowly, deliberately, as though caught in the rhythm of some invisible melody, her hair catching the rink’s cool light like strands of molten silver.

She'd always found a way to draw him in, mesmerize him. Cregan felt his chest swell, warmth spreading despite the rink’s chill. There was something magnetic about the way she moved—not perfect, not trained, but alive and so unmistakably her. It was like she carried her own song wherever she went, a tune only she could hear.

Then she waved, breaking his trance. He blinked, startled, caught like a deer in headlights.

“You coming, or are you just going to stare all night?” she called, her voice carrying a teasing lilt.

He chuckled, pushing off the wall with ease, his movements smooth and rehearsed. He skated toward her, the faint sound of his blades slicing through the ice contrasting with her lighter, more playful strides. She stood waiting for him, hands on her hips, her smirk laced with challenges.

“Can I help you practice?” she asked, tilting her head, her hair falling like a curtain over one shoulder.

He shook his head, smirking. “What might you do for me, Claere?”

She tapped her chin, feigning deep thought. “Hmm... I can throw the puck?”

“Oh, excellent,” he replied, biting back a laugh. “What do you think I do on this rink besides 'throwing the puck'?”

She ticked off her fingers, her expression deadpan. “Elbow poor guys. Score goals. Make pretty girls flash you.”

Cregan snorted. “Not wrong,” he admitted, grinning wide.

Not moments later, a tenacious Claere stood at the net, a pair of oversized goalie gloves engulfing her hands and a spare hockey stick. She looked absolutely foolish—and yet, she carried herself with all the determination of someone about to win a championship. And gods, did she look fucking hot.

“I’m ready,” she declared, crouching low.

“You sure about this?” Cregan called a few metres across from her, his puck resting against the blade of his stick.

“Bring it on, Stark,” she challenged, knocking her gloved hands together like a boxer.

He smirked, took a few strides back, and lined up his shot. The puck zipped toward the net with a controlled flick of his wrist. Claere lunged—if you could call it that—sprawling onto the ice in a dramatic heap, her hockey stick missing the puck by a mile as it hit the post.

“Damn it,” she groused under her breath, shuffling awkwardly on all fours to retrieve the puck. “Go again.”

Cregan was bent over laughing, barely able to stay upright on his skates. “Baby, you didn’t even come close!”

She scowled at him, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re supposed to be coaching me, not laughing at me!”

He skated over, crouching beside her to help her up onto her feet. She skidded a little, and he caught her waist to steady her. “You’re hopeless,” he teased, brushing the dusting of snow off her skirt. “But sure, let’s try again.”

Many a failed tries, many bruises and complaints later, Cregan rested his stick between his knees, barely breaking a sweat, grinning down at Claere as she shuffled awkwardly back into position at the net, her oversized gloves flopping like the paws of some defeated cartoon character. The sight of her, sweating, sleeves slumping, so determined despite her absolute lack of technique, had him smiling ear to ear.

“You really think you’ve got this, don’t you? You don't even have knee pads,” he teased, his voice rich with amusement.

Claere narrowed her eyes, her lips pulling into a stubborn pout. “I know I’ve got this,” she shot back, her tone defiant despite the fact she’d barely managed to touch the puck all night.

He cocked his head, an idea forming, his grin sharpening with mischief. “Alright, let’s make this interesting,” he said, skating a slow circle around her. His voice dipped low, teasing. “You block one goal, just one, and you can sit out the gala.”

Her eyes widened, and her head snapped up, following him as he circled her. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he replied, stopping in front of her and leaning on his stick like it was a crutch. “One clean block. No cheating.”

Claere’s brows furrowed in thought before her smirk returned, victorious before the battle even began. “Deal,” she said, pointing a glove at him. “If you lose, I can use this as my trump card and say that I'm better than you at this.”

“Oh, don’t worry, baby,” he said, his voice low, deliberately playful. “I'm never going to let that happen. But if you lose...” He skated closer, so close their breath mingled in the cold air. “You’re coming back home with me after the gala, and you better be wearing red.”

Her smirk faltered, just barely, and Cregan caught the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. But she straightened, squaring her shoulders like she was heading into a war. “Fine. You’re going to rue this day.”

He chuckled, skating backwards and giving her space. “We’ll see about that.”

After that, it was game time. He let the first few shots skim past her, fast but not too fast, watching her dive, stretch, groan, whine and lunge in increasingly absurd ways, forgetting she even had a stick to block it. He didn't have to try, she was terrible at this. The puck hit the back of the net every time, but her determination was relentless, her lips pressed tight as she shuffled back into place after every failure.

On the fourth attempt, she swiped too early, sprawling onto her back with a dramatic groan. Cregan skated over, crouching beside her and offering her a hand. “You okay down there, champ?”

“Shut up,” she muttered, glaring up at him as she took his hand. But her cheeks were pink, and not just from the cold.

He pulled her to her feet effortlessly, his hands sliding to her waist to steady her. She pushed the hair out of her face, blowing a breath into the curls over her forehead.

“You’re making it too easy for me,” he said, his voice dropping into a low murmur.

Her breath hitched, just for a second, her hands landing on his chest to balance herself. “Maybe I’m lulling you into a false sense of security,” she quipped, her voice softer now.

“Mm, is that it?” He let his fingers linger, brushing against the fabric of her dress before he finally stepped back, grinning. “Alright, let’s see your dumb strategy in action.”

Honestly, he should've given up trying to smack the puck and just hit it with his foot. By the sixth attempt, Claere was all but crawling across the ice, clumsily batting at the puck as it glided lazily toward the goal. She managed to stop it—barely—her triumphant shout ringing out as she waved her arms in victory.

“Oh, I did it! I caught it!” she celebrated, her grin splitting her face.

Cregan skated over, stopping just short of her, shaking his head in mock disbelief. He clucked his tongue in disapproval.

“That doesn’t count,” he said. “You didn’t stop it clean.”

“It does count,” she argued, more in desperation than anger, jabbing her glove at his chest.

“Nope,” he said, popping his lips. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping. “But I’ll give you one more shot. One last chance. Otherwise, I win.”

She swallowed hard, her breath hitching again as his hand found her waist, steadying her. “Fine,” she whispered, her bravado cracking just a little.

He let her go, giving her space as he lined up his final shot. He skated forward, slow and deliberate, the puck gliding along with him. Her focus was unwavering, her determination fierce. He sent the puck toward the net—not too fast, not too slow.

Claere lunged, stick outstretched—and miraculously, it stopped just short of the line.

Her triumphant laugh filled the rink as she scrambled to her feet, throwing her gloves into the air like confetti.

“I did it!” she squealed, spinning in place. “Ha, ha! I’m free!”

Cregan skated over, catching her by the waist mid-spin and lifting her off the ice. “You’re still coming tomorrow,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

“Deal’s a deal,” she laughed, leaning into him.

“Unfortunately for you, I don't give a shit,” he said, his voice low and soft.

Claere leaned into him, her laughter softening into something gentler. “I know you let me win,” she accused, her violet eyes narrowing as she looked up at him.

“Maybe,” he admitted, his grin turning sly. “But only because I’m nice like that.”

Her response was a roll of her eyes, but the playful tilt of her lips betrayed her. “Nice doesn't involve having your girlfriend pant after you like that.”

“I like you panting.” He winked.

Before she could retort, he moved. A sudden shift of his weight sent them tumbling onto the ice, Cregan's hand protectively going around her head and back, Claere yelping as he pinned her beneath him, careful to keep his skates and hers positioned safely.

“Victory tackle?” he declared, smug, straddling her as she wriggled beneath him.

“Cregan!” she hissed, her cheeks flushed from the cold—or maybe from being caught so off guard. “Get off me! It's freezing!”

“Here, I'll keep you warm,” he said, his grin softening as he leaned in. His lips grazed her cheek, then the tip of her nose, lingering as though the moment might slip away if he let it.

Claere stilled beneath him, her breaths coming slow and even, her gaze locked on his. Her hands lifted, her cold fingers finding the nape of his neck, slipping into his hair. The chill of her touch made him shiver, but it wasn’t unwelcome. It was his anchor.

He exhaled, letting his forehead rest against hers, closing his eyes briefly as her fingers tangled deeper into his hair. God, this was everything—she was everything. He didn't care that his arm was going numb from bearing his weight up and the freezing ice. His lips found hers, urging them apart, vying for more, too starved, a little too much until his head spun and his breaths came up in pants. A heady daze had him sneak his fingers under her skirt, feeling the softness of her thigh, fingers leaving impressions on her skin. He'd done this too many times to know, especially when her hips lifted up to his, his hand sliding onto her ass.

Her voice broke the quiet, coming out as a gasp. “You’re too big.”

He laughed softly, pressing one last kiss to her temple. “That's never been a problem for you.”

“That was before you tackled me,” Claere shot back, though her fingers threading lazily through his hair betrayed her amusement, her contentment. Her laugh was soft, breathless, and it warmed the cold air around them, sinking into him like the best kind of ache.

Cregan opened his mouth to tease the soft skin on her neck, maybe even pull her closer—but the sharp crash of the rink doors cut through the quiet, echoing across the ice. The sound shattered the little world they’d built for themselves, the fragile intimacy dissolving in an instant.

Neither of them moved at first, too wrapped in each other to care—until a familiar voice broke through.

“Guys, I'm getting bored. Seriously?” Jace’s tone carried across the rink, equal parts incredulous and exasperated. “Claere—what the fuck! Not on the fucking ice! Get off my sister!”

Cregan groaned loudly, burying his face into the curve of Claere’s neck like a child avoiding a scolding. “C’mon,” he muttered against her skin, voice muffled, his shoulders slumping dramatically.

Claere tilted her head, her laugh soft against his ear. “Should we let him think this was all spontaneous?”

“Let’s not,” Cregan grumbled, his lips brushing her collarbone as he spoke. “He’s already halfway to murdering me.”

Jace’s footsteps echoed closer, leaching with frustration. “I mean it, Stark!” he barked. “Get off her!”

Reluctantly, Cregan lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting Claere’s. There was something unspoken between them—a shared defiance, a quiet kind of rebellion. Still, he eased off her, careful and deliberate, and offered his hand to help her stand. She accepted it without hesitation, and when he caught her waist to steady her, he took his time guiding her to a slow glide toward the rink’s edge.

“You ruin everything, Jace,” Claere called over her shoulder.

Jace stood at the edge of the rink, arms crossed and expression thunderous. A cigarette dangled from his fingers, the smoke curling upward into the dim light. “I ruin everything?” he repeated, incredulous. “You’re lucky I’m not scraping either of you off the ice right now. What were you even thinking, Claere?”

Claere shrugged, leaning casually against the barricade. “That I’m twenty-one and don’t need a babysitter?”

“You’re not twenty-one in my book,” Jace shot back, stabbing the air with his cigarette for emphasis. “And you—” He turned his glare on Cregan. “What’s your excuse, Stark?”

Cregan raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk utterly unapologetic. “I'm a sucker for your sister, I guess.”

“You shameless fuckin' bastard,” Jace bit out, his voice rising.

“Jace,” Claere cut in sharply, her tone enough to make her brother pause. Her gaze was steady, unwavering. “Take it easy.”

Jace hesitated, his shoulders tense as he looked between them. Finally, he threw his hands up in exasperation. “Fine. But if you two keep pulling shit like this, don’t expect me to cover for you.” He turned toward the exit, muttering under his breath, “Goddamn idiots…”

As the doors slammed shut behind him, the rink fell quiet again. Claere turned to Cregan, her smirk gentling to a sincere smile.

“So,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “thank you for tonight, Captain. Consider it a success. Spirits lifted, smiles wide.”

Cregan stepped closer, his hands finding her waist, his touch lingering. He grinned as he leaned in, kissing her cheek, long and deep. “I am at your fingertips, my lady.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, everything else faded. But just as he was about to kiss her again, the sound of distant voices drifted into the rink, the faint shuffle of footsteps approaching.

Cregan glanced toward the doors, his jaw tightening. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, his voice firm but tinged with urgency.

Claere arched a brow. “What’s the rush?”

He gave her a crooked grin, skating backwards toward the exit as he held out his hand to her. “Call it a hunch. Trust me. Besides, I ought to warm you up with some cocoa this time.”

She hesitated, then took his hand, her grin matching his. As they left the rink, neither of them noticed the shadow lingering near the edge—a figure stepping into the dim light, watching them laugh and discard their skates with sharp, calculating eyes.

The chandelier above glimmered like a constellation, casting warm golden light over the Targaryen mansion’s sprawling, opulent hall. Every detail of the place spoke to its ancient grandeur—the polished marble floors, towering arches, and gilded frames enclosing weathered tapestries that told forgotten stories. Yet despite the atmosphere of high elegance, the purpose of the evening felt hollow, as if the mansion’s walls echoed with feigned cheer instead of sincerity.

Cregan Stark leaned against a polished column near the edge of the room, a champagne flute balanced in his fingers. He didn’t even like champagne. He hated this kind of thing—his kind of people didn’t belong in gilded halls. But Jace, Luke, and Joffrey made tolerating the event slightly easier.

“Tell me why we need an ‘art restoration fund’ when every artist they’d actually pay is on the brink of starvation,” Jace mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

“Oh, Jace, for fuck's sake.” Joffrey snorted, brushing imaginary lint off his lapel. “It’s not about the art. This is just networking in a shiny costume. Daemon calls it charity, but really, it’s just a more expensive way to sell lies.”

Luke smirked, raising his glass lazily toward the crowd. “Take a good look, boys. Every handshake tonight equals at least three new yachts and an unspoken promise to backstab someone in six months.”

Cregan chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “You’re all so cynical for a family raking in the benefits of this circus.”

“Yeah, well.” Jace grinned at him. “We grew up knowing exactly what it is. Don’t act like your world doesn’t have its share of political games.”

“True,” Cregan admitted. “But at least I don’t pretend it’s for charity. I just fight it out on the ice.”

They all laughed at that, and for a moment, Cregan allowed himself to relax, but his attention kept darting across the gilded room, scanning for the one person who mattered. The air felt heavy, too hot, the collar of his tailored suit suddenly too tight. He tugged at it with one hand, the other gripping his glass as though it might shatter.

Until his gaze strayed to the far end of the hall.

The glint of velvet red at the far end of the hall pulled Cregan’s attention like a shot of adrenaline straight to his chest. His breath caught, his pulse quickening before his brain had fully registered what—or rather, who—he was looking at.

Claere.

Her dress was every bit as bold as he’d imagined when he’d teasingly suggested she wear red, and yet it managed to surpass his wildest expectations. The fabric hugged her body in all the right ways, short enough to make his stomach tighten and billow around her legs like the petals of a rose flower. The neckline dipped just low enough to be tantalizing, thin sleeves baring her shoulders, and her silver hair, swept into a loose updo, left her neck exposed—a detail he was entirely too aware of.

She was on Daemon’s arm, the man laughing with the effortless arrogance of someone who knew he held the room in his grip. Cregan barely noticed. His focus was consumed by her, by the way her gaze flicked through the crowd. Searching. Until her eyes found his. And then she fucking smiled.

It wasn’t a coy smile or a subtle one. It was full and toothy, innocent in a way that made his blood burn hotter. She knew. She had to know. That smile unravelled him like a spool of thread tossed down a flight of stairs.

Cregan’s hand brushed over his lip, his thoughts growing dark and unreasonably wicked. She must’ve sensed it—her gaze dropped to the floor, a faint blush dusting her cheeks, and she looked shy. Shy. As if she wasn’t fully aware she had just upended his entire sense of self-control.

He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to break the spell before it completely destroyed him. His gaze snapped to Jace, who was busy swiping hors d’oeuvres off a passing tray with all the subtlety of a thief in broad daylight.

“Come on,” Cregan muttered, grabbing Jace by the arm and shoving him forward.

“Hey! Easy, Cap,” Jace grumbled around a mouthful of croquettes, stumbling into step. “What’s the rush—oh. Oh, no. Are we seriously—”

“Yes,” Cregan bit out. “We are.”

Claere’s back went visibly stiff as the two of them approached. She must’ve seen him coming, but she didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge him. Not yet. Her posture was perfectly poised, her smile serene as Daemon continued to regale someone with his booming charm.

When Jace cleared his throat, Daemon turned, his sharp eyes sweeping over the two newcomers with an appraising gleam. Cregan felt that gaze like a predator sizing up a potential threat.

“Ah, Jacaerys, my boy,” Daemon said, his voice cutting through the din of the room with an authority that demanded attention. His smile was cordial but didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’ve brought a friend.”

Jace, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat. “Daemon, this is Cregan Stark. You’ve probably seen him on the ice. Our captain. He’s one of the best defensemen we’ve got.”

Daemon’s attention shifted fully to Cregan, undeniably calculating. “Cregan,” he repeated, rolling the name over his tongue like he was testing it. “Perhaps you've seen my daughter around campus? I don’t suppose you have. Claere’s rather modest.”

“Daemon,” she mumbled up at him.

“Yes, I've seen her around,” Cregan drawled out.

Cregan felt Claere’s gaze flick toward him, a subtle shift he doubted anyone else caught. She was playing along, just as she always did, her face the picture of passive disinterest. Meanwhile, every inch of his body was hyper-aware of her presence, her scent, and the way her fingers tightened on Daemon’s arm.

He cleared his throat, carefully schooling his expression into something neutral. “We've not officially met. Cregan,” he said, extending his hand. “Your brother’s teammate.”

Jace coughed suspiciously beside him, earning a sharp, sidelong glare from Cregan.

Daemon took his hand instead, his grip too firm, his eyes narrowing just slightly as if he could sense something unspoken hanging in the air. Claere let her waiting hand move to her hair, twirling a curl behind her ear.

“Teammate, huh?” he said, releasing Cregan’s hand and giving him another once-over. “Well, I imagine you’ve got plenty of stories about Jace. Unlike his sister, Jace could talk the hind legs off a donkey.”

“Agreed,” Cregan said dryly, casting Jace a sideways glance.

Claere’s lips twitched, just barely, but her gaze remained fixed ahead. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

“Yes, we're all proud of me. Anyways,” Jace sang out, clapping a hand on Cregan’s shoulder with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball. “My buddy's also here to discuss some team business. You know, funding and stuff.”

Daemon’s attention shifted back to Cregan, his expression hardening ever so slightly. “The politics of sport,” he said smoothly. “I assume this means you’re here to make a pitch?”

Cregan nodded, forcing himself to focus on the moment, on the task. “That’s right. But I’d also like a word with... Claere. If you don’t mind. Later.”

Daemon’s brow arched, his gaze flicking between the two of them for a fraction of a second too long. Claere sucked in a soft breath. Then he smiled—a thin, knowing smile.

“I believe Claere has a bit more introductions to make around the room before that. Her mother expects her to keep up with appearances before the gala starts. She's quite adamant about it.”

The most cavalier and haughty a father could say to keep Cregan away. He needed no other hints. Cregan only shifted his cuffs, clearing his throat. “Yeah, that tracks.”

Daemon nodded at him. “Business first, Stark. Let’s see if you’ve got the skills to convince me.”

Cregan’s jaw clenched, but he nodded at him, his gaze darting to Claere one last time. She still wasn’t looking at him, but he caught the faintest twitch of her fingers at her side. A silent message. Wait.

“I'll see you at the table,” Claere said to Daemon, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. She smacked Jace's chest and took him away from them. Before she left, her shoulder vaguely brushed against Cregan's forearm, and he swore that the whole portion caught on fire. It took everything in him to not glance at her back as she left.

Cregan accepted the champagne glass Daemon offered him, only to set it down on the table nearby, shaking his head.

“Sorry. I’m driving tonight.”

Daemon smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a sip. “Call a cab then,” he said, his tone light but edged with challenge. “Break some rules, Captain. The youth aren’t entirely fucked yet.”

Cregan forced a smile, keeping his words and tone professional. “Some of us prefer to stay on the right side of the line.”

Daemon chuckled, leaning back slightly, his sharp gaze never quite leaving Cregan’s face. “So, what is it you wanted to discuss? Something about funding, wasn’t it?”

Cregan seized the opportunity and maintained it, measured but precise. He tucked his loose hands into his pockets. “Yessir. The playoffs are coming up, and our team’s resources are... stretched thin. We’ve been looking for sponsors who can—”

Daemon raised a hand while taking a sip, cutting him off. He wasn’t brusque about it, but his disinterest was palpable. “Mm, first off,” he murmured, tipping his glass toward a man across the room. “Do you know who that is?”

Cregan followed his line of sight to a golden-haired, middle-aged man in a sharp suit, standing at the centre of a small group that seemed to hang on his every word.

Cregan shook his head. “No, sir. Someone in your trade?”

Daemon smirked, as though amused by the guess. “Yes, in a manner of speaking. That is Tyland Lannister. One of the richest men on the continent.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed, unsure where this tangent was going, but he remained polite. “Impressive.”

Daemon continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “My wife—Rhaenyra. You’ve heard of her, of course. She holds the title. She's got queen's blood in her veins.” He gestured vaguely toward the man as if Tyland were nothing more than a mildly entertaining threat.

Cregan inclined his head slightly, not wanting to show his confusion. “Of course.”

Daemon finally turned his gaze back to him, sharp and assessing. “I can’t have anyone coming for my wife’s crown, you see. Not Tyland Lannister. Not the fucking Martells. Not anyone.”

Cregan nodded, though his mind churned, trying to parse Daemon’s meaning. “Understandable.”

Then, abruptly, Daemon’s smirk deepened. “Claere.”

Cregan’s nod faltered, his jaw hardening just enough to give himself away.

Daemon chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You see, Claere would martyr me if she found out what I had in mind for her. She’s got this... aggressive sense of autonomy, my soft little girl. She knows what she wants, very much like her mother.”

He took another sip of champagne, savouring it. “But here’s the thing—Tyland Lannister’s been circling. Do you know what Claere would say if I suggested she spend some time with him this weekend?”

Cregan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond, sensing the trap.

Daemon leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “She’d say not to whore her out, that he’s twice her age, smells like barrel whiskey, and probably has a harem tucked away somewhere. And you know what? She’d not be wrong.”

Cregan’s gaze darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. He didn’t trust himself to speak yet, and Daemon noticed, his smirk widening.

“But you,” Daemon said smoothly, neatening an invisible crease on Cregan's jacket. “You’re an honourable one, aren’t you? Loyal. Dependable. Steady as they come. Stark in name and spirit,” He held the back of his hand to his lips as if speaking libel, “moneyed, too.”

Cregan’s voice came out firm, collected. “I do my best.”

“Mm,” Daemon hummed, clearly entertained. “So tell me, Cregan. Where do you stand when it comes to my daughter? Hypothetically, of course.”

Cregan’s lips pressed into a thin line. Oh, he was fucked. He thought of Claere—her soft smile, the brush of her shoulder against his arm, the unspoken connection that hummed between them like a live wire. But this wasn’t about him, or even her. It was a test, a game Daemon was playing, and Cregan wouldn’t fall into the trap. If he wanted a reaction, he would very much like this one.

“We've never really talked, sir. That being said I stand where she needs me to stand,” he said simply, holding Daemon’s gaze. “With respect.”

Daemon’s smile turned sharp, a predator recognizing another who refused to back down. “Great answer.”

Cregan took a careful breath, steering the conversation back on course. “About the team funding, sir,” he said, his tone firm but respectful. “I believe investing in us isn’t just about hockey—it’s about legacy. The team represents something bigger than just a game. Community. Resilience. And with your support, we’d be unstoppable.”

Daemon’s expression didn’t betray much, but the amusement lingered. He swirled his glass again, considering. “Legacy, you say.”

“Yes,” Cregan said, meeting his gaze head-on. “Something worth standing for.”

After a moment’s pause, Daemon’s tone shifted, quieter but no less intentional. “I knew your parents.”

Cregan froze, the words hitting him like a sudden gust of wind, but he didn’t drop Daemon’s gaze.

“They were good people. Devoted to legacy, just like you,” Daemon continued, his voice carrying a surprising sincerity. “It’s a shame what happened. Truly. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Cregan hesitated, his chest tightening at Daemon’s words. He hadn’t expected that shift—the quiet acknowledgement of his loss. He nodded once, his voice steady. “Thank you. It was a long time ago.”

Daemon studied him for a moment, a glint of something inscrutable in his sharp eyes. “Yes. Loneliness can be quite suffocating. Something I find myself... thankfully lacking.”

His gaze drifted across the room, settling on Claere. She stood near her brothers, radiant, unconcerned as ever, quietly laughing at something Joff had said. She had an ease about her, but her fingers still played idly with the hors d’oeuvre stick, twirling it in an anxious rhythm only he could tell. Cregan’s breaths constricted further, watching her. She was magnetic, utterly herself, and it was impossible not to be drawn to her.

Daemon’s voice cut through his thoughts like a blade. “She’s beautiful, is she not?”

Cregan exhaled slowly, his composure slipping just enough to betray the impact of the question. “She is.”

Daemon chuckled softly, as though he’d expected the response. He swirled the champagne in his glass before taking a conscious sip, his gaze returning to Cregan.

“A thing like her is a blessing—and a curse. It draws attention. Finds flaws. Makes her untouchable. Spins lies. Envenoms the mind. Fools lads to think they’re worthy of even standing beside her.”

Cregan’s fists clenched at his sides, but he kept his expression neutral. “I'm sure she's smart enough to tell between worth and lack.”

“Oh, I’m sure she does,” Daemon said, a note of pride threading through his voice. “But even the strongest need someone to stand with them, don’t they? And the world has plenty of Tyland Lannisters to offer up.”

Cregan’s jaw tightened. “Then you've certainly not prospected the world as well as you have, sir.”

Daemon tilted his head, his smirk returning. “Hm. You’ve given me a lot to think about, Stark. Not just about funding your team, but... other things.” His eyes flicked toward Claere again, then back to Cregan, his meaning unmistakable.

Cregan’s heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm, to keep his tone level. “I’ll leave you to your deliberations.”

Daemon chuckled again, a low, knowing sound, and extended his hand.

“Good luck, Captain. You’ll need it.”

Cregan clasped his hand firmly, their gazes locking for a brief, loaded moment. This wasn’t just a handshake—it was a battlefield. And as Daemon’s gaze flicked once more to Claere, Cregan realized that this wasn’t just about funding or hockey. It was about something far more personal.

His heart thudded with a rhythm that refused to calm as he ascended the staircase on the far side, each step graver than the last. He grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing tray, adjusting his cuffs with snaps. The drink fizzed against his tongue, but it did little to quiet the storm brewing in his chest.

Daemon suspects something. He knows.

The thought circled like a vulture, preying on his moment of vulnerability. For all his control, all his precision, Daemon had chipped away at his armour with a few pointed words and a too-sharp smile. Now, Cregan felt raw, exposed, like a pawn being manoeuvred on a board he wasn’t fully prepared for.

When he reached the landing, he paused, leaning on the railing. The champagne flute was cold in his hand, a poor contrast to the heat in his chest. He tilted his head back, rolling his shoulders in a futile attempt to release the tension coiled within him.

Then he heard it—the faint, feverish clack of heels against the marble staircase. His gaze flicked down to the source, and his breath hitched.

Claere moved through the crowd with the kind of grace that seemed almost involuntary, her red dress clinging to her like it had been painted on. She was excusing herself from someone, her smile polite but distant, and the sight of her—all of her—made Cregan’s pulse quicken.

When her gaze lifted and met his, it hit him like a freight train. Her eyes softened: a silent question lingering in them.

He tilted his head toward the corridor at the top of the stairs—a subtle invitation.

She didn’t hesitate, her pace quickening as she made her way to him.

The sound of her heels followed him as he slipped into the corridor, each step echoing like a countdown. He didn’t turn, didn’t dare to look back, even as his senses flared with her presence drawing closer. By the time her hand caught his, warm and grounding, he felt like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

“Hi,” she whispered, with a touch of her fingers on his wrist.

Cregan exhaled, allowing himself the smallest smile as she gently tugged him further down the corridor. They stopped in front of a gilded white door, its handle gleaming like polished gold and she unlocked it with a soft click.

The room was as extravagant as he’d expected. It was hard to imagine Claere growing up like this. Marble floors gleamed under the warm light of an ornate chandelier, and every piece of furniture seemed designed for display rather than comfort. A heavy desk stood at the centre, flanked by bookshelves filled with untouched tomes, their gilded spines catching the light.

Claere shut the door behind them, the lock clicking softly into place. The world outside faded, leaving just the two of them.

Cregan shrugged off his jacket like it had been a harness, draping it over a chair as he loosened his tie with a sharp tug. He ran both hands over his face, pressing his fingers into his eyes like he could erase the exhaustion clawing at him.

“I like your suit,” she remarked. “You look so handsome. And smart.”

He mumbled a quiet, “Thanks,” from behind his fingers.

“Do you like my dress?” Claere’s voice was soft, tentative. She stepped closer, her hands brushing his chest as she settled them there, her warmth seeping into him. “I hate it, really. It's too tight. I wore it for you. I much prefer your jerseys.”

He peeked through his fingers, groaning softly at the sight of her. She was standing so close, her lips painted with that damned red lipstick, her hair tumbling in soft strands from its updo. Her hips swayed slightly as she shifted, the dress clinging to her curves in a way that made it impossible to think straight.

“Terrible timing for you to be acting cute,” he muttered, his voice rough. “Really, really terrible timing. I suppose that runs in the family.”

Her smile faltered, concern flickering in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed, his hands sliding into his hair, fisting it tightly. “I don’t know. It feels like Daemon suspects us.”

Claere tilted her head, a soft laugh escaping her. “Why would he—” She stopped abruptly, realization dawning. “Unless you said something. Please tell me you didn't.”

“I had to say something, Claere,” he shot back, his frustration slipping through. “I spoke up for you. He was practically making a case for whoremongering.”

“You’re an idiot,” she said, but her voice was laced with affection. She cupped his cheek, her palm warm against his skin. “And so sweet.”

Cregan closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her touch. Everything about her—her perfume, warmth, the peace she offered—was an anchor. She felt like a reprieve, the only thing in his chaotic world that made sense, even as she drove him to the edge of his restraint.

After a moment, she tilted her head, studying him. “Are you going to take me to your place now?”

His eyes flickered open, amusement curving his lips. He cocked a brow. “Oh?”

She nodded eagerly, her excitement bubbling just under the surface. “I miss your place. It’s cushy. Not like this.” She motioned to the gilded office, a faint wrinkle of distaste creasing her brow.

Cregan couldn’t help the laugh that rumbled from his chest. “Cushy, huh?”

He slid his hands to her waist, the fabric of her dress soft under his palms. Slowly, deliberately, he let them drift lower, settling at her backside. He gave a firm but teasing push, drawing her body flush against him, her stomach pressed to his hip. Heat flared between them, sparking in her widening eyes.

“If I said, come away for the whole weekend, what would you say?” His voice was low, almost a growl, his forehead brushing hers.

Her grin was instant, lighting up her face. “I'd say yes,” she breathed, her hands sliding against his chest.

He dipped his head, the tip of his nose grazing hers in a gentle, intimate caress. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his lips just a whisper away from hers.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappeared—the marble floors, the gilded edges, Daemon’s shadow looming somewhere outside.

The party faded behind them, the hum of the gala replaced by the buzz of their escape. Cregan walked a pace ahead, his hand clenched into a fist at his side as they turned the corner. Claere followed, her soft laugh bubbling under her breath as she swiped at her phone. Her one-day worth of supplies hung in a poofy bag off her shoulder, and she hadn't even changed out of that gorgeous dress. Good, he wanted some fun with it.

“Jace says he’s got it covered,” she murmured, slipping her phone back into her purse. She glanced up at Cregan, her silver hair glinting under the fountain lights. “Something about you ‘owing him again.’”

Cregan snorted but didn’t slow his stride. “Remind me to get him a six-pack. Or an actual job, so he stops eating off trays.”

Her phone buzzed again, and she glanced at it. “Oh, a follow-up: ‘Be safe. Use protection.’”

“And also to strangle him.”

Claere giggled, quickening her pace to catch up. “He cares, in his own way.”

“I care, in my own way,” Cregan replied, waving his hand toward the street corner where two cabs idled. “Like making sure we don’t end up as tabloid fodder. Separate rides, Claere.”

Her nose scrunched, that playful wrinkle that never failed to tug at something deep in his chest. She sighed, clearly unimpressed with his plan, but without protest, she slid into the first cab. Her dress glinted in the dim light as the door shut, and Cregan let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He climbed into his own cab, shutting the door with more force than necessary. The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror, realization flashing, but Cregan ignored it, staring out at the blur of city lights. His knee bounced involuntarily, a jittery rhythm to match the thundering in his chest.

He hated this. Not her—never her. It was the situation, the secrecy, the creeping unease that came with living half in shadows. She deserved better than that, better than slinking into a cab alone because he was too afraid of what people would say, of how her family would look at her if they knew. His fingers drummed against his thigh, restless. What if someone did see? What if Jace slipped up? What if this—whatever this was—crumbled under the weight of all his fears?

But then the cab pulled up in front of his building, and there she was, leaning against the wall, arms folded, eyes gleaming, a soft smirk playing on her lips. All the noise in his head went quiet.

“I thought you'd forgotten me,” she said as he approached. There was a glint of good mischief in her eyes.

“You can hunt me down if I do,” he replied with a grin, his voice quieter than he intended.

She smiled back, the kind of smile that made his chest ache, and he led her into the building.

Inside the elevator, the air between them felt charged, electric. Cregan pressed the button for his floor and stepped back, his hands sliding into his pockets. He tried to keep his distance, to focus on the dim numbers counting upward, counting down the seconds. But then she moved, just the smallest shift, and her perfume wrapped around him like a thread, pulling tight.

He broke.

In an instant, he was on her, his hands finding the curve of her waist and drawing her close. His lips found her neck, the warmth of her skin sparking something wild in him.

“Cregan, no. We're almost there,” she moaned, her voice high and startled, though it melted quickly into a laugh. Her hands pressed against his chest in a half-hearted attempt to push him away.

“Almost isn’t here,” he murmured, the words low and gravelly against her skin. He nipped lightly at her jaw, grinning when she groaned in mock exasperation.

“Control,” she managed between giggles, but her arms were winding around his shoulders, holding him close even as she protested.

The elevator chimed, and he pulled back reluctantly, his breath unsteady as he smoothed his shirt. She was grinning up at him, cheeks flushed, and he could feel his heart pounding against his ribs.

“For now,” he muttered, his voice rough.

The doors slid open, and they stepped out together, the tension between them buzzing like static. As they approached his door, he stole a glance at her, taking in the way she skipped forward, that gentle spirit always seemed to undo him. She glanced up at him, catching his gaze, and her lips curved into an excited, knowing smile.

She reached for the keypad, keyed in the code and welcomed herself inside.

“Home sweet home,” she sang out, violet eyes glowing in the track lighting overhead. She kicked her heels off and let them clatter untidily. “You know, you should get a dog. To greet you at the door. A teeny little Maltese. No, wait—a Saint Bernard. Something drooly and... where's that mat I put down here? See, I...”

Cregan shut the door and followed her inside, letting her voice fill the space. He liked the sound of it here, the way it softened the edges of his stark, contemporary apartment.

The place was quintessentially him: sleek black and white, all sharp angles and clean lines. The walls were bare except for a few geometric art pieces, and the furniture was minimalist and masculine, with steel and leather dominating the furnishings. The only bursts of colour or life in the entire apartment were hers, scattered like breadcrumbs from her many visits.

The dried flower petals in the shallow glass bowl on the coffee table—lavender and pale pink, her handiwork. The stitching art that hung above his dining table, a whimsical, colourful thing she had given him as a joke but insisted he put up. The row of herb pots lining the kitchen windowsill, the faint scent of rosemary and basil lingering even now. And her favourite plants—towering palms and fiddle-leaf figs—clustered by the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the glistening city.

“Oh, no!” She gasped, her hands flying to her cheeks. “What did you do! Cregan, you completely destroyed them!”

Cregan raised a brow as she hurried over to the plants, her expression one of pure heartbreak. “They’re still alive. I’d know—I waste fifty bucks a week on that girl to take care of them.”

Claere crouched by the nearest pot, inspecting a browning leaf with despair. “Poor babies,” she mumbled, stroking one of the stems as though it could sense her concern. “Oh, it's okay. I'm going to make this better.”

Cregan leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her with a faint smile tugging at his lips. Her outrage over the plants was genuine—he could see it in the little furrow of her brow and the way she pouted at the wilted leaves—but it was endearing, too. There was something deeply comforting about seeing her here, in his space, moving through it as if she belonged. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone or hide behind politeness. She simply was.

The thought settled in his chest, warm and steady: this was his future. The sight of her scolding him over plants she’d insisted on, her voice filling the silence of his apartment, wasn’t just familiar—it felt right, like the missing piece to something he hadn’t realized was incomplete.

With an amused shake of her head, he let her be and turned for his room.

Cregan loosened his tie as he stepped into his bedroom, the tension of the night finally starting to unravel from his shoulders. His room was a sea of muted blacks—dark wood furniture, a sleek grey comforter on the bed, and soft lighting that made the space feel calm and uncluttered. A large window dominated one wall, the city lights glittering beyond it, while a shelf in the corner held a surprising touch of life: books Claere had picked out for him, a framed photo of his late parents, and a small succulent she’d insisted he wouldn’t kill. It was thriving. Barely.

He tugged the tie free and draped it over a chair, then rolled back his sleeves, popping the cufflinks off. His phone buzzed in his pocket as he unbuttoned his shirt, and he pulled it out, unlocking it with one hand. Jace had texted him.

Told Mom that Claere's staying with Helaena for the weekend. Ask her to run with it when she calls.

Cregan smirked, his thumb tapping out a quick reply.

So I shouldn’t do my best Helaena impression this time?

The response was instant.

Only if you want to get skinned alive by Daemon.

Cregan’s grin widened.

Thanks, Jace. I owe you.

He vanished for a moment before he responded.

Six-pack Bud Light and Milk Duds, and we’re even.

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. Typical Jace.

The familiar jangle of bracelets caught his attention, and he glanced toward the door. Claere stood there, leaning against the frame with one hand, her other clutching the edge of the door as though debating whether to come in. Her silver hair spilt over her shoulders, slightly mussed from the cab ride, and the warm golden light from the bedside lamp kissed her skin, underscoring the faint pink that crept up her neck as her eyes raked over him.

He knew that look. That wide-eyed, half-bitten-lip, soft-breathing look. She didn’t even try to hide it.

His shirt hung open, exposing the expanse of his chest, and he reached up to scratch the back of his neck, feigning obliviousness to the way her gaze lingered. His lips quirked in a lazy, teasing smile as he leaned against the edge of the dresser.

His gaze sharpened on her. He crooked a finger toward her, the gesture commanding yet playful.

“C’mere,” he murmured, low and rough.

For a second, she hesitated, and then, like a puppy being summoned—she crossed the room with small, slothful steps, her feet barely making a sound on the plush rug. Her velveteen red glowed with her every movement, the billowing skirt teasing just enough leg to make his head spin. By the time she stood before him, looking up with those wide, expectant eyes, Cregan was holding onto his composure by a thread.

Gods, he’d been dreaming of this moment all night. Dreaming of her in that dress, torturing him with how devastating she looked. And now here she was, close enough to touch, her scent wrapping around him like a spell.

“You remember,” he said, his voice a husky drawl, “how you asked me if I liked your dress?”

Her grin bloomed instantly, nodding. “Yeah?”

He crossed the distance between them in two long strides, towering over her now. His lips twitched into something wicked as he tilted his head. “I love it so fucking much... I'm actually starting to hate it.”

Her smile faltered, confusion flashing in her eyes. “You do?”

“I do.” He made a face, feigning distaste as he let his gaze sweep over her again, slower this time, savouring the way she shifted under the intensity of it. “It makes me want to rip it right off you.”

Her breath hitched, a faint gasp trembling out of her as her cheeks turned an even darker shade of pink. She bit her lip, the beginnings of a shy, flustered smile twisting at the corners.

“Oh,” she managed softly.

Cregan’s smirk deepened. “Yeah. Oh.”

Without another word, he reached out and took her by the waist, guiding her backwards until the backs of her legs hit the edge of the bed. Gently, he eased her to sit, her dress pooling around her like liquid fire. He sank to his knees before her, the movement fluid, reverent.

For a moment, he just looked at her. All flushed and breathless, her chest rising and falling with anticipation. His hands settled on her knees, his thumbs brushing back the fabric of her dress, tracing lazy circles as he fought the urge to give in too quickly. She was his, yes—but this moment felt sacred, and he wanted to make it last.

“I’ve been dreaming of this all night,” he confessed, his voice low and almost raw. “You. In this damn dress. Driving me insane. And now...” He let his hands slide up her thighs, slow and careful, his calloused palms grazing her soft skin where the rippling skirt of her dress exposed her. “Now you’re here, looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her gaze locked on his.

“Like you know exactly what you’re doing to me.” He leaned forward, his forehead brushing against hers for a moment before his lips found her cheek, his stubble scraping lightly against her skin. “Like you're enjoying this.”

Her hands found his shoulders, her fingers digging into his bare skin where his shirt hung open. “I am,” she whispered, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I like seeing you like this.”

He laughed softly, kissing a trail down her neck, whispering, “Good. Because I’m not letting you go tonight, Claere. Not until you understand exactly how much I hate this dress.”

Her breath hitched as his lips brushed against her collarbone, lingering like a promise. The warmth of his mouth sent shivers rippling through her, tender and insistent. She felt the tension in his hands as they tightened on her thighs, stopping her in place as though he feared she might drift away.

Cregan’s kisses moved lower, intent dark, his stubble grazing her skin in a way that left her tingling. She gasped softly, her fingers slipping from his shoulders into his hair, tangling in the thick, dark strands.

“Cregan, please,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need, each syllable a plea she barely recognized as her own.

He paused just long enough to murmur against her skin, his voice rough and heady, “Beg all you want, Claere. You’re not going anywhere.”

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as his hands slid upward, skimming the silky fabric of her dress with an unbearable slowness that made her tremble. His thumbs brushed her bare skin, igniting sparks that danced along her nerves, and with one smooth, practised motion, he lifted her legs over his shoulders. The shift brought her even closer to him, and when his eyes met hers, the intensity in his gaze sent a chill up her spine.

“You ready?” he murmured, his voice a quiet confession that made her breath catch.

Her lips parted to respond, but the words dissolved as he pressed his lips to the inside of her knee. The kiss was soft, almost reverent, but it sent heat rushing through her veins. He moved slowly, teasingly, his lips trailing higher with each kiss, each touch deliberate and unhurried.

“Dreamy girl,” he whispered again, his breath hot against her skin, the nickname carrying a kind of reverence that left her lightheaded. His hands held her firm, his grip strong but careful, as if he was both claiming and protecting her.

When he finally ducked his head beneath the fluttering fabric of her dress, her gasp was immediate, one hand flying to his hair, the other clutching the edge of the bed for support. His lips found her where she needed him most, warm and insistent, and her head tipped back as her body arched into him, the tension in her muscles snapping like a taut wire.

Cregan moved with precision, a man starved but savouring every moment, his mouth pressing kisses that felt like vows against her most sensitive skin. The graze of his teeth, the willful flick of his tongue—it all worked in tandem, unravelling her in ways she couldn’t control.

She bit her lip hard, desperate to stifle the sound rising in her throat, but he wasn’t making it easy. He hummed against her, a low, resonant sound that sent shockwaves through her body.

“Cregan—” she whimpered, her voice breaking, her hand tightening in his hair.

He glanced up, his lips glistening, his pupils dark and wide with hunger. The look on his face—possessive, devoted, and utterly captivated—made her throat go dry. He looked at her as though she was a gift he’d spent his whole life waiting to unwrap.

“Everything okay up there?” he teased, his voice low and gravelly, but the smirk tugging at his lips couldn’t mask the affection in his eyes.

She could barely nod, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. He chuckled, his thumb brushing a soothing circle against that needy space of hers, a small gesture of care amidst the chaos he was creating.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone softening as he kissed her thigh. “Because I’m not even close to done with you.”

And then he bent his head again, this time undoing the zip and bow at the back of her dress, his hands sliding up to carefully lay her down, his focus entirely on her. The rest of the world faded away as he pulled her deeper into his orbit, leaving her no room for anything else but him.

Claere stretched languidly, her limbs reaching toward the edges of the bed before she rolled onto her stomach, her hair a tangled mess. Cregan let his head tilt toward her, unable to keep his eyes from tracing every curve of her body as she moved. She was entirely bare, her skin kissed by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, and for a moment, he couldn’t believe she was real. That she was his.

Without a word, she slipped off the bed and padded toward his closet, effortless and confident. It had taken her some time to be so bold and bare-skinned before him. Cregan propped himself up on his elbows, his grin softening as he watched her braid her hair back loosely. She pulled open the closet doors, running her fingers over the rows of neatly hung clothes before plucking out a jersey—his name and number proudly emblazoned on the back.

She turned toward him, slipping it on over her head, the fabric swallowing her frame and skimming the tops of her thighs. Bare legs. His jersey. Gods. He ran a hand down his face, dragging out a groan. He didn’t stand a chance against her.

Claere twirled once, holding her arms out with a grin that could have powered a city. “Huh?”

“A billion bucks, Claere,” he said, his voice low, his gaze darkening as he took her in.

“Make that one-hundred-and-thirty,” she teased, hugging herself and letting out a dramatic sigh. “Finally comfy.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Fuckin' hell. Why can’t you sponsor my team instead?”

“What can I say? I’m a trust fund baby.” She climbed back onto the bed, all elegance and mischief, the hem of the jersey riding up to reveal the curve of her hips as she sprawled beside him. She flashed him a wicked smile from the pillow’s edge, her chin propped on her crossed arms.

“You’d get all of it if you married me.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “Like I care.”

“I’ll sponsor your team if you marry me?”

“No, thanks.”

“Please marry me?”

He snickered. “Wait for me to ask.”

Claere’s smile faltered slightly, softening into something more thoughtful as she studied his face. “When’s your next game?”

“Friday,” he answered, leaning back against the headboard. “Last one before the season starts. Coach has already pulled out all the stops.”

Her brows knitted slightly, though she tried to keep her tone casual. “So this might be the last time I’m coming over for a while.”

The words hit him harder than he wanted to admit, his chest tightening. She wasn’t wrong. Once the season started, it was a relentless grind—early mornings at the rink, punishing hours of practice, travel, classes, and social obligations he couldn’t ignore. And as much as he hated it, fitting her in would become a challenge. It always did. But the thought of her not being here, of nights without her easy laughter, her sly remarks, or just the quiet comfort of her presence—it unsettled him in ways he couldn’t quite name.

He forced a smile, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “We’ve still got Sundays.”

She barely nodded. “Yeah. Sundays.”

But even as he said it, the words felt thin, like they couldn’t hold up against his growing unease. What if Sundays weren’t enough? What if the distance stretched too far, the gaps between their moments together becoming too wide to bridge?

His mind ran ahead of him, racing through possibilities he didn’t want to entertain. This was their rhythm every season—he disappeared into hockey, and she stayed back, quietly supporting him from the sidelines. But what if this time was different? What if she got tired of waiting? What if the secrecy, the stolen moments, became too much?

He glanced at her, trying to gauge her expression, but Claere only shifted closer to him. She didn’t look upset—just thoughtful, her gaze distant as she toyed with the hem of his jersey.

He wanted to reach for her, to hold her, to ask her to stay. To promise her that he’d make time, that they wouldn’t drift, that this—they—would still be okay. But the words stuck in his throat, tangled with his pride and the knowledge that he couldn’t keep her tethered to him, not when she deserved more.

Claere seemed to sense his turmoil because she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Her lips lingered there for a moment, warm and reassuring, brushing his hair, before she pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes.

“I can wait,” she said gently, her voice calm in a way that made his chest ache. “It’s just a few more months. What’s that compared to everything else?”

He stared at her, the knot in his chest loosening just enough to let him breathe. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly, hating how uncertain he sounded.

Her smile returned, small but unwavering. “It’s your last season in college, right? We just have to keep this private a little longer. And then…” She trailed off, her gaze mellowing as she stroked his jaw. “Then it’ll be easier. It'll be date nights, dinner at schmancy restaurants, weekend jet to St. Kitts.”

He nodded, her words sinking in like a balm, though the lingering doubt in the back of his mind refused to quiet completely.

Claere shifted again, resting her head against his shoulder, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his arm. “You’re worth it, you know,” she murmured, almost to herself.

His throat tightened, and he tilted his head to rest against hers, the faint scent of her shampoo quirking a smile on his lips. “I don’t deserve you,” he admitted, his voice rough.

She laughed softly. “Probably not. But you’ve got me anyway.”

Cregan closed his eyes, letting Claere’s words settle into the cracks of his uncertainty. She was right—what were a few months? They’d made it this far. They could make it further. And yet, that lingering fear, the whisper in the back of his mind that someday even her patience might run out, refused to fade entirely.

He exhaled deeply, shifting to press a lingering kiss to the top of her head. “You deserve a big breakfast, baby,” he murmured against her hair. “Fit for a queen.”

Claere hummed, the sound soft and content as she leaned into him. “Aw,” she teased. “Please don’t. I don’t have the number for poison control saved.”

He tossed the covers over her head, muffling her delighted giggles. “Smartass,” he said as he fumbled for his pants over the bed. Dragging them on, he hefted himself off the bed and stretched. “I’m going to make it for you anyway.”

“Poison control's toll-free!” she called after him, the smile evident in her voice.

Cregan shook his head, grinning as he padded into the hallway. The apartment was still, the faint hum of the city outside the only sound. He rolled his shoulders, the warmth of Claere’s words lingering in his chest. Gods, he loved her. Even with the challenges, even with the secrecy, she made everything feel worth it.

His smile was still tugging at his lips as he stepped into the living room—until he saw her. He froze the second his gaze landed on the figure in his living room.

Rhaenyra.

She sat on the edge of his sofa, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, her gown from the gala still immaculate like she’d stepped out of some high society painting and decided to grace his apartment with her presence. Her intricate braid was sleek and perfect, not a strand out of place, and the faint glint of a diamond bracelet caught the dim morning light as she reached for her purse on the coffee table.

She looked at him; calm, composed, unreadable. It was the kind of look that commanded attention and gave away nothing in return.

Cregan stood rooted in place, his heart thundering in his chest as his mind scrambled for answers. How did she get in? How did she find out? His panic clawed at him, wild and unrelenting. Fucking Daemon. Fucking Jace. But despite the storm raging inside him, he couldn’t move—Rhaenyra’s unflinching gaze pinned him like a predator locking onto its prey. She didn’t even need to speak. Her silence was louder than any confrontation.

Soft, cheerful footfalls approached from behind, jolting him like a slap to the back of his head.

Completely unaware of the brewing disaster, Claere leapt up, hanging off his shoulder, laughing. She nipped at his ear, her voice playful. “I’ll make us breakfast, okay? Peanut butter sandwich. No? How about eggs? Preferably not fertilized.”

Cregan’s heart sank to his stomach. Gods-fucking-damnit. He shut his eyes for a long, steadying breath, hoping against hope she would take notice—and she did. He felt her freeze against him as her gaze followed his, landing on the figure sitting serenely in the living room.

“Mom!” she squeaked, her voice a pitch higher than usual, betraying her shock.

Claere slowly dropped, her bare feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. Her hands smoothed down the oversized jersey she wore—the jersey with his fucking name in white letters—as if it could somehow erase the evidence of everything.

Rhaenyra inclined her head slightly. Placid, regal. “Claere,” she replied as though this were nothing more than a routine check-in rather than the powder keg it clearly was.

“What are you—?” Claere’s words tumbled out in a rush, her hands flitting nervously as she glanced at Cregan, then back to her mother. “We were just—I mean, I—”

“Put on some pants, darling,” Rhaenyra said with a faint wave toward Claere's jersey. “Then we can talk. I’ll make us some coffee, hm?”

Cregan blinked, his mouth opening to say something, but nothing came out. His throat was dry, his thoughts a chaotic mess. All he could do was stand there, shirtless, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar—except this time, the stakes were infinitely higher. He chanced a glance at Claere.

Her face was flushed, her lips parted like she was trying to catch up with what was happening. “Right,” she mumbled, tugging at the hem of the jersey as if it might magically grow longer. “I’ll… just go. Um, change.”

She darted out of the room, not a single glance in his direction, her footsteps hurried, leaving Cregan standing alone in the eye of the storm. His gaze flicked back to Rhaenyra, who had already risen from the couch. She adjusted the bracelet on her wrist, her expression still maddeningly composed, giving away nothing.

Cregan swallowed hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. He felt like a deer staring down a wolf, but there was no running from this.

“I—uh—” he started, but the words died in his throat.

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, her lips curving faintly—not quite a smile, but something close. “Sit down, Cregan,” she said, her tone even. “We’ll talk when Claere’s ready.”

She turned, walking toward the kitchen without so much as a glance back.

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. How in the fuck was he going to survive this?

Cregan sat stiffly on the stool, his hands clasped on the island counter as though he might steady himself against the tension in the air. Claere was beside him, separated by a single stool, and he couldn’t stop himself from glancing her way. His stomach churned at how comfortable she looked, perched there in teeny shorts and a camisole, her hair pulled back lazily. She might as well have been at her own apartment, not sitting across from her mother, who looked as though she was deciding whether to disown her on the spot.

He wanted to slam his head against the table. Why, Claere? Of all the things to wear, why this? As if that drawer full of her clothes was going to make anything better. She could've just put on a pair of pants and he could've salvaged the situation as an unrepeatable situation. Her bare legs swung idly, her toes occasionally brushing his shin under the counter, oblivious to the silent chaos in his head.

Across from them, Rhaenyra stirred her spoon in the mug in front of her. The ceramic was decorated with Claere’s initials and a dainty painting of peonies. Cregan hadn’t even noticed her bring it over, which somehow made it worse. She moved with a terrifyingly calm authority like she was the only one in control of this room, of him.

"Two years," Rhaenyra said suddenly, her voice cutting through the silence like a whip. She didn’t look up from her mug, as if she’d simply plucked the number from his mind.

Cregan gritted his teeth, but before he could respond, she tilted her head, her brow furrowing in mock deliberation.

"Four?" she guessed. Her eyes finally lifted to meet theirs, sharp and unyielding. "Five? Longer? Are my grandchildren in preschool?"

Cregan flinched.

"Three," Claere muttered, her voice barely audible.

"Three years." Rhaenyra’s lips twisted into a humourless laugh, and she shook her head. "Amazing. You looked me in the eye for three years, darling, and strung me along. I must say, that's got to be some sort of record." Her voice was light, almost conversational, but there was a razor-sharp edge to it that made Cregan’s palms sweat.

Cregan cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak. "It's not her fault," he said quickly, his voice steady but tense. "I was the one who wanted to keep it hush—"

"I don’t care," Rhaenyra interrupted, her tone icy as she pointed at Claere. "I am your mother, Claere. I am responsible for you, even if you're well into being an adult. Believe me, I want to end this here and tear you two apart right now, but you've already taken every liberty."

"Mom, I'm—" Claere began, her voice trembling, but Rhaenyra cut her off with a sharp gesture.

"Don’t apologize, don't you dare," Rhaenyra snapped, her eyes narrowing as she turned her mug slowly in her hands. She let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. For the first time, she looked genuinely tired, as if this immense confrontation had finally caught up to her.

"Let me ask you something," she said softly, fixing them both with a piercing stare. "Are you pregnant? Is that something I need to—"

"No!"

The denial burst from both of them in unison, their voices overlapping in their panic.

Cregan’s heart pounded so loudly it was a miracle he could still hear the conversation. His throat felt like sandpaper, and his body screamed at him to move, to stand or pace or anything to break the suffocating stillness of the moment. But he remained rooted in place as if Rhaenyra’s unflinching gaze had nailed him to the stool.

He glanced at Claere, hoping to ground himself, but the sight of her only made his chest tighten. Her cheeks were flushed, her hands twisting in her lap as though she were trying to wring the tension out of them. It made his stomach churn to see her like this, and the urge to shield her from her mother’s scrutiny was nearly unbearable. But what could he do against her?

Rhaenyra leaned back in her seat, finally breaking the tension as she took a sip from her mug. "Good." She set the mug down with a soft clink, her eyes darting between them. "That simplifies things."

Claere hesitated, her voice trembling slightly when she finally spoke. “Who told you?”

Rhaenyra’s gaze shifted to her daughter, her expression betraying nothing. "Why?"

Cregan could see where this was heading, and his instincts flared. He nudged Claere’s ankle under the table—a quiet warning to tread carefully—but Claere either didn’t notice or chose to ignore him.

"Was it Daemon?" she pressed, her voice stronger now, though it wavered at the edges. "How did he know?"

Rhaenyra set her spoon down. "Daemon has known for some time now. As have I. Tonight simply confirmed our suspicions." Her lips curled into something between a smirk and a scoff. "I took a little drive down to Helaena's myself and when I didn't find you there... that's when I decided I had had enough."

Cregan’s stomach twisted further. Helaena. Of course. Always so sweet, so guileless. He could almost picture her accidental slip, the quiet unravelling of a lie they’d spent years perfecting. He forced himself to sit straighter, trying to shake the knot in his gut, but Rhaenyra’s eyes pinned him again, sharp and unyielding.

“Then why didn’t you just ask me?” he said eventually, his voice firmer than he expected. He locked eyes with her, refusing to look away. “You knew. Why wait until now?”

Rhaenyra tilted her head, studying him as if he were a particularly perplexing puzzle. “Oh, I wanted to,” she admitted, her tone as cool and cutting as ever. “Believe me, I wanted to drag Claere home and ship her off to the Arctic if it meant getting her away from you.” She let out a soft sigh, the first crack in her carefully composed demeanour. “But Daemon convinced me…” She turned her gaze back to Claere, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Of some things.”

The intensity of her stare made Claere visibly shrink, her shoulders curling inward as though she could physically shield herself. The red flush on her cheeks deepened, and she looked down at her hands as if they might offer her some kind of escape.

Cregan’s chest burned with equal parts frustration and guilt. He could feel the unspoken accusations hanging in the air, the disappointment Rhaenyra didn’t need to voice. This was his idea—keeping things quiet, hiding their relationship from her family, from everything that mattered to her world. She didn’t deserve this.

“I pushed for this,” he said, his voice steady but low, like a dam holding back a flood. “She didn’t. I wanted to keep it quiet because… because I didn’t want people saying I wasn’t here on my own merit.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze flicked back to him, sharp and scrutinizing, as though she were weighing his every word. “So, this wasn’t about protecting her from the world. It was about protecting yourself. Your career. Your reputation. Tell me, Cregan, was that your plan all along? To make a mess out of my daughter's life?”

Her question struck like a blow, but he refused to back down. “There was no plan. I saw her, we talked, I fell. We just—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling over. “We just fell in love. I didn't want to lose it.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, a dangerous edge creeping into her tone as she shifted her gaze back to Cregan. "You’re good at this, aren’t you? Taking the blame, making it seem noble. But let’s be honest here. The real reason you kept this hush isn’t about you, is it?”

Cregan was caught off guard by the accusation. “That’s not true.”

“No?” Rhaenyra tilted her head, her voice was as sharp as a blade. “You thought they’d see you as the boy who rode her coattails. The hockey player who only got his shot because he’s tied to the girl from the headlines. No. You kept it quiet because you didn’t want to be seen with her. Because my daughter—this beautiful, extraordinary girl—is also the woman the tabloids love to shred to pieces. Because her family is a circus, and my name is a spectacle.”

“Mom—” Claere tried to interject, but her voice wavered.

“Hush, darling,” Rhaenyra dismissed, not even glancing at her daughter. Her focus remained locked on Cregan. “You can sit there and tell me this was all about protecting her, about keeping her out of the spotlight, but the truth is, you didn’t want the world to see you with her. Did you?”

“That’s not fair,” Cregan shot back, his voice rising despite his effort to stay calm. “I worked my ass off to get to where I am. And I’ve never once been ashamed of her.”

“Then why the secrecy?” Rhaenyra countered, her voice growing colder. “Why hide her if you’re so proud? You’ve been out with your friends, your teammates, your fans—but Claere? She’s been stuck in the shadows.”

“I am not about to—”

“Stop,” Claere’s voice cut through, trembling but loud enough to silence them both. She looked between them, her cheeks flushed, her hands gripping the edge of the counter as if to stabilize herself. “Just stop.”

Her wide, tear-brimmed eyes turned to Cregan, and he felt his chest tighten. “Is that true?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is that why you wanted to keep us quiet? Because you were embarrassed to be with me?”

“That’s not what this is,” he said, desperation lacing his tone. “I love you, Claere. I’ve always loved you. This was never about hiding you. It was about keeping what we have safe.”

“Safe?” Rhaenyra’s voice sliced through the moment, cool and unforgiving. “Or convenient? Let’s call this what it is: fear. You’ve let your fear and insecurity of how the world sees you dictate how you treat my daughter.”

“That’s enough!” Cregan snapped, slamming his hand on the counter. He turned to Claere, his face softening even as his voice stayed resolute. “I was afraid of what they’d think of us,” he said, his voice tight. “Afraid they’d turn something real into just another news article. I didn’t want to risk people saying I didn’t deserve what I worked for, or that you were some kind of shortcut. I didn’t want them tearing us apart before we even had a chance.”

Claere’s lip quivered, her eyes searching his face for truth. “I thought we were in this together,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “All of it. Not just the good parts.”

“Baby,” he tried.

Cregan reached for her hand, but she pulled away, shaking her head. His stomach sank, the ache in his ribs almost unbearable. He looked back at Rhaenyra, whose face remained impassive, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of something—regret, perhaps, or vindication.

“This isn’t about how we started,” Cregan told Rhaenyra, his voice quieter now, but no less determined. “It’s about where we are. I love her. I’m not perfect, but I’m here, and I’m willing to fight for her. Can you say the same for anyone else who’s ever come into her life?”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his outburst, but she didn’t respond immediately. She leaned back, crossing her arms as she studied him.

“Prove it to me. Step out of the shadows, Cregan. If you love her as much as you say, stop hiding. Own it.”

The challenge hung in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore. Cregan looked at Claere again, her expression still hurt but softening as his words sank in. He nodded slowly, a decision settling over him like a weight he was finally ready to carry.

“I will,” he said, his voice steady. “If she’ll have me, I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it.”

Cregan reached for her hand, desperate, and this time, Claere’s fingers slipped into his, anchoring him, and she looked up at her mother, meeting her piercing gaze with surprising steel.

“Mom,” she began, her voice calm but unyielding, “I’m sorry I lied to you. I should have told you sooner, and I regret the secrecy, but I don’t regret falling in love with him. Not for a second.”

Rhaenyra’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes sharpened, flicking to their intertwined hands before returning to her daughter’s face. “You can say that now,” she said evenly, “but what about when this—” she gestured to the space between Claere and Cregan, “—inevitably complicates everything? The headlines? The scrutiny? Do you really think you can keep his world and ours from colliding forever?”

Claere squared her shoulders, the flicker of doubt in her eyes extinguished by a quiet, steady resolve. “We’re not trying to live in two separate worlds, Mom. We’re building one of our own. We knew this wouldn’t be easy—we’ve known that from the start—but we’re... handling it.”

Cregan felt a little lighter, her words a balm to the storm of emotions raging inside him.

“And if it becomes too much? If his career takes him somewhere you can’t follow, or if the media turns on you?” Rhaenyra pressed, her tone deceptively soft. “Are you prepared for that kind of fallout?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Claere said firmly, her voice rising with conviction. “We’ve already figured out so much, and I trust myself. And him. Whatever comes our way, we can handle it.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, her features still impassive, but there was a flicker of something—approval?—beneath the surface. “And what about me, Claere? Do you trust me?”

Claere hesitated for only a moment, then nodded. “I always do. I know you’re trying to protect me, and I love you for it. But I’m not a child anymore, Mom. I can do this on my own.”

Rhaenyra leaned back, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. “Strong words,” she murmured, almost to herself. Then, after a long moment of silence, she sighed, setting down her mug with deliberate care.

“Very well,” she said finally, her voice measured. “You’ve made your choice, my love. And it seems you’re determined to see it through.” Her gaze shifted to Cregan, sharp as a blade. “But make no mistake, Stark. If you break her—if you make me regret giving you this chance—you won’t have to worry about the press. You’ll answer to me.”

Cregan swallowed hard, but he didn’t flinch. “Understood.”

Rhaenyra exhaled deeply, her gaze resting on Claere with a quiet intensity that seemed to fill the room. She straightened, smoothing her dress with a deliberate gesture before speaking, her voice low but unyielding.

“Get your things, darling,” she decided. “I’m taking you back home.”

Claere sighed, her breath catching as her mother’s words settled over her. She opened her mouth as if to argue, but Rhaenyra’s firm tone silenced her before she could begin.

“Now, please,” Rhaenyra added, her voice softening slightly but still brooking no resistance. “Don’t fight me on this. Say your goodbyes. You can talk to him later.”

Cregan felt the air leave his lungs, his chest tightening as the meaning of her words sank in. He glanced at Claere, whose wide eyes darted to him in silent pleading. She looked torn, her hands fidgeting at her sides as if searching for something to hold onto.

For a moment, the urge to speak rose in him—to push back, to argue, to demand—but as his eyes locked with Rhaenyra’s unrelenting gaze, he stopped himself. He could see it there: not malice, but a mother’s determination, a fierce desire to protect her child. As much as it pained him, he understood.

He turned to Claere and gave her a small nod despite the ache beneath it. The message was clear. It’s fine. I understand. Go with her.

Claere’s lips trembled, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she searched his face. Her shoulders sagged slightly, but she nodded back, acknowledging his silent reassurance.

Rhaenyra stepped back, her company filling the space between them as she waited. Claere hesitated, then reached for her overnight bag on the counter. She moved with reluctance, and when she turned back to Cregan, her eyes were full of longing. She did not want to leave. Not like this.

Cregan forced a small smile, hoping it would be enough to hold them together for now. “Go,” he murmured, the word more breath than sound, though he knew she understood.

As Claere followed her mother out of the room, the sound of the door closing behind them left an aching silence. Cregan stood frozen for a moment, his eyes fixed on the spot where Claere had been. The pang in his chest surged until it was unbearable.

Rage and despair blinded him to control, and he grabbed the nearest object—his water bottle—and hurled it against the fridge. The loud clang echoed through the kitchen, reverberating off the walls and doing little to ease the frustration coursing through him.

Cregan braced his hands on the counter, his head hanging low as he tried to steady his breathing. The fight with Rhaenyra replayed in his mind, her sharp words, Claere’s indefinite voice, the way her hand slipped from his without hesitation. Every detail twisted in his gut.

He wanted to scream, to chase after them, to promise Claere he’d fix this. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

This isn’t over, he thought fiercely, his jaw tightening. Not by a long shot.

The days without Claere passed like months. Cregan had tried to push through it, burying himself in practice, but it was like skating on dead ice. Every empty glance at his phone added fuel to the frustration simmering under his skin. Practice was a disaster—his passes were off, and his shots lacked precision. His coach had barked at him twice during drills, and even his teammates—guys who usually let him brood in peace—started asking if he was okay. He wasn’t. Not even close.

The worst part wasn’t even the uncertainty; it was the silence. No texts, no calls. He’d tried reaching out to Claere and Jace both, but his messages hung in limbo, unanswered. Every attempt ended in static like they’d been wiped off the map. The hollow ring of her number before the dreaded voicemail beep made his stomach twist every time.

He hated not knowing. Was this it? Was she done with him? Or worse—had her family made the decision for her?

By Thursday, he was running on fumes. His body ached from overworking himself on the ice, and his mind was a mess. The Targaryen mansion wasn’t far from his practice rink, and he’d driven past it so many times that the guards were starting to eye him like he was some kind of stalker.

Four days. Four days without a word from her, and he was losing it.

Then Friday came, game day, and it hit him like a slap. He didn’t have time for this. If he didn’t get his head in the game, he’d tank the team. But just as he was about to haul himself to the locker room, he saw someone jogging toward him near the player’s bench like some divine intervention. Cregan, mid-drill, tossed his stick aside, and practically stormed to meet him, relief and frustration competing for dominance.

“About fucking time!” he said, his voice incredulous. Cregan muttered, half-tempted to hug the guy and half-tempted to shove him, “Where the hell have you been?”

Jace, dressed down in jeans and a hoodie, stopped short, hands on his hips as he caught his breath. “Man, I am so sorry. Look, I really tried. I stalled her as much as I could that night, but you know my mom. And Daemon was her accomplice—”

“Not your fault,” Cregan interrupted quickly, shaking his head. “You tried. Thanks for coming.”

Jace gave a sheepish grin. “It wasn’t just me. Daemon went full dictator. Took all our phones, and said we needed a ‘digital cleanse.’ Packed us off to fuckin' Croatia. Ancestral home or some shit. Total lockdown. No phones, no Wi-Fi, just… swimming, food, and lectures about how we’ve all failed our parents somehow and forgotten our history.”

Cregan exhaled sharply. That explained a lot. “So, you’re just getting back now?”

“This morning,” Jace confirmed. He shifted awkwardly, as if unsure of what to say next, before finally adding, “Claere’s still at home. She’s okay, though. She was miserable the first day, but… y’know. We made her come around and have fun.”

Hearing her name felt like both a balm and a wound. Cregan let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “That sounds about right.”

“Yeah,” Jace agreed. He hesitated, studying Cregan for a moment. “Mom and Daemon? Still pissed. Claere… I don’t think she gives two shits.”

Cregan’s lips twitched into a weak smile. That was Claere all right. “When’s she coming back to class? Or… anything?” His voice trailed off, unsure how much more he could ask.

Jace shrugged. “Don’t know. She’s kind of in this holding pattern right now. Guess she’s waiting for something.”

Cregan’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Thanks, Jace. Really.”

“Look, man…” Jace scratched the back of his neck, his usual easy demeanour clouded with worry. “She’ll come around. Just… give her time.”

Cregan gave a tight nod, though the frustration bubbling inside him was threatening to boil over. Time. He’d already spent four days in limbo, and he didn’t know how much longer he could take it.

Later, after practice, he called her again. The line rang twice before going straight to voicemail. That greeting looped in his mind like a cruel joke.

“Hi, it’s Claere! I can’t come to the phone right now, probably because I’m doing something infinitely more interesting. Leave a message! Or not. Up to you.”

He clenched his jaw at the teasing tone in her pre-recorded message, so familiar yet so distant. The beep sounded, and he hesitated before speaking, his voice gruff with tension.

“Baby, it’s me. Look, I—” He stopped, dragging a hand down his face. What could he even say? “I miss you. I don’t know what you're feeling, what you're thinking, or if you’re just… done, but I need to talk to you. Please. I'm losing my mind. Call me back. Or find me on campus. Just—please, Claere... I love you. So much.”

He hung up, his chest heaving like he’d run a marathon. It felt futile. Every unanswered call, every unreturned message, chipped away at the hope he’d been clinging to.

What was he supposed to do? Wait? Move on? Fight harder? He didn’t even know if she wanted him to. All he knew was that every day without her was stretching him thinner, and he didn’t know how much more he could take.

His teammates had practically dragged him to the coffeeshop on campus grounds after the brutal loss that afternoon, insisting he “needed to get out of his head.” He appreciated the effort, even if their chatter washed over him like static. This whole place was crowded and loud, a stark contrast to Cregan’s own hollow mood. He gave them a smile or two and answered a few vague questions, but his responses always had a way of circling back to her.

“Man, this chick must’ve really done a number on you,” one of the guys joked, nudging him.

Cregan huffed a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Something like that.”

It wasn’t just her. It was everything—what she represented, what he felt for her, and how much he’d probably screwed up everything, right from the start. He missed her more than he could explain, more than he was even comfortable admitting to himself. And now? He didn’t even know where they stood.

He was nursing his coffee, trying to shake off the tension pressing on his chest, when the door jingled. Normally, he wouldn’t have noticed, but the sudden shift in the room's energy was unmistakable. Conversations dimmed, and heads turned.

Cregan looked up—and the air left his lungs.

Had it been weeks? No, just one. Claere stepped inside, her sun-tanned skin glowing against the blue eyelet blouse and shorts she wore, sandals clicking softly on the tile floor. Silvern hair was in a loose braid, a few strands framing her face, and a scattering of thin silver rings glinted on her fingers as she adjusted the strap of her sling bag. She looked like she’d walked straight out of some sun-drenched dream.

And all he could do was sit there. Frozen. Thinking. She hadn't bothered to call him. Was she angry? Was she done with him? Didn't he deserve an explanation? Had her parents changed her mind?

His stomach twisted with longing, with a desperation that felt almost painful. She was the one thing he wanted most, and yet here he was—rooted to a chair, surrounded by people who had no idea what she meant to him. She glanced around the room, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. When her eyes met him, there was not a muscle in his body that did not clench.

She hesitated, just for a moment. He could see it in her face—the effort it took to act like she didn’t know him. Like she hadn’t been his everything all these years. He felt it too, that same instinct to pretend, to keep up the lie, even as it killed him inside.

Her gaze flicked to the guys at his table, then back to the door. His heart sank, thinking she might leave, but instead, she turned and walked to the counter. Ordered something—juice, by the sound of it—and then settled at a corner table by herself.

Cregan couldn’t help it. His eyes followed her, drawn to her like gravity. He'd been conditioned to be aware of her, near or far. Even when she pulled out a book and rolled a few pencils onto the table, so calm and indifferent, he knew her too well. There was tension in her posture, a stiffness in the way she held herself. She wasn’t as unaffected as she seemed.

“Hot damn,” one of his teammates said, cutting into his thoughts. “You saw that fine ass? Those shorts just—oomph.”

“I want a piece of that,” another chimed in, smirking. “Last week's news? That little red dress at the gala? Fuuuuckable.”

Cregan’s jaw tightened, his coffee forgotten in his hand.

“And a whole lot of crazy bitch,” the first one added, laughing, and something in Cregan snapped. His grip on the cup tightened, but he forced himself to stay still. He wanted to put their heads through the nearest wall.

“Crazy bitch is my speciality,” the other said, clearly feeling lucky today.

One of them leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing some great secret. “She's still screwed in the head, bro. Last semester, someone saw her—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Cregan said sharply, his tone cutting through the noise.

The guys turned to him, surprised. “Hey, what’s your problem?”

“Just drop it, okay?”

But they shrugged him off with a burst of laughter. One of them, clearly feeling bold, got up and crossed the room toward Claere, sharing an encouraging fist bump and shoulder slap. Cregan’s pulse spiked as he watched the guy tap her on the shoulder. She looked up, calm and polite as always, even when she shouldn’t have to be. Pulling out her earphones, she flashed a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"Yeah?" she said, her voice as sweet as it was distant.

The guy’s grin widened as he pulled the chair out, his audacity a palpable stink in the air. “Claere, right? Mind if I join you? Name's Wil.”

For a fleeting moment, she looked at Cregan. It wasn’t just a glance—it was sharp, pointed, expectant. It wasn’t a plea for help—it was a challenge. Are you going to sit there and let some dickhead hit on your girlfriend?

But Cregan stayed rigid. His hand gripped the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his jaw locked. He wanted to move, to stop this, but something held him back—his frustration, his guilt, his need to keep up with appearances.

Claere’s gaze lingered on him for a beat too long, and when he didn’t act, she let out a soft, bitter breath and turned back to Wil.

“Sure,” she said lightly, gesturing to the seat.

Cregan’s stomach churned. He dropped his gaze, staring at the scratched surface of the table, as if ignoring it would make it stop.

Wil slid into the seat across from her like he owned the place, leaning forward on his elbows. “So, what’s it like being you?” he started, his tone dripping with fake charm. “Must be hectic. Fancy trips, photographers hounding you everywhere, that kind of thing.”

Claere raised an eyebrow, somewhat bored. “It’s not all that exhilarating, I suppose.”

“Really? Come on, you don’t have to be modest with me.” His eyes swept over her, lingering just long enough to make Cregan’s stomach tighten further. “I mean, someone like you? Hot, famous, loaded—what’s not to love?”

“Hmm.” Her response was flat and dismissive, but Wil wasn’t taking the hint.

“You know, I’ve always wondered...” he started, his voice dipping conspiratorially. “What’s it like growing up with a mom like Rhaenyra Targaryen? Must’ve been wild. All those scandals, all those headlines. Does she, like, give you tips? On how to work the cameras, pose just right? Or is that all-natural?”

Her grip on her glass cup tightened, but her face remained composed. “Are you always this curious about other people’s families?”

“I’m just trying to get to know you better.” He leaned back, smirking. “I mean, everyone’s already seen so much of you, right? All those little ‘oops’ moments with the paparazzi? Those dresses, those photos—”

Cregan tensed like a coiled spring. Wil, oblivious, kept going. “Honestly, it’s impressive. Takes guts to pull off some of those pretty skirts. Or lack of them.”

The small, tense smile on Claere’s face vanished, replaced by a cold, hard stare.

“But hey,” he said, his voice dropping, as if her silence was encouraging, “if you ever wanted to, I don’t know, lean into that a little more... I’ve got a camera. Real discreet. No one even has to know.”

The table went silent. Cregan’s head snapped up, his blood boiling. The words didn’t fully register—he didn’t want them to. His chair screeched against the floor as he shifted, his vision narrowing on Wil's smug face.

Claere beat him to it. The slap echoed through the coffee shop like a gunshot. Conversations halted. Heads turned. Even the barista at the counter stopped mid-pour.

Wil stared at her, stunned, his cheek flaming red. Claere’s hand trembled as she dropped it to her side, her chest heaving. Tears gathered in her eyes, but her voice was steady, cutting. “I hope you get run over by a car and go brain-dead, you pervert.”

She grabbed her bag with sharp, jerky movements, her poise splintering as she shoved her things inside. “Can't believe this,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone, her voice thick with anger and humiliation. Without another glance at Wil—or at Cregan—she stormed out, shoving the door open so hard the bell jingled violently behind her.

Cregan moved before he could think, his chair tipping as he stood and grabbed the guy by the front of his shirt. He saw red for a moment, teeth grounding to dust.

“What the hell, Cap?” Wil sputtered, raising his hands.

Cregan shoved him back against the wall, hard enough to rattle the shelves and cups nearby. Wil's grin had vanished, replaced by wide, panicked eyes.

“You think that was funny?” Cregan hissed, his voice low and shaking with rage.

“I—it was just a joke—”

“Here’s the zinger,” Cregan snapped, leaning in close. “You’re benched. Next game, next practice, next season. I don’t care. You’re done. You so much as look at her again, and you’ll be picking your fucking teeth off the floor.”

He shoved the guy back against the wall one more time for good measure before letting go, his chest heaving.

Cregan didn’t wait to see the reaction. Grabbing his gear, he strode out of the coffee shop, his heart racing, his mind spinning. The quad was alive with students, but Cregan didn’t care about any of them. His focus locked onto Claere, halfway across the lawn, her head down and her steps hurried. He sprinted to catch up.

He spotted her halfway across the lawn, her distinctive figure unmistakable even with her head bowed and her shoulders hunched. She moved quickly, as if she could escape the humiliation still clinging to the air around her.

“Cregan! That was sick, man!” A friend clapped him on the back as he passed, but the praise barely registered. Another student waved, calling his name, grinning like the drama was just a show for their entertainment. Cregan brushed past them, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. Not now. Not now. Just get to her.

But then he stopped dead in his tracks. Claere had turned to look at him, her face pale except for the flush high on her cheeks. Her red-rimmed eyes locked onto his, and the sight gutted him. She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her wrist, her hand trembling, almost frantic.

The breeze carried the faint sound of a sob, and he saw the way she glanced around her, the way her gaze caught on the groups of students whispering, watching. He knew what they were saying. He could feel their eyes on her, hear the speculative laughter just out of earshot. The exasperation on her face made his breaths falter, her helplessness a mirror to his own.

He took a step forward, but her head snapped to the side, and she spun on her heel, heading toward the scooter parked by the curb.

He wanted to call out to her, to tell her to wait, but his throat felt like it had closed up. He watched her as she fumbled with her keys, all jerky and rushed.

Say something, his mind screamed but held too still. The whispers around him grew louder, and he could feel the eyes of the crowd shifting from her to him. Rumours hinted at, fingers pointing. For once, he just wanted to let it happen.

Her head lifted briefly, and their eyes met again—just for a heartbeat. In that glance, he saw everything. The pain, the frustration, the feeling that she was completely, utterly alone. The tears, the tremor in her shoulders, the way her chin tilted up defiantly—it was all too much.

She climbed onto her scooter, the engine sputtered to life, and she didn’t look back as she pulled out onto the campus path.

The gravel crunched under Cregan’s tires as his truck rolled to a stop in front of the towering iron gates. For a moment, he just stared. The Targaryen estate loomed ahead, its opulence stark against the dusk-painted sky. The tree-lined path that curved out of sight behind the gates was shadowed by towering oaks, their branches interlocking above like a cathedral ceiling.

He lowered his window, leaning out to nod at the guard.

The man stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. “You again? I told you, kid, unless you’ve got an invite—”

Cregan sighed, gripping the wheel tighter. “Just let me talk to her. Please. I'm dying out here, pal.”

The guard studied him for a beat longer before letting out a reluctant huff. “Fine. Don’t make me regret this.” He pressed a button, and the gates creaked open slowly.

“Legend,” Cregan muttered, easing the truck forward.

The path was even more imposing than it looked from the outside, even for the second time he was here. The oaks stretched endlessly ahead, casting long shadows that danced across his windshield. The air felt cooler here, quieter, the outside world muffled by the wealth and history that clung to this place.

When the house finally came into view, it hit him like a punch to the chest. The mansion was massive, every detail of its gleaming white facade a testament to money and power. Towering pillars lined the entrance, their bases flanked by intricately carved dragons. The sheer scale of it made him feel small, like a kid crashing a royal ball. Focus, Stark.

He parked near the grand staircase and climbed out, his boots feeling too loud on the polished gravel. The enormous doors loomed ahead, but before he could even knock, one swung open. A man in a crisp black suit appeared, giving him a sharp, disapproving glance.

Cregan stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. He grabbed the man’s arm fiercely. “Claere?”

The man looked at him like he’d just insulted his ancestors. “You can’t just—”

“Where is she?” His voice cracked slightly, and the man froze, clearly taken aback. With a shake of his head, the man yanked his arm free and scurried off.

“The fu—” Before Cregan could follow, a small, clear voice echoed from above.

“Captain Stark!”

Cregan looked up to see Viserys poking his head through the railing of the first landing, his pale silver hair gleaming in the chandelier light nearby. The boy grinned, his face lighting up.

“Jace went out to see a girl,” Viserys sang out.

“Hey, little man,” Cregan called back, managing a strained smile. “Nah, not Jace. You seen your sister around?”

Viserys twisted his arms around the railing, tilting his head in thought. “Mhmm. Claerie’s in... oh, the back! She's with Auntie Hel. They're talking about big girl stuff.”

“Thanks, superstar!” Cregan called, already heading toward the back of the house as directed.

As he stepped outside, the evening air wrapped around him, cool and fragrant with the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming jasmine. The gardens stretched endlessly, but his eyes locked onto the little pagoda near the edge of the reflective pond. Its white pillars gleamed faintly under the fading light, and beneath its domed roof, from a distance, he spotted them—Claere and her aunt Helaena.

They hadn’t noticed him yet. Claere sat on the bench, her head bent over something in her lap. She was working with a needle and thread, stitching a button onto a shirt that looked about two sizes too big for her. Beside her, Helaena was lounging with the lazy grace of someone who never seemed hurried, one leg tucked beneath her as she picked at a flower on the vine

“Boys are idiots,” Helaena said lazily, flicking a petal away. “Especially Stark. That guy couldn’t comfort his way out of a paper bag.”

Claere’s fingers stilled for a moment on the button she was sewing onto Jace's shirt, the needle poised mid-air. She didn’t look up, but her lips pressed into a thin line. “It wasn’t like that.”

“What was it like, then?” Helaena sat up straighter, arching a sceptical brow. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like he panicked and left you hanging. Again.”

The words struck deep, even though Claere tried not to let it show. She didn’t respond, instead knotting the thread with quick, precise movements.

From his vantage point just outside the pagoda, Cregan heard every word. He’d been rooted there for the last minute, unable to bring himself to interrupt, even as Helaena’s words sank into him like daggers. His fists clenched at his sides, his nails biting into his palms.

“Hel, please,” Claere said softly, tying off the thread and setting the shirt aside. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Helaena snorted. “Of course you don’t. Because you’re too nice to admit he’s a hurtful jerk.” She leaned forward, her gaze narrowing. “Do you know how many guys would’ve killed to defend you in that café? To put that pervert in his place and walk out with you? But no, you had to fall for the one guy who can’t figure out how to use his own damn spine.”

Cregan felt his breath hitch, a sharp pang hitting him square in the chest. He wanted to storm in, to defend himself, to tell her she was wrong—that he had tried to defend Claere in his own way, even if it hadn’t been enough. But the truth was, Helaena was right. He’d left Claere when she needed him most. He’d failed her.

Claere shook her head, her voice quiet but firm. “It's unfortunate circumstances. That does not make Cregan a bad person. Or a jerk.”

“No, just a scared one,” Helaena countered, her tone biting. “And scared people hurt others because they’re too caught up in their own head to think about what anyone else needs.”

That was it. Cregan couldn’t take another second of listening. He stepped into the pagoda, the gravel crunching under his boots loud enough to draw their attention.

Helaena’s sharp eyes snapped to him immediately. Her pale brows shot up, and she leaned back with an amused smirk. “Well, well. Speak of the devil. Loverboy’s here,” she announced, loud enough to pull Claere’s attention from the shirt in her lap.

“Breaking my heart, Hel,” Cregan remarked.

Claere’s head whipped around, her eyes widening as they met his. Her lips parted, but no words came out, and she looked as though she wasn’t sure whether to be angry, relieved, or both.

He stepped forward, trying to look more confident than he felt. “I just need five minutes with her,” he said quickly, his voice steady but low, almost pleading.

Helaena tilted her head, studying him like he was some curious artefact. Then, with her signature mischievous grin, she said, “You can get five hours, Cap. Do you think you can talk with your shirt off?”

Cregan made an impressed face, some of the tension easing from his chest. “I can be persuaded.”

Helaena turned to Claere, deadpan. “I’m down.” He glanced back at Cregan's abdomen, biting her lip. “Look at him—you've got to reap your benefits. Is it a six-pack or eight, big guy?”

“Wanna count together?” Cregan suggested with a wry smile.

Claere shook her head as she muttered, “Really, Hel.”

Helaena stood, brushing her hands on her skirt. “Alright, alright. No fun. I’ll leave you two to… whatever this is. Five minutes.” She passed by Cregan, leaning in just enough to whisper, “When in doubt, take your shirt off. Don’t mess it up.”

And then she was gone, leaving Cregan and Claere alone in the pagoda.

He stepped closer, his gaze locked on Claere as she sat, her expression caught somewhere between guarded and curious. Her hands were still clutching the shirt, the needle and thread dangling loosely between her fingers.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Cregan didn’t trust himself to, not with the way she was looking at him. He took in every detail—the faint flush on her cheeks, the way her braid curled at the ends, the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

When he finally broke the silence, his voice was rough, unsteady. “Gods, I missed you.”

Before she could react, he was moving. His hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing the delicate planes of her cheekbones as he pulled her close. Her body stiffened for half a heartbeat before melting into his, as if unable to help herself. He cradled her head against his chest with one hand, the other pressing into the small of her back. His fingers trembled slightly as they traced the length of her spine, grounding him in the reality that she was here, that she was real.

He kissed her forehead, then her temple, then her hair, his lips moving as if to memorize her all over again. His hands slid down to her back, pressing into the curve of her spine as he held her. The scent of her shampoo—floral and sweet—was almost overwhelming.

“Before you kick me, punch me, or ask me to fuck off to the world’s end,” he murmured against her hair, “I just needed to do that.”

She let out a soft, breathy laugh against his chest. “I think I stabbed you.”

Cregan blinked, pulling back slightly to look down at his chest.

She gestured to the needle, which had pricked his side at some point during the hug. He glanced down, lifting his shirt just enough to see the faintest dot of blood beading up near his abdomen. How had he not noticed?

“Fuck. Ow.” He laughed, shaking his head as he tugged the hem back down. “You trying to finish me off, baby?”

Her lips twitched, but her brows furrowed as she reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against his side. “Sorry. Does it hurt?”

“Not as much as being without you,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Her hand stilled, and for a moment, she just looked at him. Her eyes searched his face, her lips pressing into a thin line as though she was weighing what to say next. She stepped back and turned away, pushing her fingers into her hair.

“Cregan...” she sighed. “Don’t make this harder.”

Her words hit him like a slap, and his stomach twisted into a knot. Harder? Harder than what? He took a step toward her, his brows knitting together in confusion and a flicker of hurt.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his tone sharp with a desperation he couldn’t hide. “So, what… you’re done with me? Is that it? I'm not allowed a clean break after three fucking years of being yours?”

She hesitated, her back still to him, her shoulders rising and falling with each measured breath. He could see the tension in her posture, the way she held herself so rigidly as if bracing for something.

“I guess…” she started, then stopped, lips thinning to a straight line. When she finally spoke again, her voice was quieter, and it nearly crushed him. “I guess Mom finding out about us was a wake-up call.”

“From what, Claere?” he shot back, the anger bubbling beneath the surface, anger born of confusion, guilt, and the unbearable ache of losing her. “She’s fine with us. All this is excessive. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

Claere turned to face him then, and the look in her eyes stopped him cold. It wasn’t anger, not entirely—it was something deeper, rawer, an exhaustion that made his chest tighten.

“Not the part where you treat me like some dirty secret,” she said, each word cutting like glass. Her voice was steady, but her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Trust me, today made me realize that. And also, you're only mine when it's reasonable for you.”

Cregan staggered back a step as if the force of her words had physically struck him.

“So fucking unfair,” he snapped, his voice hoarse. “You knew what this was from the start. From day one, you agreed—we agreed—it wasn’t going to be public. You knew what I had to lose. My whole credibility.”

Her brows shot up, her mouth parting in disbelief before she laughed, bitter and sharp. “Oh, is that right? What you had to lose?” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “What about me? Do you have any idea what it’s like to only be worth something to you in the shadows?”

“You don’t think I’ve sacrificed?” he growled, his fists clenching at his sides. “I’m trying to balance all of this—the team, the pressure, the press and us. It’s not that simple.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “It is simple, Cregan! You care more about what everyone else thinks than what I feel. You make me feel so difficult. Like I'm this vexed question. And for so long, I convinced myself that was okay. That we were okay. But it’s not. It’s not okay anymore.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and Cregan’s anger faltered, replaced by a wave of guilt so heavy it nearly knocked him over. She was right, wasn’t she? He’d asked her to carry their secrecy for him, put her in this tight corner because of him, and he hadn’t even realized how much it had crushed her.

“Claere,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I'm so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. I never wanted to hurt you. I thought—” He stopped, his hands falling uselessly to his sides. “I thought we were alright. I didn’t know.”

“Because you didn’t care to see it,” she said, her tone quieter now, but no less sharp. “You thought that I’d keep accepting scraps, keep lying low because I…” She trailed off, looking away, her arms crossing over her chest. “Because I love you.”

His heart clenched. “I love you too,” he said quickly, taking a step toward her. “I love you so much, it hurts. You know I do.”

She shook her head, letting out a shaky breath. “Sometimes love isn’t enough, Cregan.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Then, as if he couldn’t bear the distance any longer, he stepped forward and reached for her. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, and before she could push him away, he buried his head into the curve of her neck. Her scent, that faint floral sweetness, flooded his senses, grounding him even as the world seemed to tilt beneath his feet.

“I brought you something,” he murmured, his voice thick.

She stiffened slightly, her confusion clear, but he stepped back and reached into his jacket. Pulling out the jersey, he unfurled it carefully, holding it out to her. His name was stitched on the back in bold, unmistakable letters. STARK 01.

“Come to my game,” he whispered, his voice breaking under the strain of hope and fear. “Please.”

Claere’s eyes flicked to the jersey, her expression unreadable. For a moment, he thought—hoped—that maybe she would take it, that this small gesture could bridge the impossible distance between them. But then she shook her head, slowly, deliberately.

“I think we should meet after you’re done with…” she gestured toward the jersey, her voice faltering for the first time, “everything. Give us both some time to figure things out.”

The rejection hit like a fist to the gut. Cregan’s jaw tightened as his shoulders stiffened, his fingers curling tightly around the fabric.

“That’s months,” he burst out, his voice tinged with desperation.

“Good,” she replied, her tone clipped and firm. “Then this will all be over, and we can talk.”

For a long moment, they just stood there, breathing hard, staring at each other like they were on opposite sides of a battlefield. Then Cregan let out a hollow laugh, the bitterness spilling out before he could stop it. He tossed the jersey aside.

“Fuck you, Claere.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes flashing. “Well, fuck you too, you pathetic jerk!” she shouted back, her voice trembling with both anger and something far more fragile. She shoved at his chest, her palms pushing against him hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “Get out. Get the fuck out of my house!”

“No!” he snapped, his voice low and rough, filled with all the things he couldn’t seem to say. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here. I’m trying to fix this—”

“Yeah? You want to?” Her voice cracked as she stepped closer, her body trembling with the force of her emotions. “You want to?” She shoved him again, her hands pressing against his chest, her voice rising with every word. “You want to fix this? Then kiss me, and—”

He didn’t let her finish. He didn’t let himself think. He surged forward, ducking his head, his hands finding her waist and pulling her close as his lips crashed into hers. The kiss was fierce, raw, filled with everything he didn’t know how to say—his frustration, his fear, his longing, and the overwhelming need to not lose her.

She gasped against him, fingers clawing at his shoulders as though she didn’t know whether to push him away or pull him closer. He pressed forward, guiding her back until she hit the pillar behind her, her body arching against his. One of her legs hooked instinctively around his waist, and he gripped her tighter, his fingers digging into her hips as though he were afraid she might disappear.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed against hers, they were both gasping for air. Her lips were swollen, violet eyes wide and shining, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths.

“You…” she started, her voice barely above a whisper. “You didn’t let me finish.”

“I’m trying,” he hissed. His hands trembled as they slid up her sides, searching. “I’m trying, baby. Just… don’t make me leave. Don’t—”

She reached up, her fingers brushing against his cheek, silencing him. “Then stop running,” she whispered. “Prove it, Cregan. Prove you’re here. Prove this is real.”

Cregan’s breath came ragged, his body still pressed against hers, his heart hammering like a drum in his chest. He stared down at Claere, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted. She was breathtaking, defiant and vulnerable all at once, and her whispered challenge—Prove it—rang in his ears like a dare he couldn’t refuse.

Her hand on his cheek was warm, grounding him. The fire in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks—she was everything at once: defiant, vulnerable, and heartbreakingly beautiful. And she was right. He had spent too long running, avoiding, second-guessing. It was time to stop.

His breath hitched as he cupped her face gently, his thumb grazing her temple. The rush of emotion—fear, love, determination—swept over him, but this time, he didn’t let it drown him. He let it anchor him.

“Fine,” he said, his voice steady despite the pounding in his chest. “Come to the game next week.”

Her brows knitted in confusion, her lips parting to speak, but he pressed on.

“Just come.”

The words were a promise, and they felt like a leap off a cliff. But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away. His gaze stayed locked on hers, searching for something—doubt, hope, anything—that could guide him.

Her silence stretched between them, and he wasn’t sure if it was acceptance or uncertainty, but it didn’t matter. He had made his choice.

Slowly, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, lingering just long enough to feel her inhale sharply. It wasn’t desperation or passion—it was quiet, a gesture of faith. When he pulled back, he gave her hand a firm squeeze, his fingers brushing against hers like an unspoken vow.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” he said softly, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles. Then he let go, stepping back, his hand slipping away from hers reluctantly.

The rink was electric, the roar of the crowd pulsing through the air like a living thing. The energy was infectious—chants, clapping, the rhythmic pounding of drumbeats echoing through the arena. The smell of ice and the distinct tang of adrenaline filled the air, and Cregan stood at the edge of the player’s bench, helmet tucked under his arm, a storm of exhilaration coursing through his veins.

This was it. Game season was here. And for all the noise and excitement around him, his focus was entirely on one thing—or rather, one person. Players milled around the bench, adjusting pads, stretching, and hyping each other up. Cregan, though, was glued to the boards, scanning the stands with the intensity of a hawk.

"Is she coming?" he asked, his voice low but insistent as he nudged Jace, who was lacing up his skates beside him. "You’re sure she’s coming?"

Jace groaned, yanking his laces tight. "Dude, chill the fuck out. She’ll be here."

Cregan’s jaw tightened as he scanned the stands again. It was stupid, how his chest felt like it might crack open if he didn’t see her soon. “I just need to know, Jace.”

Jace slapped his shoulder, grinning despite the tension in Cregan’s voice. "You’ll know, Cap. Now quit looking like a lovesick puppy and get your head in the game."

Cregan muttered something under his breath and turned his attention back to the stands, his stomach doing flips. She wouldn't sit too far, would she? What if she was too late? What if she changed her mind? All this would be a big dud.

Then, like the universe finally decided to cut him a break, he saw her.

Claere stood just behind the barrier, like another face in the crowd, a figure of calm amidst the chaos, her silver hair braided in two, the faintest smile gracing her lips as their eyes met. She wasn’t wearing just any jersey. She was wearing his—his name, his number proudly displayed on her back. And for a moment, everything else fell away: the noise, the crowd, the game ahead. It was just her, and the unshakable certainty he felt when he looked at her.

“Stark, get your ass on the ice!” the coach yelled, but Cregan didn't find it in himself to look away. Couldn’t.

He caught Jace’s smirk out of the corner of his eye. “Toldja,” Jace muttered, nudging him again. "Now quit gawking and do something about it."

And that’s exactly what Cregan intended to do.

The tension in his chest, the coil of uncertainty and hope that had wound tighter and tighter all week, snapped into motion. Without thinking, without hesitation, he closed the distance. His gloves hit the bench with a soft thud as he reached over the boards, his hands finding her waist like they belonged there.

“What,” she mouthed to him, amazed.

“Proof,” he mouthed back with a grin.

Her eyes widened, startled, as he pulled her closer, the warmth of her body against his enough to set his pulse racing. For a moment, he thought she might push him away, and the doubt—the fear of rejection—flared hot in his chest. But then her expression softened, and all the noise around him dulled to a hum.

He bent his head, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was everything he felt and more. It was slow and hurried, soft and desperate, deep and tender. It was everything he hadn’t said but needed her to know: that he was here, that she mattered, that he couldn’t stop thinking about her no matter how hard he’d tried.

For a second, time seemed to freeze. The roar of the crowd became a distant echo as Claere responded, her hands sliding up to cup his cheeks. Then, as her fingers tangled in his hair, the tension in his chest unraveled entirely. She was here. She wasn’t pushing him away. She was real.

The arena erupted. Cheers, whistles, and applause surged like a tidal wave, crashing into him with the force of a thousand voices. His teammates banged their sticks against the boards, shouting and hollering. The noise was deafening, but for once, he didn’t care. This moment was his—and hers. The world around them could burn for all he cared.

When they broke apart, her cheeks were flushed, her violet eyes bright and alive. She looked at him like he was the only person in the room, and his chest tightened with something dangerously close to gratitude. She didn’t shy away from the commotion or the hundreds of eyes on them. Instead, she leaned in, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “Go get ’em, Stark.”

Her words lit something fierce in him. He leaned his forehead against hers, his voice low but steady. “Always do, baby.”

He pulled back reluctantly and winked at her, squeezing her hand once before letting go. As he turned back to the bench, the adrenaline coursing through him had nothing to do with the game ahead. His blood was pumping, his heart pounding, but it wasn’t nerves—it was her. The knowledge that she was there, that she’d chosen to be there, wearing his name and looking at him like that.

The crowd’s energy was his, the ice was his stage, and the world now knew she was his.

As he slid his helmet on, the chants and shouts of his teammates met him with even more fervour than before. Cregan Stark stepped onto the ice, the rush of the competition pulling him forward.

It's game time.

wooo!! LONGEST, TRYING ONESHOT EVER! @justdazzling this one's for you, my love! Thank you such a wonderful idea, and I couldn't get it out of my head, so here it is! I hope you love it, caught the little references, the banter, the love and just them as a whole :)

[ taglist: @pearldaisy , @thatkindofgurl , @theadharablack , @cherryheairt , @beingalive1 , @oxymakestheworldgoround , @tigolebittiez , @cosmosnkaz , @lv7867 , @piper570 , @danikasthings , @acsc8 , @justdazzling ] -> thank you for your endless support everyone!

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muzzlemouths · 2 days ago

Note

Since you're working on a new fic/au, this might be a good time to ask: how do you start creating a new story? Do you start with an outline? Do you open a word doc and go in guns ablaze? What's the process on that I'm very curious

I sat on this ask for a couple days because I've been struggling with figuring out how to answer it, since the actual answer is that I don't have a process. Not one that sticks, anyway.

For DMD, I had a clear, concise idea in mind for how it would start, how it would end, and a few scenes that needed sorted in between. But the "outline" looks something like that one post:

Most of my fics that end in "?" for the final chapter look like this.

In terms of my oneshots and drabbles, I very rarely have any sort of outline in mind. I'll get an idea for a scene that I want to see, and I'll just start typing until it's finished. Anything over 3k words normally has me writing down some notes for direction, at least.

As for DFtR, due to the nature of that story (what with having three alternate routes) it was pretty much required that I write a full outline, otherwise I would undoubtedly lose track of some details.

My newest au, Easy As Pie (formerly Stardust Hotel) also has a full outline, though it is far more simplified than the one for DFtR, and acts more like guidelines for me to follow with only the necessary/important information established, which still leaves me with room for changes where/when necessary.

For example, here's an excerpt from that outline which has the main bullet point (What that scene is "About") and then a brief description of the room underneath that I can use as a descriptor, while writing everything else around it. That is, the dated appearance of the room is the main focus, and everything else that occurs in this scene will be written as a secondary focus.

Occasionally I'll also include brief phrases/conversation just to ensure that said lines make it into the fic, and so I don't lose track of what is meant to be happening in that moment. Those bits normally look pretty silly (at least to me). Here's one of them!

And that's my process! It's kind of a mess, but it works for me, so that's all that matters haha

#thank you for asking! Sorry i took so long to get back to you lol #this was a lot of fun to answer :3

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badbatchsprincess · 2 days ago

Text

Heated ~ pt.26 - The Final Chapter

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3 ~ Pt.4 ~ Pt.5 ~ Pt.6 ~ Pt.7 ~ Pt.8 ~ Pt.9 ~ Pt.10 ~Pt.11 ~ Pt.12 ~ Pt.13 ~ Pt.14 ~ Pt.15 ~ Pt.16 ~ Pt.17 ~ Pt.18 ~ Pt.19 ~ Pt.20 ~ Pt.21 ~ Pt.22 ~ Pt.23 ~ Pt.24 ~ Pt.25

Masterlist

Summary: This is an ABO Bad batch!Poly x Omega Reader smut with a plot. This takes place as an AU before order 66. Y/N previously served under the 501st before being transferred to Special Forces 99. This is her adventure with these rowdy Alphas in a quickly changing universe.

THIS IS AN ABO AU ABOUT THE BAD BATCH (NO CANON OMEGA!) Due to the unfortunate situation of her name being Omega… Omega the child from the canon series is not going to be apart of this fanfic/porn with a plot. I feel obligated to put this warning in because it makes my skin crawl thinking anyone could make that mistake.

Warnings: Smuttttt, happy endings, hope-core

Announcement: We made it y'all.... here's the final epilogue/final chapter. I'm so serious about you guys submitting writing prompts and little messages. Times are tough out here and I need more clone content hehe. So please don't be a stranger, I see all of your messages and I'll be getting around to writing them now that I've finished this hunk of a fic haha.

Enjoy babes and may the force by with you.

16k words below....

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The fire popped and crackled as Crosshair added another log to the roaring hearth.

With the rain pattering outside, and the delicious warmth radiating from the fireplace, you stretched like a loth cat in the pile of exotic furs Hunter and Crosshair had collected over the months here on Zyphor. You twisted and mewled feeling every tight muscle relax as you settled back down in your comfort spot.

With the help of your alphas, you had created a permanent nest in the center of your oversized domicile.

Located just a few minutes outside of the little developing clone village, deep in the uncharted parts of the forest planet, Tech had designed a perfect home for you and your pack.

With one central space for all of your to share with a kitchen, living room, bathroom, and of course your favorite thing on the planet, the huge nest full of luxurious furs absolutely covered in all of your combined scents. The main communal space then broke off into six smaller domiciles, each your own private quarters.

There was even one for Echo when he’d visit from Teth.

Tech made sure everything was planned accordingly in this little settlement.

Wrecker and Hunter had worked tirelessly collecting materials and utilizing the construction droids to build your home relatively quickly. You used collected rainwater to plumb the home, and wood from the forest to keep you warm.

It was lovely.

Growing up on Coruscant, you were thrilled to experience real rain. When the synthetic weather centers had scheduled a rainstorm it was always your favorite, but now you had it everyday. It was calming and peaceful here.

You were over the moons. The boys explained how the rain was also a comfort to them. Thats all they knew in their short youth. To have it now daily pattering against your shelter, you all felt very at home.

Tech even invented a hydro electric water mill to power the settlement. The intricate grid system with back up generators kept you all illuminated and warm.

You still couldn’t believe this was your every day life… Zyphor was a dream.

You even requested a garden and a green house which the boys set up instantly. Of course Tech made sure the internal growing system was immaculate. Creating an extremely viable growing zone for some of the warmer dryer species of fruits.

You had never gardened before and it was entertaining to watch your seedlings mature. Your job on the homestead was to study gardening and farming practices.

You were put in charge of the produce production for your little pack. So far you were killing it. With your background in the sciences, you found it to be quite enjoyable and easy to grasp and pretty methodical.

Snapping back to the present, you studied Crosshair as he used the iron poker to adjust a few logs before carefully placing the new ones on top to feed the flame. You smiled seeing how his lean figure was beginning to fill out more as he was able to eat more and destress. Though, his body seemed to become even more muscular from all the hard manual labor they had been doing.

He looked healthy.

It made your heart flutter.

Crosshair had been assigned to learning how to hunt and track game with Hunter. Their whole lives, they had only been trained to track targets for their missions, but luckily they were able to apply that knowledge and experience to their growing hunting skills.

They were an unstoppable team. With Hunter’s abilities and Crosshair’s sharpshooting, you knew you’d never go hungry.

And that being said, it was discovered that Wrecker is a remarkable cook. Once he stepped into the kitchen the first night to cook up the kill, you all learned he had a natural talent for taste and preparations.

He has managed to keep you all satisfied and filled with yummy dishes night after night. Though he groans about lacking his usual snacks, he does enjoy the fruit you had gathered and even slimmed down a bit too. He looked more fit than you had ever seen, and he even carried a certain glow about him now realizing his passions for food.

Wrecker also was in charge of the shaak ranch. His gentle demeanor was very appealing to the imported animals. He built the corral where the animals resided munching on grass during the day. You even made Wrecker his own sunhat which he wears proudly as he shepherds the animals during the day.

He looked just like a ranch hand… a sexy ranch hand.

That thought stirred something devious and lusty inside you. You sighed happily, allowing your thoughts to drift to Hunter. He too had filled out a bit from de-stressing. Hunter had taken to the three orbak you also keep with the shaak. Those monstrous creatures seemed to like him too as he utilized them for his hunting trips with Crosshair. Their muscular hooves legs seemed to carry the two alphas effortlessly for hours on end.

You giggled when remembering when they were trying to figure out how to ride them the first few times. Crosshair had complained the whole time, nearly getting bucked off while Hunter took to it like a natural. You joked that he could talk to them to Crosshair’s chagrin.

Crosshair has since ceased his complaining and muted it down to an annoyed grunt every time the animal acts on its own accord.

You smiled at the memories.

The you had to stifle your laughter remembering when Rex and the boys brought in a shipment of tip-yip chicks. They were bestowed upon you and put in your charge to take care of and raise for eggs and meat. On one particularly rainy day, one had escaped your coop, and you were forced to chase it down following it all the way to the barn where you had tripped and landed face first in a pile of thick mud with a loud splat.

You could still hear your boys howling with laughter as you sat up wiping your eyes trying to see where that damn bird went.

…Tip Yip had never tasted so good…

You bit your tongue forcing down the giggle.

Then that leaves Tech.

The man had never been so thrilled to be involved in a project in his entire life. Planning an entire village with the details all the way down to the wiring of each domicile had the man busy and mentally stimulated. You loved watching the way the gears were turning in his very brilliant head. Even preparing for weather disasters and all the variables none of you had considered.

It was fascinating to watch.

On the top of his list of completed projects was your packs home, the shaak barn, the orbak stables, your high tech green house and garden, the hydro-electric mill, and then finally the small medical clinic and research lab.

With the help of the boys on Teth, they managed to set up an entire fully operational research facility with everything you could possibly need. Everything was down to your specific requests and that is where you spent most of your time these days…

“I can feel you thinking.” Crosshair closed the metal grate separating you from the blazing fire.

You rolled over to face him, “You know what I’m thinking about.” You burrowed into the plush fur beneath you.

“Research?” He raised an exasperated brow.

“Mhmm.” You smiled sweetly.

“Darling, I appreciate what you’re doing more than you could ever know.” He knelt down next to you running his fingers over your jaw, “But you don’t need to stress. It will happen when it happens. You need to relax and spend more time here with us.” He gestured to the lovely home.

“And on your cock?” You smirked as he laid down beside you, naked as you.

He hummed, “Yes, and other things.” He chuckled into your neck where he kissed his mark on your skin. You shuttered.

“Rex is supposed to be coming today with the last ingredient I need for the serum. I can’t stop thinking about it and running variables in my head.” You sighed nuzzling his neck.

“Then I’m not doing my job correctly.” He pushed you onto your back and used his warm hards to spread your already messy thighs.

He purred seeing the mess he had already made of you. You absolutely dripped with his cum and were still full with it, dripping languidly. He hummed and gathered up the cum that had spilled from you and pushed it back inside of you making you cry out at the sudden intrusion.

You puffy cunt fluttered at the familiar feeling of his long fingers soothing your insides. You clenched around him making him groan as he slowly and deliberately massaged that special spot inside you that made you whine pathetically and sprawl out for him even more, begging him to play with you.

Crosshair was always pleased by this reaction. You could feel the approval through the bond.

He loved making an absolute mess of you especially with the help of his twin. The three of you had something special and you quickly realized they shared a desire to experiment with your body in ways you didn’t even consider.

“The rain is picking up.” He said softly leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

You turned your head to face the window noticing the droplets coming down harder, “Hunter’s going to be soggy by the time he gets back.”

Crosshair let out a breathy laugh, “I’m sure he’s on his way back. I want you one more time before I’m forced to share you.”

You rolled your eyes playfully knowing he has absolutely no problem sharing, but you got the picture.

You ran your fingers over his tight muscular stomach as he settled down between your legs on his haunches. You felt the heat of his hard cock resting against your leaking opening and felt your mouth water. He leaned forwards, letting out a happy huff before cradling your head and shoulder blades lovingly.

He wanted it soft and sweet… your body warmed.

With a little playful nip on your part, it made him smirk before leaning forwards and breaching your walls with his stiffened cock.

You both let out a content sigh being locked together again. The sensation of becoming one was comforting.

You took solace being under your mates. You knew you were safest in their arms and that feeling never got old.

Crosshair even let a whimper slip out as he slid against your walls feeling your warmth and tightness. The man couldn’t get enough. He’d happy die here just like this, if he got to feel you one last time.

You fiercely clung to him as he made love to you. He pushed inside rhythmically rubbing your scalp and shoulders lovingly with his work hardened fingers. You grabbed at him as the pleasure spiked and you were beginning to feel yourself twitch around him.

You couldn’t help but grasp at his growing hair. With a firm hand, you fisted his silky silver strands at his nape making him hum as you tugged deliciously. He shuddered as you mewled into his skin.

Lost in the essence of Crosshair, you didn’t even hear the front door open.

“So while I’m getting soaked out in the rain, you two are staying nice and comfortable inside?” Hunter’s playful tone made both you and Crosshair stop your love making to look up at the man standing in the door way.

He flopped down a dead nexu the size of tech on the kitchen counter with a wet splat. Hunter shook out his hair like a corellian hound letting the water fly everywhere.

“Just taking care of our girl, vod.” Crosshair continued his lazy thrusts looking up at his older batch-mate, “If you dry off you’re welcome to join us.” His drawl was lust riddled. So much for not wanting to share, you smirked.

Hunter didn’t have to be told twice. He set down firepuncher on the riffle rack by the front door and yanked off his sloshy boots tossing them into the mud room.

You giggled watching him trot and disappear into his quarters leaving a wet sock print trail across the floor.

Crosshair shook his head playfully before resuming your previous activities. His pace picked up and his hand in your hair tugged you back, forcing your chin up where he met your lips with a searing passionate kiss. His hips made a sharp thrust making you cry out into him. His body moved smoothly against yours wringing out the pleasure he so desperately wanted from you, and you melted into his movements, rolling against him in sync meeting him thrust for thrust.

“Fuck, little one.” He broke the kiss to breathe and nip at your ear.

“Cross!” You whined feeling yourself starting to tire with your impending orgasm.

“I can feel you’re close,” He used a hand to help you roll your hips into him, “C’mon omega, cum for me.”

You knew he was using your designation against you. He knew you’d die before wanting to let him down. Thankfully for your alpha, you were right on the crest and his words pushed you right over the edge.

You moaned out a broken cry as you writhed against the furs.

Crosshair smirked before leaning forwards to burry his nose in your neck before spilling inside you with a reserved grunt.

The sniper stilled, keeping himself buried inside your warmth as he felt you start to come down from the aftershocks with little adorable twitches. He sweetly pushed your hair from your face and pressed little kisses to your nose and forehead.

Just then Hunter returned, naked as the day he was decanted.

Even the damp hair made him look fresh out of the tube. You peered over Crosshair to watch him approach, where he knelt down onto the furs and crawled over to the two of you.

Immediately you sensed something different through the bond. His lust was stronger than usual and you could tell by the darkened look in his eyes that he was still coming down from the high of the hunt… you could almost taste his adrenaline on your tongue.

You felt your body begin to react on instinct as you bared your neck and his mark to him. Crosshair sat up to pull out of you making a devious sound as he watched the flood of cum pour out of you. You squirmed at the sudden emptiness wishing for him to have stayed.

You let out a pitiful whine as Hunter practically shoved Crosshair out of the his way before seizing your ankle in his grip and dragged you towards him until you were settled against his lap.

“Don’t break her.” Crosshair recovered and flopped over into the pile of cushions to watch.

You squealed liking the way Hunter man handled you, and reminded you of his superior strength. You continued to bare your neck and arch your back showing him your belly as an offering of submission.

Hunter scented your arousal making him give you a mischievous smirk.

You blushed realizing how obvious the change in your scent was. You sighed, you couldn’t hide anything from the tracker. He had all your scents memorized down to the fine details.

Crosshair flopped over to the side pulling a blanket over his lap and settled into the cushions. They had proven very necessary during the group sessions, and you were more than happy to have such a massive and plush nest to call your own. You looked over at the sniper and bit your lip, you still loved knowing he was always watching you. It made your heart flutter as he gave you a heated smile.

Hunter gained your attention again by pushing both of your knees up to your chest roughly and putting your ruined cum-covered pussy on full display for him. You could feel Crosshair oozing out of you and down the crack of your ass as Hunter pushed your legs further up.

You chewed your bottom lip as he looked at you. He loved you like this. Already lost to the lust, soft and pliant. You were always more bendable after your first round anyways.

Hunter liked to put you in some unique positions now that you all had more time to explore one another. But this time it seemed that he wanted you close.

He wanted the passion that Crosshair had charged the air with.

In an instant, he had you up and bent over at the waist with your face pushed into the furs.

He pressed your spine downwards putting you in a perfect presenting position making you cry out.

You heard him making an approving grunt as he looked at your perfect trembling form before wasting no more time before he surged forwards and breached your opening before sliding all the way flush until he was nudged up against your cervix.

You cried out pushing against him, but he pinned you down firmly.

His thrusts were near animalistic as he rutted into you. Your hands flailed against his thighs trying to find purchase but he didn’t let up. His hands firmly grabbed onto your hips pulling you back onto him like you were nothing more than a toy.

You squealed as he continued to push against your cervix like he was trying to knot you through sheer will.

As you tried to sit up, he shoved you back down again and barked out an order to stay still. You whimpered and willed yourself to relax into his punishing pace as he took you.

Briefly, you heard Crosshair’s dark chuckle from over on the couch as you were forced into submission.

Fuck, you loved when Hunter finally let go of his responsible self and let the inner wolf emerge. Whatever the Kaminoans enhanced him with definitely had a darker wild side. Tech speculated this after the incident on Crait. But now that you’ve had more quality time with the ex-sargent, you knew he had quite the hunter/prey kink.

You saw the way his eyes had dilated when Crosshair had told him about the chase through the woods on Naboo. The way you could feel his insides stirring and his lust for the chase trickle through the bond.

You knew exactly what to do in order to get Hunter to fuck you like an animal, and thats exactly what you wanted.

The arm pinning your shoulders to the floor suddenly lifted and a rough hand was snapped around the back of your neck where he yanked you up and forced you into a deep arch as he brought your ear closer to his mouth.

Your arms scrambled at the air trying to find something to support you on, but Hunter held you in his grasp like a limp tooka.

“M’perfect little’mega.” His words were slurred as he lowly rumbled into your ear. You felt his fangs brush up against your ear and you moaned at the sensation, “Could mate you all over again and breed this little cunt.”

You gasped at his words and brought your arms up and behind you to grapple at his body to support yourself.

“Pump you full till your round with my pups.” He growled making you absolutely vibrate. It didn’t take long for your inner omega to come to life and purr against your alpha.

He hummed in delight, “You like that ‘mega?” He slithered a hand down between your legs to find your clit and start rubbing little circles that made you clench down on him.

You’ve never heard any of them mention pups before. Well aside from Crosshair but that was because of external circumstances.

This was different, you could feel Hunter’s want to breed you through the bond. It was as strong as your connection, and you knew in this moment thats what his inner alpha craved. The man wanted to be a father, he wanted you in a way that comforted your omega and you absolutely melted into him.

You nodded vigorously making him smile wolfishly as he resume his lethal pounding.

You moaned and cried out taking everything Hunter was giving you, before he released your neck and you fell forwards onto your hands as he then lifted and bent one of his legs for support to reach even deeper inside of you. You clenched down around him twitching and fighting against the overstimulation as he kept playing with your clit.

You weakly lifted your head and looked at Crosshair with bleary eyes which he returned with a heady smirk.

Hunter leaned down whispering, “Your next heat, you’re mine… I’m going to fuck a pup into you, little one, just like this.” He thrusted roughly making you yelp.

You felt yourself nearing your orgasm, and suddenly your forearms gave out before you collapsed into the furs and screamed as you came. Your eyes rolling into the back of your head as pure ecstasy overtook your entire body.

That sensation must have traveled through the bond because Hunter came with a loud grunt after you, filling your pussy to the absolute brim. With a small push of his hips, your combined cum oozed out the sides around his cock making him push small little thrusts inside you despite both of your overstimulation.

When Hunter dismounted you, you collapsed into a boneless heap with a deflated huff.

Crosshair tossed a clean towel at his brother and watched as Hunter nudged you over onto your back where he cleaned you up diligently before throwing the used towel somewhere to the side.

“I’m going to start the fresher.” Hunter sounded half delirious as he stood up on wobbly feet before setting his course for the bathroom.

You only had a moment alone before Crosshair was at your side to give you some much needed cuddles.

You could almost feel his mischievous little smile as you blinked your eyes open to look up at him.

“What?” You asked closing your eyes again.

You felt his hand slide over the top of your rib before lightly cupping the side of your breast before squeezing lightly.

“Nothing.”

You heard his smile making you crack an eye open at him suspiciously.

He rolled his eyes playfully, “I felt you through the bond, ad’ika… You want Hunter to breed you.”

You squirmed, “Don’t say it like that.”

He chuckled, “Okay fine, you want Hunter to knock you up?”

You gasped and feigned offense, “Crosshair…”

“He’s starting to give me ideas.” His fingers pinched your nipple making you arch your back before traveling south where he lightly tickled over your belly.

“Stop triggering my instincts.” You fussed and pouted.

His fingers went back to your tit to play with your nipple again, “You like when I trigger your instincts.” He smiled wolfishly.

You huffed letting him continue his onslaught onto your sensitive tits as he bent down to kiss and suck on them making you mewl and press even further into his attentions.

“Personally, I want a girl, mesh’la.” He released your poor nipple and looked up at you with a mischievous glint.

You felt your heart accelerate and your breathing shallow. Crosshair wanted a girl? You had to fight back the giddy grin as you looked up at him. Your mind instantly went to thinking about a little platinum blonde, fiery girl running around and clinging to your mate calling him daddy.

You literally felt your pussy flutter wanting to make that daydream a reality right this minute.

Then your thoughts went to a sweet and pouty brunette with Hunter’s soft eyes. Her dark wavy hair cascading down her shoulders, and that signature cross-arm scowl her father always sports.

You had to take a deep breath and shake your head forcing the inner omega out of your field of thoughts.

His mischievous smile widened realizing that your instincts had been in fact triggered.

You scowled at him and smacked his shoulder making him laugh.

“I told you to stop it!” You smirked pushing him back as you sat up.

“I can’t help it ad’ika.” He purred, “Your eyes get all dilated and cute.”

You huffed.

Hunter returned crawling back into the nest before he bent down to pluck you up into his arms before carrying you into the steaming wash room.

“He plays, but his words are true.” Hunter said lowly as he opened the fresher door sitting you down gently on the warm stone floor.

“You heard all that?” You smirked.

He just tapped his ears making you smile and roll your eyes.

“Is it true?” He asked with hopeful raised brows, “You want pups?”

He couldn’t help the hand that drifted to your belly as you both stood under the stream of hot water.

Your entire body flushed at the touch.

“I-I… u-uhh yeah… yeah I think I do.” You struggled to speak and meet his soft grey brown eyes, “I like that idea.”

Hunter’s face lit up. He smiled brining you into a searing kiss. You moaned leaning into him letting your hands wanter all over his broad shoulders and back.

Hunter broke the kiss to press his forehead against yours before placing a gentle forehead kiss on your skin.

He grabbed the sponge and some soap before lathering you up and beginning his little routine of cleaning you off. You turned obediently leaning against him as he brought the sponge over your front being careful of your tender neck before dragging it down over your love bitten breasts. You bit your tongue as he brushed over your sensitive nipples.

“Of course we’d have to talk to the others. But I’m confident Crosshair is on board.” Hunter drawled nuzzling your neck affectionately.

“How would that even work?” You giggled as he practically tickled your sides with the sponge and he cleaned, “Three of you would have to abstain for probably month in order to line up my fertility cycle.” You mused thinking about all the medical windows you’d have to ensure pregnancy.

“Alright, little miss doctor brain. I can hear you overthinking” Hunter chuckled, “We’ll talk about it and see how everyone feels.”

You turned to face your mate, “Are you planning on knocking me up first, since you’re the oldest?” You poked fun at him.

“Oh, I’m definitely pulling rank in this situation.” He smirked dragging the sponge over your back and ass.

You hummed a laugh letting him finish up his scrubbing routine before turning to wash himself with the clean scented soap.

You sat under the stream of water enjoying the warmth as you watched Hunter finish up his hygiene routine.

Then you both heard a noise enter the bathroom.

“Hurry up!” Crosshair barked turning on the faucet to throw water on his face, “I’m covered in dried cum, and you two are going to use up all the hot water.”

You giggled turning to the ex-sergeant. Hunter just shrugged with a smile before rinsing off the soap and shutting off the fresher.

You opened the door to find Crosshair standing here with his arms crossed as you toweled off with Hunter.

“Finally.” He drawled before stepping inside and resuming the water flow.

“Rex is coming today with more supplies,” You reminded, “I need to go to the lab to finish a few more things before they arrive.”

“Hmm I don’t know mesh’la I think you’re technically still under Crosshair’s charge for the next few hours and it seems to be most imperative that you remain here with us. Right Cross?” Hunter shook out his hair making you squeal as droplets hit your skin.

“Affirmative.” Crosshair replied from inside the fresher.

You crossed your arms, “Guys, I need to finish this if you even want to consider having pups, you know.”

That got them.

Silence.

Hunter sighed and relented, “Fine, but at midnight, you’re mine mesh’la.”

“Yes sir.” You mock saluted before skipping out of the fresher to find your clothes.

Fishing around inside your drawers, you pull out a sweater one of the omegas in the village had knitted for you along with a pair of modified uniform pants.

You pulled the articles of clothing on and made sure to towel dry your hair the best you could knowing Tech would fuss about you catching a cold in the rain.

Then came the holster that Hunter made you swear you’d never leave the house without and the pistol you still had from the GAR days.

Just as you were about to re-enter the living room, Gonky waddled in hooting and hollering about incoming air vessels.

“Friends?” Hunter asked grabbing his blaster.

Gonky honked.

“It’s Rex!” You were elated.

You jogged to the mud room to yank on your boots along with your rain coat and the matching hat from the hook on the wall.

“Do you think Echo is with him?” You wondered out loud.

Hunter meandered into the kitchen tugging at the fresh nexu to start cleaning the meat, “I’m sure mesh’la, Echo wouldn’t miss coming to say hi.”

Your excitement peaked and you practically kicked the door open to skip down the steps to trudge through the mud to get to the base camp.

On your way down the hill, you passed by the shaak barn where Wrecker and Tech were busy assembling the new fence.

“Hi Wrek! Hi Tech!” You hollered and gave them a wave before continuing on down towards the village.

“Darling, aren’t you supposed to be inside with Cross?” Tech squinted through his goggles watching you cross the property.

“Rex is here!” You replied with a smile, “He has the last ingredient for the serum!”

“Okay, but just stay out of the rain you’ll catch a c-“ Tech began but you cut him off.

“I know! I know!” You yelled out as you got further away, “I promise to stay dry!”

You knew Tech wanted to discuss this topic further, blah, blah, blah, you didn’t care. You were excited for so many reasons. For one, you haven’t seen them in weeks, and second, you were receiving the shipment of a recovered serum made by Nala Se. The substance was a vile of microscopic DNA repairing robots who could deliver the serum you created to the clones in mass numbers. This would solve everything. You couldn’t be more elated.

Before you knew it, you heard four sets of footsteps trailing behind you and you knew it was your alphas being diligent with guarding you. You giggled knowing Tech was probably already fussing about ways to keep you out of the rain as he approached.

Once you reached the growing village, you scampered down the steps reaching the center of town where the new space ports were being set up.

With a few other clones, you all gathered waiting to see the ships descend from the cloudy skies.

You felt the presence of your alphas surround you, as Tech wrapped you in a second rain cloak that had a massive hood. You smiled up at him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He was satisfied with this level of rain protection and returned to his post at your side.

“They’re incoming now.” Hunter must have heard the engines.

Before you knew it, two cargo ships pushed through the clouds and descended gracefully down towards the town.

Bolts emerged from his domicile along with his little mate who was a few months pregnant. They waved to you and you waved back as he clearly had almost as much excitement as you.

When the first ship touched down, the loading deck lowered down and more clones excited the vessel. You searched every one of them until you spotted a familiar face.

“Rex!” You sprinted forwards dodging the strangers before you threw yourself at your old captain. He smiled before embracing you.

“Good to see you kid.” He mumbled.,

You squeezed him extra hard, “Where have you been! It’s been weeks!”

A gruff voice replied, “Looking for this.”

You looked up from Rex’s chest before turning to find Wolfee standing there holding a glowing blue vile in his fingers.

“Commander!” You said warmly, allowing him to pull you into a hug too.

You heard a disapproving growl behind you knowing it was one of your boys.

Wolfee chuckled, “They still treating you alright?”

You smiled, “Yes, Wolffe.”

“Good.” He smiled warmly.

“I’m never going to get used to seeing that.” Bolts said walking up and clapping his old commander on the back.

Soon, Stunner and Grim emerged surrounding you like rowdy pups.

“Seeing what?” Grim asked playfully messing with you.

“Commander smiling.” Bolts joked.

Wolffe scowled making Rex chuckle.

“Much better.” Bolts nodded.

“Commander.” Hunter walked up greeting the commander.

“Sergent.” Wolffe politely nodded.

You shook your head, even after everything you all went through these knuckle heads were still butting heads.

“Crosshair.” He nodded to the sniper.

“Wolffe.” Crosshair gave him a nod which only meant one thing from the sniper… a sign of respect.

A nearly impossible exclusive club to be in by the way.

Wolffe handed him the blue vile you’ve been waiting months for.

“I hear tiny!” Echo’s voice came from the ship.

Your pack mate walked down the loading dock making a beeline for you.

“You’re not allowed to leave us anymore.” You whined jumping up to hug him.

“Well someone has to retrieve rare medical specimens around here.” He joked.

You shook your head and shoved him lightly.

He then looked at you more seriously, “I have another surprise for you.”

You quirked a brow, “What?”

You were suddenly taken off your feet in a flurry of pink fluff.

You landed with a thud and looked up to see a squealing familiar face.

“Layla?!”

“Y/N!” She screamed and the two of you rolled around on the floor much to Tech’s chagrin.

“Is that the medic from Coruscant?” Crosshair asked with a scrutinizing look.

Echo nodded.

“Where have you been?” She squeaked and demanded.

“It’s a long story.” You shook your head, “How the hell did you find Rex?”

“Echo found me.” She said, “He still had Fives’ secured line. He pulled me out of Coruscant a week ago.”

You sat up bringing her up with you.

“Hi boys.” She waved at your mates.

They grunted in response.

Then she narrowed her eyes before looking down at you. She straddled you and began sniffing around your face clearly looking for something.

“Layla…” Echo sighed.

He leaned forwards practically nuzzling your neck before he reached a hand inside your sweater collar and yanked the fabric back to see not one but two bite scars. She gasped, “You’re mated?!”

You nodded, “Mhmm.”

She screamed again making Hunter flinch.

“Oh my gods! How long? When? Where?” The she smirked, “Was it good?”

You could have died on the spot. You suddenly felt like you were back in 79’s being grilled about your sex life in front of Hunter in that damn booth.

“Layla!” You whimpered wanting to disappear into the floor with so many of your friends staring back at you.

“It was wasn’t it?” She raised a brow waggling them playfully.

“I like her.” Grim said.

Echo clapped him on the back, “Join the club.”

“Okay, as heart warming as this all is, I want to get my mate out of the cold.” Hunter said bending down to help you up to your feet.

“Well there’s one more thing.” Layla said suddenly getting serious, “We weren’t sure what to do and knew you’d probably be the best chance.”

Your interest was peaked, “What is it?”

Everyone turned to face the ship and down came a few clones pushing what looked like a metal slab towards you.

When you approached it you quickly realized it was a slab of carbonite.

“What?” You whispered dragging your fingers over the cold material.

Upon closer inspection to realized there was a human frozen inside, and not any human, a clone.

“Who is this?” You asked looking up.

Rex then stepped forwards and lowered his eyes, “It’s Kix.”

Your eyes filled with alarm as you looked back at the slab.

Layla continued, “I’m just a nurse, I wasn’t sure what would be the best method for something like this.”

You nodded, “Smart. I can treat him up at the lab. Can someone take him there? I need to do this as soon as possible.”

The two clones continued to push the carbonite slab through the town being guided by Bolts.

“How long are you all staying?” You asked urgently.

“We have supplies to off load which will take a few days, and were working on a new lead with an imperial clone prison were hoping to attack but that intel could take months to verify.” Rex replied.

You nodded, “Good. I’m hoping to have the serum done in the next few days and I want you all here to receive the dose.”

Rex nodded, “I look forward to it.

You gave him a curt smile, “Let me look after Kix and then I’ll let you all know about the cure.”

“Sounds like a plan. Take care of him, kid.”

“You know I will.” You looked to your friend, “I’ll need your help.”

“Of course.” Layla smiled following your lead.

Crosshair handed you the vile before trailing after you towards the lab outside of town.

“Alright I’ll need everyone waiting to help me get him into the med pod once he’s thawed out.” You instructed.

Crosshair, Layla, Echo, Tech, and Rex stood around you and the slab of carbonite while the others waited just outside the medical cabin.

You knelt down to start punching in the right code to start the thawing process and stood back up to watch as the shipping slab started to glow an eerie red.

You waited with baited breath as Layla reached over for your hand as you watched the carbonite slowly melt away.

Slowly, Kix’s hand started to flex before the rest of him was revealed. Once the process was complete Layla let go of you to lean forward and help the boys raise their brother up out of the slab and onto the med pod bed.

“H-Hello?” Kix’s worried voice quivered into the air, “I-I can’t see.”

“It’s carbonite sickness. Don’t worry Kix, you’ll be okay in a bit.” You replied softly.

“Tiny?” He asked trying to locate the source of your voice.

You leaned forwards and pressed your wrist to his nose to let him scent you, “Right here, Kix.”

He crinkled his nose, “You smell funny.”

“I’ll explain that when you get your site back. Echo’s here and Rex.” You responded softly.

“And Layla.” She purred.

That got Kix’s attention.

You giggled stepping away from the med pod.

Rex pulled you aside letting the others wrap him in knitted blankets and wool sweaters.

“He seems fine, but do you think the chip was activated?” Rex’s expression was slightly hesitant.

“I think he was already frozen when the order was given. But I’ll remove it as soon as he’s stable for good measure.” You nodded in Kix’s direction.

Rex was satisfied with this.

“How long do you think he’ll take to see again?” The captain asked looking a little frazzled.

You placed a hand on is forearm in a calming gesture, “Just a couple hours. Maybe even faster with your special genetics. He’ll be fine Rex.”

Rex nodded. You couldn’t imagine what the poor captain was going through. His last man.

Well technically no, with Echo being the last domino, but regardless Kix was one of the oldest friend to everyone. You were happy you at least had one member from your first pack left and standing.

Kix was getting comfortable as Layla combed through his hair with her nails and Echo tucked him in with the blankets. Echo knew a thing or two about being on ice. He was handling all of this like a champ which made you proud of your friend. You felt tears welling up in your eyes with all the sudden emotion.

“When will the serum be ready?” Rex asked gaining your attention again.

You quickly wiped away the wetness on your cheek, “Uhh. Any day now. That vile is the last ingredient. I’ll have you all on a natural biological clock before you have to ship out.”

Rex sighed looking at the bundle of 501st curling up with one another comforting Kix.

You looked at your captain, “You’re not leaving?” You felt a spark of hope.

“I-I thought my vision was clear… Save as many of our brother as I can. Then I might consider settling down.”

“You’re human too Rex. And you all are much more than soldiers. I understand wanting to help the others, but you’ve been in this fight longer than most of them. Can’t you let Wolffe and Howzer handle the day to day operations for a little and you can slow down just a bit?” You gestured to Kix, “He’s going to need his captain. He’s waking up in an entirely different world. It’s going to take some adjusting, familiar faces are necessary.” You were trying to give him an out. It was an out he seemed to need.

Processing your words he nodded, “I guess there’s no harm in delaying my departure…”

You squealed and tackled him in the biggest hug you could muster. He grunted before welcoming you into him.

“I promise you’ll like it here.” You said into his armor, “Wrecker can cook up a mean shaak roast, ooo! You can stay with us! I have to find you a sweater!”

He chuckled, “No offense, but I know what you and your mates get up to. I’d rather get some sleep without hearing all that.”

You slapped him playfully.

He smiled.

“I’m still finding you a sweater.” You poked his arm through a gap in the plastoid before returning back to your mates.

Tech turned to look down at you along with his twin.

“I’m going to stay and work on this,” You held up the vile, “I’ll be back at the house later, okay?”

“Dinner.” Crosshair pointed his toothpick at you, “or Hunter will worry.”

“I know…” You nodded before turning to your private research lab.

“Do you need assistance?” Tech asked following behind you closely.

“I’m alright, love. But thank you.” You smiled up at him. He had been paramount in your research helping you bounce ideas off of him when you felt most overwhelmed. You wouldn’t have been able to get this far so quickly without him and his massive brain.

“Im proud of you, cyare.” He cupped your jaw affectionately, “I find myself more and more in love with you every day. You’re brilliant, darling.”

You flustered looking down at his green henley covered chest, “…alpha…”

He closed the distance and tilted your chin up, forcing you to look up at his deep inquisitive eyes, “I should have realized sooner.” He was referring to when you first joined their squad during the war, “I didn’t know you had such a beautiful mind locked away up here.” He tapped your skull, “The GAR could have never appreciated it in its entirely, but we can.”

Your heart stuttered as his words melted your insides.

“I’m incredibly thankful you decided to enlist. I never told you that. While we may not have had a choice in our servitude, you joining us made everyday a little better. Enjoyable even.” Tech rubbed your skin with his thumb.

“Tech…” You sighed leaning into his touch, “I’m so happy I was placed with you. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

His mouth quirked up into a half smile.

“Go on.” He released you to let you tinker in your lab, “Save our entire population from accelerated aging.” He waved around playfully.

He turned to leave, “If it works out, you could probably sell it on the black market for an exorbitant price and get a second greenhouse.”

That made you laugh.

“Don’t forget dinner!” He called after you leaving you alone.

You nodded and turned to roll up your sweater sleeves and get to work.

You took a deep breath, you could do this.

Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out the blue vile and walked over to the workstation to sit down and pul out your data pad that you plugged into the dna synthesizer machine.

One of the slots popped open and you slipped the blue vile inside before closing the compartment and hearing the machine whirl to life.

You have the internal droid instructions to take a small sample to test and opened up your notes to start documenting your findings.

This process might take a while…

You settled in and began documenting your data.

Well it’s certainly past dinner.

Hunter sighed grabbing a big bowl of nexu stew and a spoon, “Hey Wreck can you grab a few blankets and another bowl of soup?”

“Yeah!” He hopped up following the instructions and together they bundled up before taking it outside to the medical lodge.

“Is she pulling an all-nighter again?” Wrecker asked.

“Nope.” Hunter decided.

Wrecker quirked a brow before shaking the expression off and pushing open the lodge door.

Inside, Layla and Echo lay in the medical pod bed, sleeping awkwardly as Kix snuggled between them. Echo was practically bent over the side of the bed while Layla lay upside down with her feet hanging off the side of the cot.

Hunter gestured for Wrecker to cover them in blankets to keep them all warm and he set down the bowl of soup for Kix to eat when he wakes up.

Hunter continued onwards pushing open the glass door to find you slumped over your desk with your face in your data pad dead asleep.

He shook his head with a smile before folding a blanket and wrapping it around your shoulders. He knew you were uncomfortable in that position but he couldn’t bring himself to wake you.

He set the bowl on the desk before flopping down on the lounger on the wall across the lab.

Just as he settled down as well, the giant machine on your desk hissed and beeped causing you to gasp and sit up suddenly.

You blinked rapidly forcing yourself awake unaware of your visitor.

You stood up letting the blanket fall off of you as you leaned over to read the report.

With a bit of eye rubbing and forced concentration, you suddenly shrieked with joy causing the entire lodge to wake up.

“I did it!” You jumped up and down, “I did it!”

Hunter cleared his throat making you spin around to face him a bit shocked at his ability to sneak around still.

“Hunter!” You put. Hand over your heart, “You scared me.”

“You missed dinner.” He smiled sweetly.

“I-oh… sorry.” You looked at the clock seeing it was getting close to midnight.

“It’s alright mesh’la.” He tilted his chin to the beeping machine, “Have you got what you’re looking for?”

Your excitement was evident as you nodded and grabbed your data pad to read the results. It was a success. The machine was able to replicate exactly the recipe Nala Se had created. You were vibrating with excitement.

“I did it, alpha.” You heard the machine putz and pop out a vile of clear liquid. You picked it up inspecting it, “This will cure the rapid aging.”

Hunter looked at you with hope and about five other amazed emotiones.

You chewed your lip as he stood up towering over you.

You set the vile down on the desk knowing exactly what that look meant…

It was his night after all…

“I’ll volunteer.” Rex said pragmatically. Ever the leader.

“Me too.” Wolffe nodded.

“Are you certain you wish to be the first?” Tech examined the vials of synthesized serum.

“We aren’t sure what the side effects may be.” You looked back over Nala Se’s notes. There was nothing about side effects listed in her notes so you were a bit hesitant. You weren’t sure if this was going to be painful for them.

Firs thing this morning, they had nearly busted down the lodge door after hearing the news of your success.

“It doesn’t matter.” Rex crossed his arms, “You need to test it on one of us, and we’re here, offering.”

You nodded.

“I just want you to be prepared for the fact that none of us know how this is going to react. It might hurt.” You explained.

“We’ve been through worse.” Wolffe said gruffly.

You sighed, “Okay.”

Just then, the door to the lodge opened and in came Howzer. He looked sharp. Clean shaven, hair washed and damp from the rain, along with his all black civvies.

You had to calm your heart a bit. His presence still made you a little nervous despite your silent understanding. You hadn’t said a word to him since Teth. It was awkward to say the least.

“You need another lab rat?” He asked rolling up his sleeves.

“Captain.” You nodded formally.

He just raised a brow before settling in next to Wolffe. He clearly wasn’t prepared for your formality.

“We don’t know the side effects.” You disclosed.

“Fine with me.” He nodded.

You finally relented with a sigh before turning to grab the vials and loaded one into your injector gun.

“Who’s first?” You asked.

Rex stepped forwards rolling up the sweater he borrowed from Tech.

You sterilized the skin on his arm before pressing the gun forwards and pulling the trigger injecting him with the serum. The man didn’t even flinch or make a sound as the vial emptied.

You pressed a tissue to the wound before emptying out the cartridge before loading in the second.

Wolffe then stepped forwards pulling off his vambrace to reveal the sleeve of his blacks. He yanked the fabric back giving you access to his caramel skin. You cleaned the sight before repeating the action.

Once you got to Howzer, he tugged up the sleeve silently understanding the process.

As you neared him, you could feel his burning gaze upon you.

It was alarming to remember how intense he was. He reminded you of Wolffe in a lot of ways. Younger, but still, the energy was so similar. Howzer was an intense man too. One of the reasons why you had gravitated towards Howzer all those moons ago. He was a good alpha, and a fantastic lover. The memory of his touch made you heat slightly. You prayed your cheeks didn’t redden being this close to him. You noticed the familiar tattoos on his forearm that made you shiver.

You remembered mouthing at that skin in the throws of your heats. The taste of his skin suddenly recollected to the front of your mind.

It was like he knew exactly what you were thinking of and you noticed the sly smirk he tried to disguise on his lip.

You forced yourself to take a breath willing yourself to calm.

His scent was far too familiar, too intimate…

Pressing the gun to his forearm, you swallowed thickly ignoring his piercing gaze. You remained professional until you handed him the tissue to clean the bead of blood.

You heard him inhale deeply trying to catch a glimpse of your scent, but he scrunched his nose clearly not liking the smell. It had been altered after all.

And you knew how much he liked you smelling like him…

You dared to look up at him, and his distaste quickly morphed into a much softer gaze.

“Y/N…” He whispered, but you ignored him.

You turned back to the table to set down the injector and pull off your gloves.

“Okay, everyone stay here so I can observe your vitals. I have to check on Kix.” You said giving them a polite smile before leaving them.

You let out the breath you had been holding before walking over to Kix’s medical pod. He was still sleeping. Poor guy. You were certain his exhaustion was from the carbonite sickness, his body had been through quite the ordeal.

You all still had no idea how he even ended up in that situation but that was for later.

Right now, you needed to scan his vitals again.

Layla heard you enter the room and raised her head from the cot. She must have been folded over the side of the mattress with her arms folded as a pillow for some time now.

“Hey.” She croaked waking up.

“Hey.” You smiled grabbing the scanner on the side table, “Has he woken at all?”

She huffed, “Once last night. But then he conked out again.”

You approached the other side off the bed where you brushed back his hair to tilt his head to the side to place the scanner on his neck.

When the scanner beeped, you looked at the readings, “He’s in perfect health. I’m hoping he wakes up soon.”

Layla hummed before standing to stretch, “I need to wash up and change. Where can I do that?”

“We have a shower here in the clinic, but you’re welcome to go back to our place. Just let one of the boys know. They get a little territorial over the bathroom.”

Layla huffed a laugh before nodding to grab her duffle.

She was walking to the in-clinic bathroom when she suddenly called out for you.

“What?” You shuffled into the main exam room to find Layla scanning Rex.

“I think they’re feeling a bit drowsy.” Layla said helping Rex lay down.

You checked the data pad as Wolffe and Howzer both slumped over. Their readings were all ok.

Layla was right they were just drowsy.

You ordered a few medical droids to keep a constant reading on them as they got comfortable. Layla quickly helped you throw some blankets on them before leaving them all to their little cat nap.

“I got Kix, you get cleaned up and comfortable.” You ordered to Layla who nodded and continued on to the ensuite bathroom.

You took a brief moment to run your fingers carefully over Howzer’s forehead feeling the warmth of his skin. You shuddered as your fingers felt the firmness of his cheekbones and defined jaw. His eyes remained peacefully closed as he slept, and you helped tilt his head back onto the pillow to keep him comfortable.

Your heart ached with fondness for the alpha, at one point you had believed he was the one for you. You couldn’t help but be greedy and lean down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. With a shudder, you stood back up and pushed his hair from his face.

The clone looked peaceful, no scowl, no stress, and no worries. He looked almost boyish in this state.

You couldn’t help the saddened smile that crept up on your lip. It pained you to know that he was probably still hurt.

You whispered, “I’m sorry Howz… I didn’t think all of this would have gone the way it has. The force works in mysterious ways.” You continued to play with his hair, “You took such good care of me and your men. I’ll never forget my time with you on Ryloth. You’re a good alpha Howz, and a good man.”

You sighed and pulled the hand woven blanket up to his chin, tucking him in and making sure he stays warm.

Then you turned to return back to your work.

~~~

A few hours later, the boys had all come baring gifts of comfort. They fed you, gave you enough time to quickly change and shower while they watched Kix, before you returned to curl up on the lounger Wrecker dragged inside. Tech held you closely, giving you little pets on your head as you rested against his warm beating chest.

Layla also had curled up on another cot the boys dragged in next to Echo as everyone got some much needed rest.

Tech was the only one still awake as he kept dutiful watch from the lounger letting you, his little omega, get some much needed sleep.

On the other side of the room, he heard Kix shift a little in his sleep. Tech pushed back his goggles, before perking up to observe the reg.

Then in an instantaneous flash, Kix sat up ram rod straight, and screaming, “Dooku! It was Dooku!”

Everyone in the room jolted awake violently reaching for their weapons.

Kix screamed and groaned as the lights seemed to agitate him. He tried standing up, but knocked over a med droid, and a few items on the table.

You shot up trying to rush over to him before he destroyed the whole lab.

“Ahh!” He cried out, “Get away!” He punched the droid sending the unit flying into the wall.

“Kix!” You tried to get his attention but he seemed to be manic. He wasn’t hearing you.

“Y/N, be careful.” Tech stood to try and put himself between you and the agitated soldier.

“Kix!” Layla and Echo chimed in raising their hands trying to calm him.

“Brother!” Echo stepped forwards taking the brunt of his hits and forced him into a tight embrace, “Vod!”

“I-I swear I just wanted to help!” Kix whimpered, “I wanted to help Fives!”

Echo suddenly shuddered, “Kix, you’re okay. You’re safe. Look around.”

Kix heaved trying to ground himself. He burrowed into Echo’s front, scenting his familiar brother.

The medic was finally starting to calm down as he blinked rapidly trying to adjust to the lights. He then bristled as a soft hand scratched against his back making him turn to look at Layla who was standing next to him a little moon eyed and startled.

You checked the time seeing it was three past midnight.

The two got him settled back in before you checked his vitals one last time to confirm he was indeed okay.

“Where am I?” He asked looking a bit dazed.

Echo pulled one of the colorful blankets over Kix’s legs.

“You’re on Zyphor. We have a settlement here with just us, and a few clones.” You said.

“W-what happened?” He asked pulling the blanket up.

“It’s been over a year, Kix,” Echo began, “We just found you in carbonite, we were hoping you might be able to fill us in on a few things.”

Kix looked to you, noticing how close Tech was to you and he squinted his eyes suspiciously.

He then looked to his brother, “I-I tried to warn everyone. I tried to tell Skywalker. I confirmed Five’s theory and ran tests on the inhibitor chips inside Tup’s head. But, when I told the long necks… I was suddenly moved to a different location. I remember seeing Dooku, and then it was nothing…” He shook his head trying to put the pieces together.

“I don’t want to distress you any further Kix, but I feel like you should know.” Echo cleaner his throat trying to fight off his own emotions, “But Fives, was killed. Palpatine told him everything, it sent him into a frenzy and then he was killed by the guard.”

Kix’s face morphed into deep sadness, “Fives is dead?”

Echo’s expression fell and he nodded solemnly.

“I didn’t warn Skywalker.” Kix shook his head, “I should have gone straight to him instead of the long necks.”

“They were in on it.” You sighed, “They helped to create the entire war for Palpatine.”

Kix leaned back into the bed looking up at the ceiling, “W-where is everyone else?”

“The Jedi were executed.” Echo filled him in, “And then the entire 501st company went down in a ship crash when they turned on Rex and Soka.”

“Everyone?” Kix was in disbelief.

Echo nodded.

“Kriff.” Kix rubbed at his eyes.

You all remained there in slightly uncomfortable silence as Kix processed everything.

Tech guided you back into his side and you nuzzled into him.

Kix groaned, “And that! Someone explain that!” He gestured to you and Tech, “I thought you were being tailed by Commander Wolffe or the 99 Sergeant! You were practically fucking in the hangar bay last I saw you!”

Tech growled possessively.

“Oh man.” Echo chuckled, “You’ve missed a lot.”

“I wasn’t quick enough to the draw.” Wolffe emerged into the doorway looking tussled from sleep. His famous scowl was only emphasized by his sleepiness and his ruffled hair.

“Neither was I.” Howzer stepped up next to Wolffe rubbing his eyes. You felt your stomach flip. Maker above. Having all these alphas in this space was making you antsy.

Tech was nearly vibrating trying to remain civil as he held a protective grasp on you.

“Captain Howzer?” Kix was disbelief, “I haven’t seen you since you were in my tent on Ryloth.”

Howzer chuckled, “Yeah it’s been a while vod. How ya feeling?”

“Like shit.” Kix laughed.

Layla held up a water cup forcing him to drink something. He looked at her with mesmerized eyes. She smiled sweetly as offered him some more which he gladly gulped down.

Kix swallowed and turned back to you, “Last time I saw you, you had just gone into heat because of Sergeant grumps.” He joked.

You sighed, “Kix, there’s something else-“

“What’s going on in here?” Hunter and Crosshair walked past Wolffe and Howzer giving the both of them a terse look.

Ugh the damn bond. Probably felt Tech fuming through it.

“Tiny, was just explaining to everyone why she’s mated to Tech.” Echo drawled.

Hunter and Crosshair both raised a brow.

“Well, not just myself. But also my batch mates.” Tech replied for clarification.

Crosshair saddled up to your other side sandwiching you between himself and his twin.

You smiled awkwardly at Kix as you watched him go slack jaw.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“H-how is that even possible?” He was trying to recall all his knowledge on the lupine genders and behavior patterns he was forced to study as a cadet.

Wolffe nodded in their direction, “That little omega is a rare variant of our sub-species who can have an unlimited amount of alpha partners. Empire found out, captured her, and my entire garrison, then they imprisoned us in a breeding facility with the sniper, and tried to clone her to create a few army with all of us and our offspring. Rex and the boys came to our rescue. Blew up the base and brought us here.”

Wolffe’s casual tone had Kix absolutely flabbergasted. It was like he was recounting a mission report with his level headedness.

“Who tried to breed you?” Kix was properly enraged.

“The Empire.” You squeaked feeling the heat rising in your face.

“The Empire…” He repeated like that was common knowledge.

“The Chancellor over threw the senate and the republic and created the galactic empire.” Echo explained.

“What. The. Fuck.” Kix shook his head. You were sure he had a million questions swirling around in his head.

“But that doesn’t explain that you’re mated?” He pointed at you again.

“Well that happened during a drug induced haze that made me bite Crosshair which in turn he bit me back.” You replied, “Then the others happened shortly after that.”

“You were in a relationship this whole time?” He was aghast, “I thought you were with Howzer?”

Hunter and Crosshair snarled.

“Well, not really…” You tried to placate your mates, “That didn’t happen until we got stranded on Mimban after the GAR sent us to Kasssyyykk. We crash-landed and all went into heat and rut… obviously you can put together the pieces there. I hadn’t seen Howzer in over eight standard months at that point.”

Howzer nodded in the doorway.

You looked to Echo, “Why am I constantly having to explain my sexual history in front of my former commanding officer?”

Echo laughed as Hunter quirked his head in the direction of the ARC Trooper.

Tech chimed in, “I’d like to point out that I have upheld my banishment of speaking on this topic.”

You have his hand a squeeze and a smile.

“I think you kids need to let those two catch up.” Rex’s groggy voice came from behind Wolffe, “They haven’t seen each other in ages and I’m sure theres some details not everyone needs to hear for the millionth time.”

Rex always had a knack for settling people straight. At this point he was pro, with having to wrangle Fives and Echo all those years.

“Of course Captain.” Layla winked at Rex before sauntering out of the treatment room. Rex watched her leave with a smirk.

Wolffe and Howzer turned to return to their med pods, while your mates stuck around.

“You alright?” Hunter checked in on you.

You nodded, “I can take care of him. You guys get your sleep. Take Echo with you. He needs his real bed.”

Echo grunted in agreement.

“Comm us if you need anything.” Crosshair pressed a kiss to your head before leaving with his brothers.

Hunter and Tech also gave you a kiss before leaving you alone with your longest friend.

You sighed and crossed your arms looking at Kix like he was a cadet all wrapped up in a pink and green blanket.

He patted the bed next to him which you happily trotted over and plopped down next to him.

“So…” He looked down at you, “Did you end up fucking Wolffe?”

“No!” Wolffe yelled from the other room.

You giggled and shoved Kix playfully, “No.”

“So like how does that work?” He snickered, “Do they like run a train on you or something?”

“Oh my gods Kix!” You screeched, you were certain the other men in the room next door heard him, “You’re worse than Echo.”

He giggled, “C’mon I’ve been frozen for over a year, give a guy something good.”

“No they don’t run a train on me.” You were horrified at that verbiage.

“No judgement tiny,” He raise his brows, “The 501st ran trains all the time. Sometimes with more than one omega.”

Now it was your turn to gawk.

“Stop telling her these things!” Rex chastised from the other room.

“Oh please, like you didn’t join!” Kix teased. You heard nothing from the other room, “And I’m sure the Captain and Commander had their own fun too.” Kix continued, “I heard a lot of things about Wolffe’s men back in the day…” He whispered and you shook your head.

You thought you were going to pass out. Absolutely no way, the cheshire style grin that appeared on your face. How absolutely insane. Echo never told you about that…

“Do I want to ask about Echo’s involvement?” You whispered.

“No!” Rex admonished.

You looked at Kix who just replied with a telling smirk.

“Ewugh, bleh.” You shook your head.

“Anyways. Not the first time a clone had shared a woman.” He nudged you, “You look good though. You’re not as scrawny as you used to be. All healthy and glowing and shit.”

“Echo trained me in hand to hand. Then working here on the farm I think has bulked me up a little.” You replied sheepishly.

“Looks good on you, Tiny.”

“Thanks.”

“Okay, so how do you manage all of them?

“We have a schedule.”

He smirked, “Do those schedules ever overlap?”

You bit your lip and nodded. You had a flashback to the day before with Hunter and Crosshair which made you shiver slightly.

He nodded slyly. It made you giggle. It was nice talking to him again. It was like talking with Echo. There was such a natural flow and you had alway felt comfortable with Kix. With him being a medic, he had that special personality about him that made you instantly feel safe in his care.

“… so they do run trains…”

“Kix!” You grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it.

He howled with laughter and let you smack him.

“Hey if you ever want another alpha you know where to look!” Wolffe hollered from the other room.

“We’re pros at trains according to Kix!” Howzer chimed in.

“Shut up!” You yelled back.

You heard Rex groan and shift in his blankets clearly grossed out by this entire conversation.

You sat and chatted with Kix for the remainder of the night filling him in on every life detail and you too listened to him as he wanted all the details that lead up to this very moment. You couldn’t blame him, you’d want the play by play too if you were in his position.

When morning finally comes, you make to excuse yourself to let Kix rest, and when you enter the main treatment room, Howzer gently tugs you side with a gentle hold on your wrist. You flinch slightly realizing he had gripped over Wrecker’s mark making you shudder.

“Sorry.” He withdrew realizing what he had done. Clearly he wasn’t used to that.

“It’s alright.” You rubbed at the mark, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to talk.” Howzer said trying to soften his expression as much as possible, “I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to get you alone without your mates around.”

You huffed, “Howzer-“

“I’m not trying to upset you.” He interrupted.

You relented and sat down on the cot next to him.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m not angry with you.” He began, “Confused? Yes. Shocked? Absolutely…. And jealous… I didn’t know how to react. When I saw you on Teth I thought it was going to be like old times. Like you were still mine. I wondered how the hell you ended up on Teth. I didn’t even know you got reassigned to the 99’s.”

Your body tensed at his words of ownership. It didn’t feel right now that you knew for a fact you belonged to your mates.

“I didn’t know. And I’m sorry for lashing out. You don’t deserve that. You’re a very special woman, and frankly I should have proposed a bond to you back on Ryloth but I was afraid something might happen to me and you’d bear the consequences.”

Your heart raced rapidly hearing those words. A bond with Howzer? You had to take a breath, you hadn’t realized how attached he had been. He had come to you on those particularly difficult nights for comfort, but you always thought you were supposed to remain friends after you both agreed on the terms of your relationship. Well, more like friends with benefits. He was in command of an entire garrison and yourself. You were his working medic while under his command. You knew nothing more could have come of it, but he was a very impressive alpha. A strong one too. You couldn’t blame yourself for having those feelings about the captain.

“I didn’t want anything to happen to you.” He looked at you endearingly, “I’m glad you’re happy. I’m glad they make you happy. While I don’t entirely understand it, I guess it’s not for me to understand. I just want to make sure you’re good.”

He was a damn good alpha. You sighed and looked back at him, “Thank you, Howzer. I didn’t want to upset you either, it was making me so anxious. I never wanted to hurt you and I felt like I had.”

“Not you darling. I was also a little put off by Crosshair after the events with the empire. The empire had interrogated me as well before he came to Ryloth. They wanted to know everything about you. I only told them limited details but I was worried you were in danger. Then the sniper showed up and tore apart the base on his mission to retrieve you.”

“He was heavily under the programming of the inhibitor chips, he also thought I was dead. He was suffering a lot.”

“He thought you were dead?”

“It’s a long story.” You shuddered recounting the emptiness from the severed bond.

“Well that would make sense.” Howzer huffed out a short laugh, “I’d tear apart the base too.”

You smiled taking his hand in yours.

“Are we okay?” You asked sincerely, “I can’t stand thinking you hate me.”

“I could never hate you, little dove.” However ran his thumb over your hand, “But if you ever need a fifth…”

You rolled your eyes playfully before standing up.

“I’ll let you know.” You joked making him smile.

~~~

When the morning light bleed through the curtains and warmed your nose, you blinked your eyes open and stretched like a loth cat, only to be obstructed. You mewled feeling Tech’s heavy arm pinning you to his front. You tried to flip around to face him but he shifted, pushing you nearly under him as he sighed in his sleep.

Deciding there was no point in trying to fight the heavy alpha. You snuggled into him, enjoying his warmth as he nearly suffocated you in his scent.

You were in heaven. The fur pelts of your nest kept you toasty warm as the last of the fire crackled out. You scooted further back pressing as close as possible to your tall alpha. He groaned waking up lightly. His hand brushed up against your front, cupping your breast. You giggled sleepily as he squeezed and massaged you.

“You’re up early, darling.” His raspy voice made you squirm.

“I have a big day, alpha.” You replied rolling over to face him.

His eyes were still closed as he lightly dragged his fingers over your back leisurely. You pressed kisses to his chest and he rumbled happily. You rubbed your cheeks against his skin leaving your scent on him making you purr.

“Oh yeah? What is on your schedule today?” He asked reaching for his goggles.

You kissed further down making him breathe a little faster.

“Well…” Your tone was teasing, “I was thinking…” You dragged your nail down his abs to his muscular thigh you saw his hardened cock twitch at the scrape of your nail, “I was thinking, I would blow my alpha, and then eat some breakfast, and then go to the lab to check in on the serum. Then maybe cure the entire clone population of accelerated aging.” You shrugged playfully.

Tech’s big eyes blinked behind his goggles as he watched you descent to settle between his legs.

“Sound good alpha?” You asked teasing your nails around the base of his cock making him break out in goosebumps.

“Seems like a reasonable plan.” He nodded trying to thrust his hips into your grasp.

You took mercy on him and grasped his hardened cock in your hand and gave him a few slow stokes making him swallow.

While, Tech and Cross are usually pretty dominant with you, in the mornings Tech was particularly softer with you. He usually let you do whatever you wanted which made your insides melt.

You continued to stroke him watching the way he was beginning to pant the longer you stimulated him.

You bit your lip as you swiped the pre come dripping from his flushed tip. Tech sucked in air at the feeling of your hand, but his noises escalated when you leaned down to lick the tip and he bit back a groan.

You smiled mischievously before sticking out your tongue and giving him a long lick from base to tip. Tech trusted upwards making you smile before fulling engulfing him in your mouth. He huffed at the intense warmth surrounding him.

“Darling.” He bit out as his hand instinctually flew to your hair, “Fuck.”

You gently bobbed your head taking him even deeper making Tech squirm on the fur pelts. You applied some more suction as you pushed yourself even deeper. His salty taste made your toes curl. His hand gently massaged your scalp as he softly guided you up and down his length at the speed he needed.

You moaned around his length making him shudder. Kriff he looked so damn good. His entire body flexed and showed off his lean muscles.

Tech’s hips stuttered slightly and you doubled down, massaging his length with your tongue. He let a tiny whimper slip before he twitched and spilled his cum into your throat. You swallowed diligently as he sagged down into the nest trying to catch his breath.

“Mega…” He slurred trying to recover from the orgasm. You smiled and sat back up on your heels before giving his abs one last kiss before standing.

“Where are you going?” He asked pushing his hair back.

“I told you.” You giggled, “I’m going to make some breakfast then head to the clinic.”

“I fear that I would be a bad alpha if I allowed you to leave without repaying the favor.” He said sitting up and coving his lap with a blanket.

You smiled grabbing your robe and pulling it on, “It’s alright alpha, I’m too distracted anyways.”

He relented and relaxed back into the fur.

You skipped into the bathroom to get cleaned up. Turning on the shower water, you stepped inside to scrub down.

~~~

Wrecker and the others were awake and in the kitchen by the time you left the bathroom.

The smell of eggs and meat made your mouth water. You saddled up next to Hunter, sitting in his lap as Wrecker placed your plate in front of you. You thanked him and grabbed your spork to dig in.

Hunter wrapped you in his strong arms and nuzzled his mark on your neck no doubt leaving his scent behind.

Tech finally rose up out of the nest to dress declaring this plans for fence repair today.

Hunter nipped you playfully making you squeal.

By the time you finished your meal, the boys had cleaned up and were starting to get ready for their day. Hunter deposited you on the floor where Crosshair and him fussed about getting you dressed for the weather. The can’t stand the idea of you getting a cold.

They tied your rain hat over your head and pulled your jacket on before giving you a little pat on the ass before following you outside.

They detoured off towards the stables while you continued on the little winding path towards the half buried domicile in the hill. You could see some lights on inside which let you know at least someone was awake this morning.

You were hoping that Kix was back to normal…

The sound of the front door swooshing open momentarily held your attention before you looked up to see one of the most disturbing sights you have ever seen in your short lifespan…

Layla was straddling Kix, while Echo’s pale naked body nestled up behind Layla and all three of them had not an article of clothing in sight.

All three heads of Kix, Layla, and Echo whipped around to look at you as both alpha’s froze mid thrust while Layla balked in the direction in which you stood. Kix’s face was covered in a sheen of sweat and his cheeks were flushed while Layla was trying her best to cover up with the sheets and Echo joust stood there un-phased if not a little annoyed to be interrupted.

You closed your eyes let out a horrified scream and turned on your heel to run out of the lab.

“Wait!” Layla screamed after you but it was no use you kept screaming as you ran back towards the stables.

It wasn’t long before Crosshair and Hunter ran up to you, blasters in hand, looking worried.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head and flung yourself into Hunter’s chest, “I just walked in on Layla, Kix… and Echo.”

There was a moment of silence before you heard Crosshair’s chuckle. Images of Echo’s pale ass flashed into your mind’s eye. You cringed.

“I think you woke up the whole settlement.” Hunter shimmied you both around to see curious heads popping out of their homes.

You giggled, “Whoops.”

Crosshair shrugged, “Didn’t know Echo still had it in him.”

You slapped his arm, “Cross… I’ve been traumatized and you’re joking about it?”

“At least Kix is fine.” He pointed out.

That was true at least.

You wish you could erase the past five minutes from your memory however.

Hunter chuckled, “You’re fine mesh’la. Let’s give them twenty minutes then go back.”

The three of you walked towards the stables where you could at least play with the barn tookas while you waited for them to finish.

What a fucking morning…

~~~

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

The three of them stood anxiously by your lab door like kicked puppies.

You refused to turn around. You couldn’t even look without picturing that.

“It never happened.” You waved them off, “I’m just glad you’re back to normal, Kix.”

“B-But-“ He started but Echo just gestured for him to return back to the other room.

“Trust me. This is the better option.” The Arc trooper tried to console his friend.

You were too busy with your work anyways.

Howzer, Rex and Wolffe all came back normal once they dealt with their quick bit of drowsiness. When they woke up, they felt absolutely fine and have no shown any signs of side effects. When you checked their DNA once again, you saw the alterations and how they were now practically identical to natural born human males. Their accelerated aging had been totally reversed…

The comparison however was remarkable, the ways the Kaminoan’s altered their genetic structures to prevent disease, and recover from injury quicker, amongst other things. It was a scientific marvel. You could stare at their genomes for hours. You wondered how much of that genetic data you could replicate for yourself and others.

You heard another beep go off letting you know the synthesizer was finished with another batch of vials, while your assistant medical droids packaged them up neatly in crates getting them ready for use.

You picked up a single vile looking at it and thinking of what Hunter said earlier. You sighed. It would be nice to just be normal and start a family. You know your alphas would make amazing fathers. Protective, loving, smart, and brave. All the qualities you could want. As you held the blue vile, you decided this one was for Hunter and you slipped it into your pocket.

“Need any help?” Kix returned standing in your doorway awkwardly.

You looked up and raised a brow.

“I feel bad…” he admitted.

You softened your gaze, “It’s alright Kix, if you want to help me start organizing for distribution I’d appreciate it.”

He waddled inside plopping down next to the droids trying to understand the science behind all of this.

“So… how much did you see?” He asked sheepishly.

You grumbled, “Too much.”

“Sorry.” He chewed his lip.

You both locked eyes and stared feeling the awkwardness before you both burst out into hysterical laughter.

“You were literally frozen in carbonite and the first thing you do coming out is have a threesome?!” You were howling with laughter feeling the tears running down your eyes.

“Listen… Listen!” He waves his hands around, “I woke up from the worst situation I’ve ever been in and my dream omega is right there! Give a guy some credit!”

He wiped away tears under his eyes.

“Kix!” You screamed flopping onto your back.

“Ahh!” He tried to calm down, “it wasn’t the first time…”

You looked at him again with owlish eyes, “What?”

“Well after Sarge wiped the floor with you after Crait, we had to bring Layla back to Coruscant… and well… we did it in the med-bay stock room.” He clamped his mouth shut anticipating your reaction.

“No fucking way.” Your brows raised and your jaw dropped, “ She didn’t tell me that!”

“She didn’t tell you what?” Hunter sauntered into the room crossing his arms and raising a playful brow.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t hear.” You rolled your eyes playfully.

“What’s the fun in that?” He leaned against the entry door.

“Hi Sarge.” Kix nodded in Hunter’s direction.

“Long time no see.” Hunter smirked.

Kix cleared his throat, “I’m feeling a strange urge to yell at you for mating my best friend and little sister, but I’m going to settle for telling you that you better keep those boys in line and take good care of her alright?”

You giggled at Kix’s sudden protectiveness.

Hunter just smiled, “Don’t have to worry about us doc, she’s the one keeping us all in line.”

You rolled your eyes.

Hunter then looked to you, “Wanna grab some chow? Wrek made some shaak roast.”

Your mouth instantly watered, “I want to, but I have all these…” You looked at the cases of synthesized cure.

Kix stood up waving his arms around, “Don’t worry about that. You’ve done enough creating it, Layla and I can distribute it. We're not strangers to injector guns.”

That was true.

“Okay.” You smiled, “Give me three more.”

Kix handed you three more which you stashed in your pocket along with the other vile with your sergeant’s name on it.

You grabbed your injector gun and let Hunter walk you back to the house.

“So, the cure is ready for distribution?” Hunter held the door open for you and let you step inside.

You kicked off your boots with an excited grin, “Yup.”

“I feel like there’s something else…” He raised a brow,”

“Well…” You suddenly got a little shy, “I was thinking… after you’re all cured, I thought we might talk about maybe… trying for a pup?”

Hunter stared at you, trying to catch his breath. You were positive his heart was racing as quickly as yours was. The look of hope and excitement on his face made your insides tingle.

“A-are you sure?” He reached out grabbing your shoulders.

You chewed your lips and stared up into his grey eyes, “Well, now that I have other medics here… I wasn’t exactly looking forwards to making Tech take a crash course in labor an delivery…”

“He would have learned everything you would have needed.” Hunter smiled.

“I know…” You giggled, “But, I wanted to ask you… I can tell you’ve been thinking about it more recently. And I think you’d make an amazing father.”

“I-“ Hunter was at a loss for words, “Really?” His eyes lit up.

“Yeah, Hunter, I do.” You smiled, “I want to ask the other three too when the time is right… not entirely sure how Cross is going to feel about it.”

Hunter grumbled, “Probably wont be all that thrilled.”

“Well he’ll be outnumbered.” You winked at him.

Hunter smiled leaned forwards to press a kiss to your forehead.

“What are you two talking about?” Wrecker stepped out of the kitchen wearing his apron and oven mitts.

“Oh… nothing…” Your sing-song voice made him raise a brow suspiciously.

~ Nine months later ~

“Kix get the FUCK away from my mate!” Crosshair screamed over Wrecker’s shoulder as the giant held him firmly in place despite his wriggling.

“It’s okay, Tiny, just breathe!” Echo looked like he was going to faint from the side of the room. What a sport.

“Fuuuucccck!” You screamed baring down leaning into the urge to push.

“That’s it.” Kix and Layla encouraged from the foot of the bed, “Keep pushing!”

Hunter held your hand while Tech kept a cooling cloth on your forehead as you panted and screamed with every contraction.

“Where are the drugs?!” You demanded.

The medical droid quickly started distributing the pain medications.

“You’re almost there.” Layla said pushing your legs a little further up, “You got this babe.”

You turned to look at Hunter who looked just as woozy as Echo, “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

He cringed with guilt. The poor alpha just gave you his best remorseful eyes as he lovingly held your trembling hand.

Another painful contraction hit and you knew it was go time.

“Move!” You threw everyone off of you.

“What is she doing?!” Echo was distraught watching you roll onto your side, and get back up on your hands and knees in a kneeling position.

“Get her back on her back!” He was about to lose it.

“Relax Echo, it’s a natural response to the birthing instincts.” Tech explained helping hunter to rub your back, “Gravity helps the pup slide out easier.” Tech was clearly fascinated with the entire process. As the clones themselves weren’t born naturally, he had done hours of endless research to prepare for this moment and all the moments after, “She’s just doing what her body is telling her to do.”

Echo covered his mouth anxiously barely able to watch as you bared down gritting your teeth together and let out a primal growl.

“Layla.” You panted. She was at your side instantly, “I can’t do it.” You wavered. The baby should have been here by now, you were certain, “I-I can’t…”

“You can.” She knelt down gettin glower so you could make eye contact. She looked to all of the alphas and gave them a stern look that let them know immediately to back the fuck off.

Hunter and the others retreated giving you space. Including Kix, who was still monitoring vitals from across the room.

“Look at me.” Layla growled.

You looked at her with a dazed expression. You were exhausted. The labor had been going on all night and you barely had a moment to rest in between painful contractions. You just wanted this over and done with.

“I’m tired.” You whimpered.

“I know.” Her tone was stern, “But you and Hunter have wanted this pup for so long… Look at him.”

You looked up seeing his guilty and worried expression before turning back to your friend.

“You’re going to deliver this fucking pup and your alphas are going to take care of you two.” She pointed to Hunter, “Don’t let your alpha down.” You whimpered at that.

Suddenly you were filled with the primal need to please your alpha. The instincts were beginning to override the pain and exhaustion.

Layla nodded her head seeing the change and look of determination in your eyes, “So… we’ll do it together…” You looked at her confused for a second before he stood up, grabbing a loose sheet from the neighboring bed before climbing into yours. He knotted one end and then the other before handing it to you, “Think you can lay on your back for me?”

You nodded before lazily rolling back onto your back. You didn’t necessarily feel like being in this position, but you were trusting Layla.

Luckily the drugs were starting to kick in and you were able to focus on whatever the hell she was cooking up.

You took one end of the knotted sheet and held on as she sat facing you mirroring your straddled position.

“Ready?” She asked.

You nodded.

When she began to pull on the sheet you mimicked her, pulling as hard as you could.

Fuck… you felt something.

She pulled again and you grunted feeling your abdominals begin to contract as you bared down.

“It’s working.” Kix said stepping forwards.

“One more time.” Layla said, “I can see the pup’s head.”

The excitement in the room was palpable. Even Crosshair had calmed down while the others watched in horrified fascination.

You pulled on the sheet once more and felt something like pressure.

“The pup’s head is out. You just have the shoulders, Y/N. C’mon atta girl.” Layla was excited.

You growled again pulling on the sheet before there was more pressure than a rush… Then you were suddenly… empty….

Layla dropped the sheet to catch the pup while Kix tended to you.

Hunter watched with bated breath as anticipatory silence over took the room.

Layla rubbed the pup’s chest slightly before a piercing cry broke the quiet. You audibly sighed in relief as the pup cried out to the world.

“Atta girl.” Echo rushed to your side while Layla cleaned your new born pup.

Hunter remained fixed on the spot unsure of what he was even seeing. It seemed like he was in shock that he was now a father… The tiny little pup was flailing around and Hunter was zeroed in on its little heart beat. Even the scent was a perfect mixture of the two of you.

Layla returned back to you to place the babe on your chest, “It’s a girl.”

“A girl?” You were in disbelief. You clutched the pup. She felt so small you couldn’t believe it.

You snuggled your baby, rubbing your scent into her skin as he cried.

“Hunter.”

Everyone cleared a path for the ex-sergeant to near. He hesitated for just a moment before forcing his legs to carry himself over to you.

He knelt down at your side pressing a kiss to your forehead. You could smell the worry on him still, and the vibration of awe through the bond.

“Our daughter.” You smiled tiredly up at him.

He looked down at you lovingly, absolutely blown away that you had just created this life inside you. He reached out his finger and watched with amazement when she wrapped her little hand around his with a death grip.

He gasped feeling her strength. You smiled watching him scent her.

Suddenly everything was perfect and right in the world, and the twelve hours of labour suddenly didn’t feel so bad watching Hunter hesitantly pick up the little bundle of pup into his big burly arms as he cradled your daughter so perfectly. She was so safe in his protective arms. You could feel the bond forming within your mate already the longer he gazed upon her.

“Awh!” Wrecker wiped a tear away, “I want one…”

You huffed a laugh..

“Well you’re going to have to wait a while,” Tech gave you a knowing look. He was referencing the fact you had all decided to go with age order on this matter.

“Alright, keep your paws off of her… at least 6 weeks before we can clear her.” Kix reminded picking up the cup of cool water to bring to your lips.

“Awh!” Both Wrecker and Crosshair groaned.

Layla shook her head.

“Tiny!” Rex’s voice suddenly cut in as he pushed through the door along with Howzer, Wolffe, Grim, Bolts, Stunner, and pretty much every other clone you’ve come to know, “Is she okay?” Rex demanded. They all stuffed themselves into the room eager to see.

“Yes, Captain, she’s alright.” Kix responded.

Rex nodded before walking over to you where he patted you on the shoulder.

You watched as Hunter fussed over the little one while your other mates grappled for a peek. Even Crosshair seemed smitten. You could feel the icy need to protect her with his life snap into place and you knew your baby girl was in good hands.

“Made a good one, kid.” Rex praised you.

“Thanks Captain.” You chewed an ice chip.

“She’s beautiful.” Wrecked mused.

“It’s a girl?” Rex asked with wide eyes.

“Mhmm.” You smiled, “She has Hunter’s eyes.”

“Watch her have super hearing too.” Kix laughed.

“I didn’t even consider that might be passed down genetically.” You mulled.

“Well someone has an army of uncles to watch over her.” Bolts giggled watching as your daughter stretched a hand up into the sky almost grabbing for her father. Hunter instinctually brought her up to his chest and tucked her into his neck.

“He’s a natural.” You smiled.

“You both are.” Layla replied with a smile. She grabbed onto Kix’s hand as everyone seemed to have their eyes on Hunter.

Yeah you were…

You looked at your family with pure adoration. Your mates never taking their eyes off the precious cargo that Hunter Clutched protectively.

Even when they carried you back home to your nest, they never left you and the baby alone for a second. Everything was perfect.

You were happy, safe, and content.

The war was long behind you and the Empire no longer existed to you all.

You could watch your daughter grow up in peace, surrounded by those who love her.

She’d never know war, violence, and cruelty. You wished the 501st could have been here to get to live this, but you knew you all carried them within you everywhere you went. The refugees on Zyphor honored them everyday by choosing to be happy and free.

And that was all you needed.

You were happy… and free.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Taglist: @substantial-exposure

@rains-on-kamino

@minimissmoo

@z-and-the-batboys

@aynavaano

@9902sgirl

@sideofhorny

@sxftiebee

@booksandtitts-blog

@subbing-for-clones

@iamburdened

(There was someone else I was supposed to tag but I can't find your message anywhere ahhhh I'll add you as soon as I can find you)

#crosshair #star wars #tech #hunter #wrecker #echo #abo #bad batch #smut #omega #captain rex #commander wolffe #captain howzer #OC #my ocs

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gremlinmodetweeker · 2 days ago

Text

The Axe - Chapter 3 (Part 1)

Okay so I've done a lot of art recently, but as I've mentioned to some other people I want on a vacation for my anniversary so I'm back, I'm refreshed, and I was able to sit down and write the next part of The Axe. This fic is always super fun and interesting. I know medieval fantasy is always a turn off for me, so I don't expect many people to enjoy it, but I do think the world building in here is pretty impressive. Let me know what you think!

If you don't want to wait for the whole fic to be published over the next couple of days, check out my KoFi HERE

By the way, the whole fic is 24 pages size 10 Times New Roman. Full fic is about 11.3k. This is a long thing.

TW: mention of alcohol, public execution, gore description of corpse, religious figures

Wordcount: 6k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

Behind The Dew You Sing To Me

You’d never been keen on execution wakes before, but today was different. Today, you wanted to see if you could learn more about the great hooded man with that glinting, silver axe. A part of you was afraid to so much as offer to help your uncle, but another part of you was too excited to stop yourself.

“You want to come to a hanging?” your uncle stared at you in bewilderment, “a hanging? Have you lost your gourd?”

“Uncle, I know what I want,” you sighed again, “I want to come with you. You only just got out of bed, you need someone to help you there.”

“I don’t need that much help,” your uncle snorted, “I’ll be just fine. You can stay back and do some work here. Buns need to be made for Halaxwake.

“But you need rest, uncle,” you chastised him again, “you have to rest just a little bit, right? Auntie would never forgive you if you got sick all over again.”

“She wouldn’t, nor would she forgive me if I came home empty-handed!” your uncle chuckled before glancing at you with a mischievous look in his eye, “why, you’re so eager to go I might think you’re looking to meet someone there!”

Your face flushed a violent crimson as you spluttered and coughed.

Your uncle hummed, “You really do like to get yourself into all the worst situations, dear. If I didn’t know better, I might even say you were looking to see a certain shrouded man! Maybe even, dare I say it, a certain mysterious hangman?”

You shamefully turned away as your uncle laughed.

“You think you’re so slick, don’t you!” your uncle’s grin was woven into his words, “I’d bet you really thought I didn’t know any better!” he calmed his laughter momentarily to heave the last load of loaves into the wagon. He took a moment to lean against the side and cross his arms over each other, shoulders back as he stood tall in the crisp air. You glanced back to see him admiring you with his wise grey eyes, “Come with me. If you’re anything like me or your father, I wouldn’t be able to stop you, anyways.”

Your blush hid behind your wide grin as you walked over to stand beside your uncle. He hoisted the wagon up and looked at you, casting you a wry wink before pushing the wagon forth along the dusky dirt road.

Your uncle pushed the wagon along the road, his eyes straight ahead as he hummed a gentle off-pitch lullaby under his breath, one you’d heard your auntie sing to your cousins. You walked beside him, admiring the wild poppernickins as they grew in bundles of little white and pastel orange-pink blooms along the fence posts on either side of the road. Occasionally, the flowers were overtaken by winds of orange-brown twineweed that snaked up the wooden posts and curling along the fencing. It interwove onto itself, making intricate patterns formed in the ivy under wilted papery white flowers. You figured that soon the farmers would be collecting the pollen for the Hanndoal’s-Turn harvest. You smiled at the thought, memories smelling of bright fruit coated in syrups and the taste of old brew ghosting through your mind.

“You think Ernest’ll have another batch of wink ready for this harvest?” your uncle interrupted your thoughts.

You turned to look at your uncle and blinked, “Wink? Um, I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I hope so,” your uncle smiled, “I think Ernest’s wink always tastes the best, but don’t tell Leonard I said that.”

“I don’t think he can bring his head out of his ass long enough to hear you,” you snorted.

Your uncle laughed and shook his head, “Your mother said much the same, back when she was around. She never liked the Buscher clan, really.”

“Why’s that?” you asked.

Your uncle kicked a stone out from underfoot, “She thought they were all pompous pricks. Thought they knew everything there was to know about gourds and squashes and the like, but they were all the sourest things you ever did chew on.”

You laughed, “That sounds like my mother alright! She knew what she was talking about.”

Your uncle shook his head, “Oh if you think they’re sour now then you should’ve been around for the older Buscher. That old tyrant grew gourds sour enough to pinch your lips clean off. Horrible things, really.”

“And here I thought Leonard was the worst farmer in the village,” you hummed.

“Leonard’s a right gem compared to his father,” your uncle said, “his father was a right good-for-nothing. You couldn’t talk to him for longer than a vigil before he’d go off about how we were bound to be under the rule of elves if we didn’t prepare for ‘the rise up’ or whatever he called it.”

“The elves?” you rolled your eyes, “I’ll admit, I might say he was right if I didn’t know better.”

“But you do,” your uncle pointed out, “we all know the elves won’t ever try to take over the continent. They’re the best warriors you ever did see, sure, but they’re not that bright. And anyways, they ain’t as evil as he made ‘em out to be, but you already know that yourself. Elves are all just a bunch of bastards with egos big enough to blot out Brak-Hah’s-Eye. And anyways,” your uncle smirked, “they still don’t know how to make any sort of good drink. They need us for a good party.”

You laughed and nodded along. If nothing else, you supposed humans had that going for them. You weren’t called ‘The Joyful Children’ for nothing.

You walked along beside the cart as it squeaked and jostled over the stones littered across the dirt road. It seemed to whine over each and every pebble it overcame as it was pushed closer and closer to where the bodies swung in the breeze. Just the thought of the place had chills crawling up your spine. How anyone was able to endure living in that forest of corpses was beyond you. But then again, most of The Axe’s life was a mystery to you. You’d never even seen the man’s face before.

The Axe was a man hidden in a shroud darker than the one he wore upon his face. He was a strange, curious thing made up of flesh, stolen bones and misplaced teeth. He was walking death through a field of corpse flowers. He was the peace made between a dying man and his maker. He was hatred and rage and bloodshed held within a porcelain vase. All of him was drenched in criminal blood, and yet his eyes were blue as a newborn’s.

This strange man had taken a place in your life unlike any other. No man stood with you when you kneaded the bread for the next wake, but he watched over your shoulder and asked about the herbs and spices you tossed into your mixes. He walked with you when you went to church, an invisible shadow by your side at all times. These past two god watches, when you went to church, you would look down at the stone tiles and wonder if The Axe sat below, a doomed man listening to the words of something floating ever beyond his grasp. Innocent eyes trained on the glowing light coming from beyond an iron grate. You wished you could sit beside him.

Your uncle trod along beside you, blithely ignorant to any of your personal quandaries. He bullishly pushed the cart forward, ignoring its groans of protest. His stone-grey eyes were trained ahead, never wandering from their final destination.

“Uncle,” you asked quietly.

“Yes dear?” your uncle replied with a curious lilt to his tone.

“Do you think that The Axe is a bad man?”

Your uncle hummed slowly. He adjusted his grip on the wooden handles of the cart as sweat bloomed up on his rosey forehead. He took a moment to stop and wipe his hairy forearm over his face, then shook himself clear and picked up the handles again.

As he began to push the cart again, he said, “I think he comes from a cursed line.”

“But is he cursed?” you asked.

Your uncle chuffed, “Oh he’s cursed alright. Cursed by a little girl.”

You screwed your brows tightly together, “Cursed by a little girl?”

Your uncle nodded solemnly.

“Cursed by a little girl,” he confirmed, “I heard it happened when he was sixteen, right after his father went out into the woods and offed himself. I can’t remember the details, but the basic idea of the story is that an execution went south and the man’s daughter cursed The Axe. What the curse is? I don’t know, and don’t you go and listen to anyone who says they do. Nobody does,” your uncle gave an affirmative nod, “but he’s cursed for sure. He sees the witch, the apothecary and Father Kim to treat whatever it is, but I’m betting that as long as that hood’s on his face, he’s a marked man.”

You shivered at the thought.

“I’m sad to hear it,” you said quietly.

“Well, that’s life when you’re a killer-for-hire,” your uncle chuffed, “you need to be prepared for those sorts of things. And,” he paused briefly to glance at you, “if you really wanted to get close to a man like that, you’d have to be ready for those sorts of curses being turned on you.”

You glanced away from the cart to look at more of the tangleweed fencing.

“I know,” you admitted, “but… I can’t help it.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” your uncle sighed, “I know I can’t stop you. If I were a nobleman, maybe I could marry you off to some prince from another land. As it is,” your uncle shrugged, “all I can do is warn you. I’d tell you to stop, but I’m not your father, am I?”

You grimaced, “No, but you’re a better father than mine.”

“You’re speaking of my brother-in-law, you know,” your uncle huffed, “but,” he adjusted his grip, “you’re right. My sister’s husband wasn’t exactly the best sort of man. I always thought he was a bit immature, but what he did when your mom died? I still can’t fathom it.”

You nodded and admitted, “I sometimes wonder what it would’ve been like if he stayed.”

“You’d be a farmer’s daughter,” your uncle said, “so if you prefer the fields to the ovens, maybe it would’ve been better if he stayed.”

“I like the ovens well enough,” you chuckled, “I’d rather Auntie in my ear than getting my legs cut off by a scythe.”

“You heard old Martin got it good last turning-time, did you?” your uncles winced.

“Old Hutch told me it was a nasty wound,” you nodded, “he had to send him to The Axe for further treatment.”

“At least with The Axe around he can mend some of the worst wounds we get,” your uncle mused before a scowl dawned his face, “mind you, he only knows to heal as many wounds as he gives out.”

The thought of The Axe’s words from your last visit rang through your ears.

“I don’t think he likes hurting anyone though,” you said.

Your uncle shrugged, “Doesn’t matter if he likes it or not, he’s a torturer and an executioner by trade. That’s enough for me to make up my mind.”

“But can he really be anything else?” you asked as you stepped around a particularly large stone.

Your uncle shook his head, “As I said, he comes from a cursed line. His blood is tainted by generation on generation of curse. I’d be surprised if he can even sow another line if he tried with you.”

“Don’t be so crass,” you huffed.

“What?” your uncle chuckled, “it’s not like he’s got much to give any son of his. An old axe and a sorry story? I don’t think I’d want to be born to that, if you ask me.

“And anyways, would you want to give birth to any son of his?” your uncle asked you.

You thought for a moment. The thought of being a mother was always there; it was expected of you since birth. You were raised to be a mother much like any other young girl in the village. You were given dolls to care for and stories to lull your newborn to bed before you’d reached your third cycle. Being a mother and a homesteader was just what being a woman in the village meant. That was life. You’d never really paid too much thought to it. If anything, you didn’t even know if you’d ever take a husband. Sure, one day it would happen, but you never put much thought into it. Already most girls your age were married off with a troop of children around their hips. You were a bit of an outlier by now. But, the thought of having a husband and child comforted you at the very least. One day, soon enough, it would happen.

But you hadn’t thought of having children with The Axe. By the spirit realms, you hardly even knew what his face looked like! For all you knew, he was the ugliest man you’d ever lay your eyes on in your life. He could have a rotting face, for all you knew. And yet… The thought of a child with him didn’t sound half bad. It was a thought you’d have to play around with more after you’d gotten to know him better.

“You’re thinking of it now, aren’t you?” your uncle groaned, “by Halax, I shouldn’t have even said his name. I shouldn’t be talking about him with you at all!”

You rolled your eyes at that, “Well, you want to warn me, don’t you?”

“I’ve warned you plenty!” your uncle scoffed, “I keep telling you he’s bad news but you won’t have any of it!”

“I’m having some of it,” you retorted, “just not all of it.”

“Well go on and have some more because I’ve got plenty to give!” your uncle shook his head, “I mean, look, I can’t change your mind. Go and talk to Father Kim if you’re really interested in that man. Father Kim seems to know him best, at least. And if a holy man thinks that it’s a good idea, who am I to judge?”

“So you give me your blessing?” you asked hopefully.

Your uncle sighed, “Not now.”

“But maybe soon?” you prodded.

“Maybe,” your uncle conceded, “but not anytime soon. I still don’t even know the man.”

“But haven’t you given him his rations for years?” you asked quizzically.

“I have,” your uncle explained, “but he isn’t much of a talker. He’s a bit spooky, actually. He’s so quiet I might think he was a louse.”

Your thoughts drifted to when you ate sweet buns together in the forest again.

“I think he just needs some encouragement to talk,” you offered.

“You’ve chatted to him plenty, have you?” your uncle grumbled.

You flushed, “I’ve spoken to him in passing.”

“In passing,” your uncle drawled.

“In passing!” you bristled up.

“Calm yourself, you prickly little poke bear,” your uncle laughed, “you’re acting like a schoolgirl here!”

“I am not!” you huffed.

“You keep telling yourself that,” your uncle smiled knowingly, “you’re only digging a deeper hole for here.”

“I-” you cut yourself off, “I don’t need to hear any of this. I’m better than this.”

“Are you now?” your uncle cackled, “look, your father isn’t here. Somebody has to act the part while he’s gone.”

“And that person has to be you?” you grumbled.

Your uncle gestured to the wide open fields around you, “Who else do you see?”

You bit your tongue harshly. He had you there.

Your uncle laughed as he carted the wagon along the trail, happily poking fun at your ‘schoolgirl crush’ and your youth as he made his way along the old road. You, for your part, flushed up to your poor mortified ears and stayed that way for the rest of the journey. Your uncle took endless delight as he moved the cart along. With a sigh, you accepted fate and walked behind your uncle.

Your uncle only calmed his laughter once you broke through the forest. The cart caught on tangled weeds as you travelled down the lonesome road to the old hanging stone. The trees were thick enough to cast a haunting shade over the two of you. In woods like these, a highwayman could be hidden behind any tree. Suddenly, you were terribly glad to have your teasing uncle by your side. Even if he was an older man, he still had a good bread knife tied to his belt. You had your own little dagger, but your uncle was a seasoned man with a quick draw. It wasn’t much, but anything was better than giving in to whatever the highwaymen demanded.

Your uncle huffed and puffed as he pushed the wagon along the overgrown road. You only knew to follow the path because the trees had been artificially cleared generations before you, leaving a winding trail that snaked erratically through the woods. Evidently, the wood cutters had only cut through the easiest trees, unable to move the monoliths that stood along the edges of the waxing and waning road. In some parts, the wagon only just barely squeezed through the gaps in the trees. You wondered how any of the large carriages were able to make their way through the trees when they already pressed down on you, crushing you like insects under their wild thumb.

Ferns and flowers peeked from behind the old woods to wave in the passing wind. You watched Brak-Hah’s-Eye blink in and out above between the tall pines as you walked along. As you drew further and further into the woods, you felt the chill of shadows creeping up along the back of your neck.

You were blinded when you broke into the bright opening of the Criahlin’s stone. The black slate shone, polished of blood and grime to prepare for the coming day. Around the edge of the circle, stalls had been set up to welcome in any visitor in need of a sweetlin or a swintlin. Someone had set up a stall to shine shoes, another gave out bags of grain for cart beetles. You couldn’t help but be amazed by how so many were able to come and capitalize on the death of a criminal.

Already, a group of townsfolk had gathered around a large loch tree on the far edge of the clearing. Beside it, a long ladder had been placed, leading up to a long twineweed rope. You followed the rope up, up and up to a thick and heavy tree bough. It looked as thick as a man, but it had been cut off after a couple of lengths to prevent the tree from covering up the entire clearing. You had to wonder how often someone had to go up and trim it back to keep it from taking up the whole space.

By the bottom of the tree, Judge Holten sat on one of the large roots that jutted up from the loamy earth. Beside him, Father Kim looked out over the crowd, lips pressed into a thin line. His dark eyes darted side to side as he took in the familiar faces of his congregation. You wondered what he thought of you all.

In the stall nearest to you, you could see Nikto sitting and watching the crowd with an amused look in his eyes. By his side, bottles of eggs, vegetables and even meats were put on display with delicate care. He glanced over your way and waved at you and your uncle.

“Ah, friends!” he called out, “come take the stall beside me!”

Your uncle waved back and brought the cart as close as he could. When he stopped the cart by Nikto’s stall, the old northern man rose to his feet to help you and your uncle set up your display.

You worked quickly with the extra set of hands. A few times Nikto stopped to help your uncle set up his display in a more appealing way. You laughed at the sight, but thanked him nonetheless. Halax knew that your uncle needed the help.

“No no no,” Nikto grumbled as he took the spider buns from your uncle, “put these on the middle shelf. They’re cute and sweet, so people will see them better if you put them there. And put the smallest buns on top! Trust me on this, old man.”

Your uncle followed the other man’s words, albeit a bit begrudgingly. But who were you to argue with Nikto? All his displays were immaculate. Even the products themselves were made so perfectly that you couldn’t stop salivating at the sight of them.

“How do you know how to make everything look so nice?” you wondered as you followed his guidance.

“Secret tips from my mother back home,” Nikto’s eyes crinkled behind his wooden mask, “mother always knows best, you know?”

You faltered briefly before flashing a wide smile, “Well, I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Nikto shook his head, “Mothers never leave their children, Criah doesn’t work that way. We always have our families with us.”

You smiled softly, “You think so?”

Nikto laughed heartily, “I know so! Mother never left. She’s always here,” Nikto thumped his chest before he leaned in conspiratorially, “and that’s how I know your uncle can’t set up a stall to save his life!”

You groaned but couldn’t hold back a laugh. Nikto was an odd man, but at least he was always a fun person to share company with. You shook your head and turned back to your stall.

“Well, it looks like we’re about ready to start selling,” you said as you admired the hard work.

“Can you manage the till?” your uncle asked.

“Are you offering to do the calling?” you replied.

Your uncle nodded and pointed over to the other stalls, “It looks like we don’t have much competition today.”

You glanced over at Nikto.

“My goods are meant to be brought home,” he shrugged, “not eaten here. Yours are better for the show.”

Right, the show. That was certainly one way of putting it.

“I can handle the crowds,” you told your uncle.

“Right then,” your uncle nodded, “I’ll head out and get to hawking.”

You watched your uncle walk out in the crowd, puff up his chest and call out in a big, booming voice. On que, a few customers eagerly turned and looked around before finding your stall and rushing forth. You didn’t understand how anybody was able to eat during these events, but evidently you were the odd one out.

Before long the line had formed and you were up on your feet exchanging coins for sweet and savoury buns. To your delight, a few customers immediately left your line to go over to Nikto’s stall to pick up some jars of his pickled goods. Nikto was never quite as popular, but having the top-selling stall beside him evidently did something for his numbers. A part of you wondered if he’d thought about this when inviting you over, but another part couldn’t care less. You were shopkeepers just the same as he was; you had to do whatever it took to make a good living in a small town.

As the townsfolk came and left your stall, you did your best to focus on them rather than on the absence of the most prominent figure at the event. Wherever you looked, The Axe was notably absent. Of course you already knew where he was. He was probably bringing the poor victim to the gallows at that very moment. You knew the ritual well enough by now.

The executioner would go to the prison and then pick out the culprit. Then, the culprit would be carted to the outskirts of the forest, at which point The Axe and his victim would be dropped off and The Axe’s assistant would drive the cart back to the Axe’s home. Then, the Axe and his assistant would both make their way to the hanging site. Of course, the assistant would arrive first, and then the Axe would come through the clearing. Then, once they’d both arrived, the event would begin. That’s how it always was, it was how it always would be. A part of you wondered if there was another way. The thought of letting a murderer go free seemed unthinkable, but did they have to die themselves? You didn’t know. Somebody with more time on their hands might have been able to think over the problem more thoroughly, but as it was you only felt opposed to the executions, but weren’t able to think of any other good solution.

You watched the crowds slowly grow in number as they bumbled around your stall. The bread and buns were flying off the shelves at this point. Muffins were devoured before your very eyes. The throng of people was generating an electric buzz in the air, crackling with the winds through the trees. Judge Holten looked out over the crowd with a disdainful eye, Father Kim behind him with a more sympathetic expression. Even from here, you could see him shivering in the cool air. With how his hands had withered away, you figured they were probably more sensitive than ever.

Whispers rippled through the crowds. As with any gathering, you heard stories from all around the village. Some talked about the local drunk’s latest antics at the tavern. Another rumour was about what an old woman was doing with her pets in the shed out back. Someone mentioned that the butcher was getting a bit steep with his prices. Another said the nuns were getting frustrated with the lack of provisions provided to the church as of late. All these stories curled around the air with a whimsical twirl. The stories ranged from the banal to the completely bizarre in nature. The ones about the old woman and her pets stood out as a particularly egregious one.

You chuckled at the latest tidbit of gossip being thrown your way. You waved the man off with a big toothy grin and turned to help the next customer. To your surprise, it was none other than Salvatrice.

“Salv!” you beamed as you packed her usual order, “I didn’t think you were back yet!”

Salv played with an arrowhead between her fingers as she said, “Well, the raptor was pretty easy to track. It was too big to hide from me for long.”

“So, a successful hunt?” you asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Salv nodded, “a good hunt.”

“Great! So you’ll be selling it soon?” you queried.

“Once Tor breaks it down,” Salv frowned, “but he’s getting pricey these days.”

“So I heard,” you mentioned as you served a different customer.

“He’s asking for nearly a quarter of my wage now,” Salv grumbled, “I can’t keep up with that! Hunters don’t make that much, you know?”

“You’ve let me know a few times before,” you replied easily.

“Now he’s going around asking for a hundred stones. I can’t afford that! Nobody can!” Salv clenched her fist around the arrowhead.

“I’m sure the prices will go down,” you assured her, “Tor can’t keep charging those sorts of prices for long. The people in this village just can’t afford that.”

“Maybe, or maybe they’ll keep paying them because there’s nobody else,” Salv clenched her jaw tight.

“Well, I hope not,” you scrunched up your face, “I don’t want to think what people would do. The last cycle was bad enough as is.”

“I think it’s because of the last cycle that he’s charging these prices,” Salv shook her head, “he realised he can get away with it.”

“But those were desperate times,” you pointed out.

“And all the businesses took advantage of how vulnerable we all were,” Salv leveled a glare at you, “they learned from our weakness.”

You shook your head free of her thoughts, “No, I’m sure there’s a good reason. Tor isn’t a bad man. He’s not like that.”

“You say that,” Salv spat bitterly, “but I’m not so sure. I think he’s a blorgron.”

You glared at the dark haired hunter fiercely, “Don’t say that! We’re all just trying to recover after the flooding and droughts.”

“At the expense of the people!” Salv retorted.

You cringed and held up your hands meekly, “I don’t know. It’s not my place to say.”

Salv stared you down with coal-black eyes. Hot burning coals burned through your clothes to your very soul. Hatred, fury, injustice, it all flickered through her eyes before she settled on one final emotion: defeat.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she sighed, “you’re a vendor just like Tor. But,” she gave you a resigned half-smile, “you keep your prices affordable at least.”

“We try to,” you handed out another loaf of bread, “Uncle always wants to raise them up, but Auntie won’t let him.”

“She’s a damn good woman then,” Salv determined.

“She’s sometimes a good woman,” you grumbled, “she’s a slave driver if you ask me.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking you,” Salv gruntled.

“I suppose so,” you said. You turned to say more to her when the crowd broke out into a roar.

Salv smirked as she took a bite of the beetle meat bun, “Looks like the show’s started.”

Salv slunk into the obscurity of the crowd as you peered over the edge of your stall. You couldn’t help but stare as The Axe came into view, easily a head and shoulders above everyone else at the clearing. His hood fluttered around his clavicle with the wind as he strode forth. He looked around the clearing with blank eyes before they fell upon you. Immediately, they lit up with bright recognition, and just as they did, the light went out and he was back to the blank mask of before. You were the only person in the entire crowd to notice how he stumbled slightly when he moved past you to the Criahlin’s stone.

Once they got to the stage, the prisoner was finally revealed to you. A wiry man with a thin, pinched face. His eyes burned dark with a silent rage, furious and clawing inside him like a ravenous beast.

Judge Holten watched The Axe guide the man to the center of the stone, then down into a kneeling position. You winced sympathetically.

“Karl Hoffman,” Judge Holten pulled out his thick book of laws and perched it on his bulging stomach, “thirty-eight cycles, father of eight cycle Klara Hoffman and ten cycle Mathilde Hoffman. Husband of thirty–two cycle Martha Hoffman. Employed as a fishmonger, but was found out to have joined the Raptor’s Claws to steal a living as a highwayman.

“Karl Hoffman is accused of three charges of manslaughter, the assault and battery of two different women, battery of six different men, and accused of stealing over twenty thousand faces. For these charges he has been sentenced to death by choking,” Judge Holten smirked as he shut his book and tucked it under his corpulent arm and turned to face Karl, “you are a damned man, but I will be giving you one last chance at redemption. Do you take Halax as your lord above, in this life and beyond, forevermore?”

Karl turned his thin neck to glare down at Father Kim. You watched as Father Kim stood tall against the withering stare, unmoving in the face of evil. Karl pulled his head back, then spat directly into the priest’s face.

Karl turned back to look at Judge Holten’s reddening face and gave him a twisted grin with a mouth full of crooked teeth, “No sir, I don’t think I do.”

His whispering voice sent chills up your spine. The display itself was unthinkable. How anyone could revoke the name of Halax, especially in their dying moments, was beyond you. You stared, gobsmacked as Judge Holten awkwardly shifted his robes over his protruding belly and waddled side to side. Judge Holten glanced over to Father Kim, who had carefully used his coarse brown robe to wipe his face clean, marring the markings he’d painted onto his face that morning.

You glanced between the men as Judge Holten looked to Father Kim, he himself shaken by the flagrant display of utter disinterest in any form of honor or redemption for himself or his family. You trembled slightly as you waited for anything to happen.

Father Kim stepped forward and presented a bowl of black ink to Karl. The man tried to move out of the way, but The Axe clamped onto the back of his neck and kneeled into his legs. Father Kim gave the executioner a long, thankful look and then went on with his work. He gently placed his forefingers into the ink, then gently pressed them onto the man’s forehead. With a shudder of his shoulders, he painted a large eye on his forehead, then two slashes crossed over it. Father Kim rose back to his feet and steeped back with a mournful shake of his head. The Axe stepped back to hover by his side.

You watched as Judge Holten turned back to the crowd with a shaky breath. He looked up, his watery red-rimmed eyes glanced around before finally settling back on the crowd.

“Karl Hoffman has declared to the court that he does not wish to be reunited with Halax in the next realm. As such, he is declared lost, and Martha, Mathilde and Klara Hoffman are hereby stripped of their citizenship and declared lost as well,” even the horrible Judge Holten trembled like a leaf before he straightened up and turned to the hooded man by the back of the stage, “my Axe, if you’d please.”

The Axe stepped forward from the back of the stage to take the back of Karl Hoffman’s neck into his hand. He screamed bloody murder and thrashed against the giant man’s grip, kicking and spitting like a wild animal. The Axe tried desperately to give him one last chance of dignity by letting him walk up the ladder himself, but Karl immediately tried to dart into the woods. Within a couple of steps, The Axe had his hand back on the back of his neck and gripped it tight as he dragged the man back to the ladder. With one hand on the ladder and one on his victim’s neck, The Axe slowly crawled up the ladder while Karl dangled limply at his side. He tried to kick the ladder over but Father Kim was quick to stabilize the two. Karl screamed until his voice broke when The Axe rose to the top and finally looped a noose around Karl’s neck. With nothing left to do, The Axe slowly lowered Karl and left him to suffocate.

Karl kicked and gripped at the noose around his neck, lifting himself just barely to scream profanities at the gathered crowd. He spluttered and spat before he turned to his wife and cursed her and his children like nothing you’d ever heard before. Meanwhile, his wife watched him with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. Her rudy hair waved in the coming breeze as she watched her husband use his last moments not to declare his love to her, not to apologise for his actions, but to spew hatred the likes of which nobody there had ever seen. Even from here you could see her struggle to keep her wailing children at her side. Their littlest daughter stared up at her father with big black eyes, so much like her father’s but filled with sadness and love instead of hatred and fire. You could only imagine her asking her mother what it meant to be lost, what it meant now that their father was gone.

Karl Hoffman continued to kick and spit, but his grip grew weak and he slowly slumped into the noose. At that point, you turned away and focussed on packing up the rest of the bread. Some things were better left unseen.

Glossary

1. Halaxwake: The first day of the week/God-Watch

2. Poppernickens: A species of flower characterized by tiny five-petal flowers that grow in bunches along a tall stalk. Large round leaves shoot out along the bottoms of the stalks. The flower seeds can be ground to get a floral spice used in cooking. Leaves can be used as salves for burns.

3. Twineweed: A long vine once considered a pest plant, but is now used to weave fence posts together to create natural fences. The large white flowers are toxic to most animals, but the pollen has a pleasant smell that some people use as perfume.

4. Wink: An alcoholic beverage made from fermented fruits. Farmers often collect any fruit that spoils or grows poorly and use it to make wink for the end of the year. Each batch has its own individual taste. Usually, years with plenty of rain make the best wink.

5. Vigil: A minute in their time, a bit over a minute in our time. Used as an expression for a short amount of time.

6. Elves: A warlike species known for being the best hunter/warriors on the continent. Their brutal culture is widely feared by others. Many believe that if elves were more intelligent, they would have organised to take over the continent and wipe out all other species. As it is, they are known for their brawn more than their brain, and thankfully they are too curious and entertained by other cultures to attempt genocide. They find all other species weak, but amusing enough to take as slaves for their own entertainment.

7. Brak-Hah’s-Eye: The sun, the center of their solar system

8. Corpse Flowers: A group of species of flowers that grow near decay. They are often seen as cursed flowers, and use of them is heavily prohibited by most laws. However, they are known to be excellent pain killers and excellent disinfectants. Have a notably bitter, sour taste. Look somewhat like snowbells or lady’s slippers.

9. Turning-Time: Season

10. Poke Bear: A tiny species of bear covered in spines. The animal will occasionally roll into a ball and charge downhill at its prey. Other times, it uses its long spined tail to defend against larger predators.

11. Sweetlin: A round, sweet fruit, much like an apple but larger and more filling.

12. Swintlin: A very sour fruit covered in a thick, black skin. Very citrusy and used in both sweet and savoury cooking and baking.

13. Loch Tree: A type of coniferous tree that grows in the northern Mormonian forests. Grows to eighteen meters in height with long branches spiralling around to form a canopy below. The pine needles are hard, and often used as sewing needles to make clothes. The sap can be used for glue. The wood is notably difficult to work with because it is so hard, and it has a strong smell that lingers for years to come. Makes poor firewood because the sap forms large pockets in the wood, and when heated up explodes.

14. Stone: Slang for a face. A face can be broken into one hundred fragments, which refers to cents. Every face is composed of one hundred fragments. Slang for a face is a stone, slang for a fragment is a pebble. Used as currency.

15. Blorgron: A large, fat and unintelligent lizard with a broad head and a stumpy jaw. Equivalent to a pig, but a simple herd animal. Known for being simple minded and territorial over food. Often considered to be symbols of gluttony.

16. Declared Lost: When an individual is legally declared lost, they lose their rights as a citizen in their nation. They are considered lost from the light of any god, and as such are considered lesser citizens. They cannot vote, cannot marry nor divorce, cannot receive medical treatment or any form of charity from the community. Many fall into complete poverty as others refuse to be associated in any way, lest they be dragged down with the lost ones. To be declared lost is the greatest social punishment a court can give out. Many will leave to go into exile because of the shame of being lost.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

Full Fic on KoFi Here

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