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illyrianbitch · 5 months ago

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Memories

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: While packing some boxes, Azriel is overwhelmed by memories of your relationship.

Warnings: slight angst if you squint, established relationship, fluff fluff fluff :)

Word Count: 2.1k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The apartment was a mess of half-packed boxes and disheveled belongings.

The scent of change hung in the air, thick and heavy— and Azriel was choking on it. He stood in the middle of the chaos, a forlorn expression etched onto his usually composed face. The bedroom was empty now, save for a few scattered objects and packed cardboard boxes, ready to be taped and taken away.

Azriel wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He had expected a certain amount of sadness with the move, a certain feeling of leaving something that had once meant the world to him. Even still, he was struggling with the swelling in his heart. He felt his wings behind him now, heavy and tense, as he looked around the room, gaze landing on his various packed boxes.

He could hear chatter downstairs, could hear Cassian’s laughter and Mor’s grumbling. Azriel’s shadows were downstairs now, too, as they had stayed for the past two weeks of moving out. There was one lone shadow that bounced between the floors, updating Az on every movement and conversation— Cassian had accidentally taped Mor’s hair while attempting to fix up the final living room boxes. Mor had accidentally hit Cassian in the face as a response.

Azriel let out a deep breath, walking towards one of the many opened boxes. His golden-brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he gingerly lifted a delicate porcelain teacup. His fingers traced the intricate floral design and a memory washed over him.

It was a rainy afternoon, the kind where the world outside seemed to blur into a grey mist. Azriel had come to visit, carrying various items that Feyre wanted to drop off but couldn't herself due to her growing belly. It had begun to pour while he was there— in the small apartment he now stood in. You had insisted he stayed, insisted that the weather was too awful for him to make it home. He didn’t have the heart to tell you he’d traveled in worse conditions. And in all honesty, he had found himself unable to leave, anyway.

You’d invited him into your kitchen, brewed some tea and sat across from him, the table complete with mismatched cups and saucers. Azriel had his wings folded neatly behind him as he sipped the floral tea you brewed, nervous about how large he appeared to you, worried about knocking any one of your small decorations over. The sound of your laughter, bright and unrestrained, had filled the room as you both fell into a natural conversation. He realized that afternoon, in the gloomy grey weather, the awful things he’d do to see you smile again.

And was then he was met with the comforting realization that he didn’t need to do those awful things at all— because you’d asked to see him again once the downpour stopped.

A sad smile tugged at Azriel’s lips as he carefully wrapped the teacup in tissue paper. Setting it aside, he reached for a worn, leather-bound journal, its pages filled with scribbled, heavy-handed notes. The sight of it tugged at his heart, another memory pulling him under.

You had given him the journal during one of the quieter nights at the townhouse, your fingers brushing his as you handed it over. “For your thoughts,” you had whispered, your eyes sparkling with encouragement.

Azriel had never been a journal lover before, had never been one to write down his feelings, his thoughts, or observations. His job was to observe, yes, but he never thought about it farther than that, had never thought about what he could do with those things he realized, where he could put the multitudes of thoughts that often clouded his mind.

You had been the first one to ever suggest it— suggest it in a way that was sincere and genuine. You told him that it would be worth it, and when he had made a comment about no one wanting to read what he had to say, you had simply said, “I do. I always want to know what you’re thinking. But that doesn’t matter. No one but you matters.”

So Azriel had taken to it immediately, filling its pages with thoughts, concerns, and observations of various moments— he grew to adore it over time. It helped him with his impulsivity, with his anger, with his loneliness. Even his shadows had grown to love the hobby, had learned to sleep as he wrote away, had learned to delicately ghost the words on the pages as Azriel scratched away his thoughts.

Azriel’s heart clenched as he placed the journal down and a wave of emotion ran through him like a heavy tide. Tears pricked at his eyes and he swallowed, moving on to the next item—a small, crystal vial filled with shimmering stardust.

It was the first Starfall since he’d fallen for you, and the night sky had been alive with dancing glittering souls. You managed to catch a handful of stardust, bottling it as a keepsake of the perfect evening. Azriel still remembered how beautiful you looked, how nervous he had been to talk to you that he ended up making some joke about you bottling up a dead spirit for eternity. You only laughed, a sound that he wished he could’ve bottled up in a vial, saved for later like you had done with that stardust. You stared at the glass vial, admired the shimmering glow for a few moments as Azriel had admired you. Then you had given it to him with a whisper: "For you. Even in the darkest times, there's always light."

He didn’t know how to tell you the gift wasn’t needed, didn’t know how to tell you that you were enough light for him. He’d taken it with shaky fingers— which he prayed to The Mother you hadn’t noticed— and kept the vial in his leathers on every rough mission. It became his talisman, a beacon of hope and love. A connection to you.

A lump grew in the back of Azriel’s throat.

“I got the tape!”

Your voice echoed throughout the hall as you rounded the corner, a delicate smile on your face.

The smile quickly fell at the sight of your mate and you stilled, his shadows swirling around you before descending to the ground, quickly dancing over to his form. The room smelled of a bittersweet sadness, of something longing, heavy, and sad.

"Az, what's going on?” You asked softly, placing the tape on top of the open box before him. “Why are you crying?"

Azriel blinked rapidly, shaking his head softly before turning to look down at you. "I'm not crying," he said. He offered you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes— the same eyes that seemed deep in thought, seemed contemplative and conflicted.

“Azriel.” You gave him a knowing look and gently placed your hands on his face, wiping away a stray tear with your thumb. "What's wrong?"

He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. And then he took your hands in his, bringing them to his lips to kiss your knuckles. His lips were soft against your skin, his kiss feather-light and almost sacred. A warmth inside you blossomed at the softness of his touch, and you let out an appreciative, loving hum.

Azriel brushed the pad of his thumb along your fingers. His gaze fell to your left hand, to the golden ring that adorned your ring finger. A smile grew on his face. He traced it with his thumb, running over the cool metal, inspecting the intricate patterns he had the jeweler carve into the ring— something special just for you. Something as unique as the unbreakable bond you shared.

"It's just strange," Azriel said quietly. He lowered your hands. "I never thought I'd be here. I never imagined ending up so happy.”

You tilted your head at him, feeling your lips fall into a small pout. Azriel only looked at you with a sense of adoration painted through his features. He let out a small breath before he continued, taking a moment to scan the empty room once more. “I'm sad to leave this apartment because it has so many memories.”

"Oh Az," you said softly, your voice almost a comforting coo. "I'm sad too. We made some great memories here."

Azriel nodded, his gaze growing distant as he recalled the life he had built here, the life he had fought for with you. He thought of the many times he’d walked you home, when this apartment had just been yours— slightly too big for just one person, slightly too empty that even you felt like it was missing something. He thought about the first time he spent the night, how his shadows fell into place, how they strangely adored the corners of your home, the wood-paneled hallways and plaster banisters. He thought about the day he moved in, how he woke up in the middle of the night afraid that it had all been a dream, only to be lulled back to sleep by your soft whispers, gentle touch, and a whole lot of sweet, sleepy sex.

He let out a small, content laugh. "We did."

You tugged on his hand, pulling his focus back to you. When his eyes met yours, his gaze softened, and you felt a glow in your chest. You gave that divine thread between you a small tug, felt it sing deep within your ribs. A rush of life flowed through you, something bright and hopeful. The air around you changed, less bittersweet now, less heavy. You smiled gently.

"Now we'll make even more memories in a place that’s big enough for all of us."

It was then that you pulled his hand towards you, taking his large palm and placing it on your stomach. His fingers splayed over the growing bump you now adorned. From underneath your hold, you felt a release of tension in Azriel’s hands.

Tendrils of shadow hovered over his touch, gently dancing across your stomach as Azriel admired the sight before him. His voice was tender as he whispered, "How did I ever get so lucky?”

He blinked, tears welling up in his eyes again. He flickered his gaze back to your face, meeting your eyes instantly. They mirrored his own, welled up with tears that brimmed on your waterlines. You laughed softly.

The sound rippled through Azriel’s body and he felt himself melt even further into you. Even his shadows simply sat atop your belly now, almost unmoving, as if they too were admiring you— admiring all that you were. They had taken a specific liking to you since you’d gotten pregnant, never leaving your side unless it was absolutely necessary— Azriel was grateful for it, grateful that there was always one lone tendril that would keep him company, too, that would update him on you whenever he wasn’t in the room.

“You know, I'm the pregnant one with all these hormones, not you," you teased.

Azriel chuckled, eyes shining with love. The muscles of his cheeks ached with the deepness of his smile. "Forgive me if I get a bit emotional thinking about the love of my life and our future child."

You felt your knees almost buckle, felt something flutter in your stomach at his words. The love of his life and his future child. You and your future child.

"My sweet, sappy mate."

He laughed again, the sound rich and full of life. He pulled you into a gentle embrace. "I love you," he said, his voice now carrying a sincerity that made you breathless, a tone that spoke of a vow and a promise. His eyes scanned your face, taking in every feature.

Oh how you hoped your child got his eyes, got the beautiful hazel they contained, the flicker of brown, dots of green. You hoped your child got his laugh too, the deep rumble that made you feel love in every way possible. You blinked away a few growing tears.

"And I love you," you replied, your heart swelling with joy. You stepped back, giving him a gentle nudge. "Okay, now get to packing because my feet hurt and I'm really craving some ice cream."

Azriel grinned, shaking his head as he watched you walk away. His shadows trailed after you, except for one that lingered behind, wrapping around his hand as he reached for the packing tape.

He looked down at the shadow, a smile tugging at his lips as its gentle, calm movement. "Alright,” he murmured, “Let's finish this up and get our girl some ice cream.”

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permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin @serrendiipty

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girlbossagenda · 9 months ago

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How to be pretty on a lazy day

The way you dress and present yourself plays a huge role on how you perceive yourself and how others perceive you, it can also help you gain pretty privilege, but what if you are late for school or you're...just lazy? Maybe it's cold outside or you're in a tired mood. Today I'm gonna talk about staple pieces that can't be missed in a girly girl wardrobe.

୨୧track suits୨୧

Never really used them, but if they are the right color they can be BOMB, you just need to know for which style you're going for, if you are more for the street wear I suggest you to get a full pink track suit or a brown one, you can also get some with very cool logos, this to get an idea:

If you want to try something not so pink, you can change the color of your pants, wear suits with other colors but still a very feminine design or wear neon pants and a more neutral hoodie, the choice it's up to you!

Of you are more into y2k or the 90s, I suggest you to wear those velvet track suits or vintage adidas track suits!

୨୧Flare leggings୨୧

This has been rising in popularity, but low rise flare leggings can certainly highlight your look for a lazy day! It's going to make you look more clean, active and flamboyant!

୨୧Flower dresses/dresses in general୨୧

They're very feminine, and I suggest you that for shorted dresses you try to use a more flowy type and maybe a floral one too and for long dresses to keep it plain and simple, they can give a very mature and composed vibe.

୨୧Long skirts୨୧

This is similar to long dresses, but you can customize them more!

୨୧Uggs/cozy boots୨୧

They are easy to put and pull out and very comftable and match everything listed her by far.

Hiii bonitas, did you enjoy today's post? I sure did, I know a lot of you are fashionista, and I love fashion too so why not talking about it?this is the first part of another mini series, see you soon xoxo gorgeous.

-𝓐

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biplusco · 5 days ago

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Jingora Part 1: Moonlit Pavilion

Welcome to the Moonlit Pavilion - the first set in our Jingora Collection! This bedroom set is our little tribute to the calm elegance of classic Chinese design, mixed with a cozy, inviting feel. We wanted this set to capture that quiet beauty of a pavilion bathed in moonlight, and we hope it brings that same peaceful vibe into your home.

Psst... Jingora is a little blend of meanings! It comes from the word “jing” (静), which means stillness or tranquility, combined with “aura.” Together, it suggests this peaceful, calming presence—a kind of serene beauty that fills the room quietly and effortlessly.

All item is Base Game Compatible (BGC)

Canopy Bed | 15 Swatch This striking four-poster canopy bed features clean lines and geometric accents on the headboard, drawing from traditional Chinese patterns. Light, sheer drapes flow gracefully from the frame, giving the bed a soft, ethereal look, as if bathed in moonlight.

Ornate Side Table | 15 swatch A delicate floral motif is inlaid on the tabletop, adding a touch of artistry to its sturdy frame. With gracefully curved legs, this table blends functionality and beauty, serving as an elegant companion to the canopy bed.

Moonlit Dresser | 15 swatch The dresser exudes classic charm with traditional handles and ample drawer space, maintaining the wood’s natural grain for an organic touch.

Get the set now on PATREON (Public Release 23/11)

Our Social: Tumblr | Twitter | Instagram | CurseForge

@maxismatchccworlds @maxismatchccworld @sssvitlans @coffee-cc-finds @coffee-houses-finds @lanaccfind @sssvitlanz @oshinsimfinds

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tiddygame · 9 days ago

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Simon started his sleeve well before he became Ghost.

It started when Joseph was about 3 1/2 and Simon got a nasty scar on his arm that made the poor kid upset every time he saw it. Joseph knew that it didn’t still hurt, but for him it was a reminder that is uncle was always in danger. It scared the kid to think about what caused it, even though Simon assured him that he was okay.

So after a brief discussion with Beth and Tommy, he figured he’d get a tattoo to cover it up. A sleeve would be expensive, but if it meant Joseph didn’t cry every time he saw the scar on his uncle's arm, it would be worth it.

It took some looking around for an artist that was willing to tattoo scar tissue and one that he trusted, but it wasn’t long before he was scheduling a consult.

Then he realized he had no fucking idea what he wanted to get tattooed.

He felt like getting a flaming skull or half naked lady permanently etched into his skin would defeat the purpose and he most certainly was not going to get something in a language he didn’t speak.

His mom jokingly suggested that he could get a floral sleeve and cover his arm in flowers.

And, well, it was close enough to a dare that he couldn’t turn it down so a few weeks later, he’s got his appointment set up to turn his arm into a garden.

He has quite a few types of flowers in there (some that his mom loves, some that Beth and Tommy had at their wedding, etc. etc.) with vines and leaves to fill in the gaps

The appointments are quite far apart with his deployment, Simon didn’t want to deal with a healing tattoo in the field. They started at the scar, covering it up and then expanding from there.

Joseph loves the flowers.

He was always so excited when Simon let him fill them in like his arm was a coloring book, even if he still struggled to stay in the lines.

He used to cry every time Simon left and it would break his heart, but now Joseph demanded that his uncle return as fast as he could so he could go back to coloring his arm and talking about sharks.

Joseph loved the flowers.

It took a while for him to go back.

There was no reason to, not anymore. He had more scars, but there wasn’t anyone he had to hide them from.

The tattoo was left unfinished for a long time, only part of his forearm was done.

Ghost didn’t care. He wore long sleeves even in weather warm enough to cause heatstroke; he couldn’t look at it.

When he did, he didn’t see an unfinished tattoo, he saw his nephew. Saw him looking up at his uncle with big brown eyes, begging Simon to carry him. Saw him sleeping under the Christmas tree.

Eventually he returned. He requested a slight change to the design and showed the artist a photo of four headstones and the bouquets that accompanied them

(There was a fifth, partially out of frame and cut off, vase empty)

The artist nodded and got to work.

In the new sketch, a few new flowers were added, but the first thing Ghost noticed were the four little garter snakes that had been weaved through the petals.

Ghost nodded and that was that.

Every now and then a rookie would see it and start to laugh, but when they remembered the reputation of the man they were laughing at, it was quickly cut off with hasty (and futile) apologies. (They were still going to end up running laps until they vomited up their lungs.)

It was rare that he was exposed enough for people to see the tattoo and from a distance, it just looked like a simple sleeve. It wasn’t long before his little garden became a lesser known rumor that followed him around and joined the other whispers.

Ghost didn’t care. He didn’t get the tattoo for himself or any prying eyes. From the moment he booked the consultation to leaving the parlor with his sleeve complete, it was all for Joseph.

The rookies could spread whatever rumors they want, his nephew would have loved it and that’s all he wanted.

The first time Soap got a proper look, he just stared at it for a while before going off on a story about when he was little and picked up a snake thinking it was a stick.

From anyone else, it would have felt like that were trying to change the subject so they didn’t have to acknowledge that The Ghost had such a “feminine” tattoo.

From Soap, it was comforting in an odd way. It was obvious that Soap wanted a better look at it, but he never pushed Ghost. Just like the mask, Soap was patient.

Later down the line, it would morph into quiet nights with Johnny tracing the lines and trying to identify each type of flower. He’d look to Simon for any clues but would complain that Simon always looked too love-struck for his facial expression to give any hints on if he was getting close.

Simon didn’t deny these claims but still refused to offer any help.

And even longer after that, Johnny would shakily color in the petals as he tries to regain his fine motor skills.

The markers would often slip out his hands and the shakiness meant he couldn’t stay within the lines, but the fact that he was there at a all, debating which pink to use on the peonies and getting frustrated with himself when he couldn’t get the cap back on, was enough of a miracle that Simon could barely keep himself together as his sleeve regained its color for the first time in years.

When Johnny was done, Simon hugged him with one arm, holding the tatted one up and away so that the new ink wouldn’t smudge.

Eventually, Simon would tell the story of why he got the tattoo, even if Johnny already had a pretty good guess based on the wistful look Simon had when talking about it. He would tell him which ones his mom loved, which ones had been at Beth and Tommy’s wedding, and which ones were just the artist adding some to make it more cohesive.

But for now, they would hold onto each other tightly, neither of them willing to separate. Maybe for some, crying over a box of sharpies wasn’t a happy ending, but Simon didn’t care. He had Johnny in his arms and that was all he could ask for.

#another cousin to the hawaiian shirt post #just so you know there was an evil ending to this that involved another snake being added but i cant take unresolved angst so you’re welcom #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #sorry got hit by another wave of grief today #you know how it be

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mechanical-drawing · 4 months ago

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08 July 1876

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ubercharge · 2 months ago

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marcille's pokemon team! i imagine she's acquired a variety of mons over the years but some of them have been with her longer than others, like the dragonite she raised from dratini. azumarill is from before going to magic school. she got braixen as a fennekin for research purposes, and evolved it during the school period. cherrim is the newest of this bunch, caught and evolved during magic school.

(if you’re curious about why i picked certain pokemon for marcille, and names i gave her team members, it’ll be in the readmore!)

BRAIXEN (Ignis): an easy nod to magic school and her wooden staff. i wanted a straight-up fire type since marcille uses a bunch of explosive magic in the dungeon. i went with braixen instead of delphox because it has more of a youthfulness like marcille herself.

CHERRIM (Pom/Pomegranate): i definitely wanted a grass-type to reflect her staff being made of wood (with little green sprout), her green eyes, and her love of vegetables. cherrim having a bit of a food (cherry) element is a nice plus, and like braixen, it has a yellow colour like marcille’s blonde hair. i think marcille would also love cherrim’s cuteness, and its red accents match marcille’s own red accessories. it being flowery also matches marcille’s floral-enjoying aesthetic sensibilities. on top of that, i imagine it switching to its overcast form after marcille becomes the lord of the dungeon to reflect her mental state.

AZUMARILL (Tsunami): i wanted a more whimsical-looking pokemon to show off marcille’s cuteness, and a fairy-type adds to the magical feel. but even if azumarill looks silly and marcille can be silly, they really pack a punch. scarvi raiders will appreciate this beautiful round friend with a nod.

DRAGONITE (Stratus): rather than just have marcille’s team reflect her cuter aspects, it was important for me to include a member with competitive viability (which generally means the mon itself has a bunch of strengths). before i considered that aspect, i thought about including dragonair as a reference to marcille’s coatl monster, but i went with dragonite in the end for a cute-looking friend with a lot of strength. marcille has, after all, studied magic for a long time and is really good at it. It’d certainly make sense for her to have an objectively strong mon like dragonite on her team, especially considering the position dragons have in dunmeshi’s world and culture (and they were once at the top of the food chain in pokemon too...).

not pictured:

ALCREMIE (Nectar): a suggestion from my friend i really liked, partly because it’s food. and that’s obviously funny. a sweet-looking pure fairy-type (red accents too!) ties into marcille’s enjoyment of sweets and adds more of that fairy/magic feel. as for which colour variant hers would be, i’ll leave that up to you guys to decide. and a funny little sidenote: marcille wanted a fairy for herself like the canaries, but was daunted and disgusted by the requirements to create one. the homunculus the fairies start out as looks like a little blob of a guy, and alcremie’s pre-evo milcery is... well.

because of the homunculus stuff, i imagine she hatched Nectar from an egg and evolved it before magic school!

GOURGEIST (Ambrosia): while braixen works as a cute magic school reference to magic, gourgeist has more of a witchy, spooky feel. marcille isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, after all. but since this is her team from the start, gourgeist is a nice way to wink at a darker witch aesthetic compared to her other mons without fully giving away marcille’s eventual transformation. it still has a fitting whimsical design, plus its broomstick likeness can be seen as another nod to ambrosia.

Ambrosia would, of course, have been obtained as a pumpkaboo and raised until evolving in line with marcille's staff creation in dunmeshi

honorary mentions: ponyta/rapidash (for her horse love), milotic (for the quetzalcoatl), rotom (suggested by my friend who likes the mental image of her putting senshi in rotom wash), arboliva (italian), liligant (floral + grass-type), foongus (grass-type, reference to walking mushrooms), deerling (grass-type, cute, a deer is vaguely horselike), morpeko (silly/cute, has a “dark” form like cherrim)

dungeon lord: she would have control over all the mons in the dungeon without them being “hers”, so i didn’t plan for her team to change upon her becoming dungeon lord.

#dungeon meshi #marcille #pokemon #doodles #id in alt #dragonite #cherrim #azumarill #braixen #digital art

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shdysders · 8 months ago

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insecurities

pairing: vada cavell & female reader

summary: in which vada makes an offensive comment about your appearance, knowing you already hated it.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: serious topics, body image, body shaming comment, alcohol poisoning.

author’s note: remember that words don’t define you, you’re beautiful just the way you are and do not need to change yourself.

the ending on this one is rushed, i’m sorry about that. also sorry if you guys don’t like this idea, it was just smth that popped into my mind.

Shopping with Vada was absolutely pointless.

She would complain about everything and nothing. About her feet hurting, about how she didn't have enough money for new things, or how she found it completely unnecessary to buy clothes when she already had enough.

You had spent multiple times with Vada in countless malls, walking through different stores, listening to her complaining all the time, whining like a child and nag about it being boring.

This time you had suggested for Vada to bring Mia along, for company while you tried things on. You thought it would make things easier for you; not having to deal with your child like girlfriend.

However you were wrong.

You were at the local mall alongside Mia and Vada, shopping for dresses who would be appropriate for your birthday party. You were really excited; two people were there to help you pick.

Although they didn't help. They were too busy talking and gossiping about losers at school to even notice the dresses you were showing.

You could understand that this probably wasn't the most exciting thing to do, but you thought they would at least pay attention, considering Vada was your girlfriend, and Mia was one of your closest friends.

You had been gushing about this party for months, so you didn't understand why they were suddenly so uninterested.

"What about this one?" You spoke, trying to drown out their loud conversation with your own voice.

Vada didn't listen for one bit. She only turned her head when Mia did so, only because it ended their dialogue.

"That one's pretty." Mia said, adoring gaze scanning the dress.

The dress was black with floral design that covered the whole fabric. The fabric was lightweight and flowy. You felt pretty, it suited you very well.

"It's alright." Vada said not long after, her lips formed in a thin line, there was frustration in her voice, like she was mad at you for interrupting their talk.

This was the second dress you tried on and Vada was already bored and frustrated, you could tell. She wasn't exactly hiding it.

You decided it'd be for the better to just hurry up, even though that wasn't what you had planned. You didn't want to waste their time.

Nodding your head, taking their answers into consideration, before turning around to get into the next dress.

This one was your favorite.

Navy blue with an open back, glitter decorating the whole dress. It was tight, rather short as well, but you felt sophisticated in it. Pretty. Gorgeous in fact. Which was rare for you.

You smiled to yourself in the mirror, prepared for Vada and Mia to liking just as much as you.

However, when you pull the dressing room curtain to the side, they didn’t even bother to turn their heads to look at you. They were way too busy talking yet again.

They were laughing about something. And a strange feeling in you were saying that it was either about you or the dresses you were showing.

You stood there dumbfounded for a minute, waiting for them to turn their attention to the clothing piece. But they didn't.

"Vada?" You called out, since her opinion was the one that really mattered.

She still didn't turn her head, although you knew she heard you. You could tell by the way her head slightly turned, her eyes not leaving Mia as she talked. You couldn't even bother to listen to what they were saying.

Seconds later she put her hand up, signaling for you to wait for her to finish listening, and for Mia to stop talking. Which at this point, could take ages.

You were starting to grow tired of her ignorance. She always did this whenever Mia was around. Sometimes she would find subjects to talk about that you couldn't be included in on purpose, either that or you just couldn't relate.

Her name fell from your lips again, and this time her head snapped in your direction, nothing but exasperation painting her face. "What?"

The previous smile on your face fell once you heard the harsh tone in her voice. "Could you at least look at it?"

Vada's gaze was burning onto your skin, she was looking at you as if you just told her that she had to be quiet for the rest of the year.

You couldn't put a finger on the reason for why she had gotten this angry, she used to get like this, but when she did there would at least be some kind of motive for it. Now there wasn't.

It was like steam was coming out of her ears. All you did was ask her to look at the dress for like what? One second? And she looked furious.

Vada didn't know what had gotten into her either. She didn't like being interrupted, but when it was you, she didn't care. Now she did.

She cast a discerning gaze over the dress, her eyes revealing a clear hint of annoyance. "It makes you look big. I don't like it." She spat out before she could process her words.

The confidence in the dress was quickly drained away by Vada's comment. It was like a punch to the gut, a lump beginning to form in your throat.

You suddenly felt embarrassed, for even thinking she would like the dress in the first place. Of course she didn't like it. What did you except?

"Oh." You bit your lip, trying to the prevent the layer of tears from falling, which you felt was beginning to coat your irises. "Okay"

You didn't think twice before hurrying back to the dressing room, being quick to pull the curtain back so it covered you. Mumbles from Vada and Mia could be heard, but they were shut out as the ringing in your ears took over, quiet sobs falling from your mouth.

Checking the dress in the mirror one last time, you saw what Vada might've seen. Now all you could see was the body that you used to see back in sophomore year, back to when you used to stand in front of the mirror in tears and panic every day.

There was a few more dresses you had yet to try on, however, you had lost interest in pursuing that particular topic. All because of what Vada said.

You rushed yourself out of the dress, not standing the sight of it in the mirror.

And while you were about to get into your regular clothes, you heard Vada's voice right outside the changing room.

"Y/n, I'm sorry.. I didn't mean it." She sounded regretful. "You looked beautiful in it.. I don't know why I said that."

It was true. Vada had no clue why she said what she said and did what she did. She felt like she had absolute no control over what her mouth was doing. Like always. She always ended up saying something she didn't mean or stuff that was completely inappropriate.

She knew you'd had problems with confidence and self esteem before, which only made the guilt in her chest grow stronger and bigger.

You didn't care for Vada's attempt at solving the problem she caused. Instead you rapidly grabbed all of the dresses on their hangers and rushed out, not bothering to look at Vada's sad expression, filled with remorse and guilt.

You rushed past her, not even glancing at Mia who was standing further away, looking at you in the same way.

"Aren't you going to try the rest?" Vada rushed behind you, almost stepping on your heels for walking so closely behind.

"No." You answered harshly before the full question had time to exit her mouth.

She didn't ask why; because she knew the reason. The reason was her. And her too big of a mouth.

All of the dresses you were carrying were put onto the return racks before you walked out of the store.

You could feel Vada hot on your trails, Mia walking further away, surely not wanting to get into the middle of the situation.

"You should, they would all look pretty." She tried. But it was unclear if you heard her.

Vada's short legs couldn't keep up with your rapid speed, making her groan in frustration. You pushed through people, your only goal being to get out of the mall.

All you wanted to do was crawl into your bed and melt away.

Which was what you did.

***

The party was set two days later. Which felt sooner than expected.

You didn't want to have the party anymore.

That's why you had half a mind to just drink all of the punch and alcohol you had bought for the guests, and tell everyone the party was cancelled. Although it was too late for that.

You weren't sure if Vada was still coming, you hadn't contacted her ever since you left her a good night text the day of the mall 'accident'. She probably was coming though, she probably thought nothing of it.

However, it was everything Vada could think about. Her mind had been clouded by the look on your face when she told you that you looked big in that dress. Her words were echoing in her head.

She hadn't reached out to you because she thought it was for the best to give you space. Also because she didn't know what she would say. Of course she would pour out apologies and excuses, but she knew that wouldn't mean anything. But it hurt her to pieces knowing she had done something so incredibly wrong, to you of all people.

Which is why Vada was now placed on your living room couch, watching dozens of people dancing with drinks in their hands, scanning the people in case her eyes would get in contact with your figure.

She hadn't seen you all night, and it was starting to worry her. You used to run towards Vada the second you knew she arrived, now you hadn't.

The music was so loud the whole house was basically shaking of the vibrations from the speakers.

Vada was about to give up looking for you, when all of a sudden, she saw the top of your head not too far away from the dance floor.

She immediately forced herself up from her position on the couch, leaving her red solo cup in the living room table to approach you. Pushing through all the sweaty bodies on the dance floor to get to you.

You stood at the kitchen island with a beer in your hand, a big smile on your face as you spoke to one of your friends.

You hated beer. Vada knew that.

"Y/n?" Vada called out, almost screaming to be heard over the loud music and chattering.

Your head slowly turned to her, and just by looking at you for two seconds, she could tell you were drunk out of your mind.

Your eyes were almost bloodshot and glassy, your movements were unsteady and your face was flushed. "Hi Vada." And your breath reeked alcohol.

"Didn't think you were coming." You slurred, bringing the drink up to your mouth.

The girl who stood in front of you quickly slipped away from the two of you, joining the others on the dance floor.

As Vada's eyes scanned your figure, she could see you weren't wearing any of the dresses you tried on, the dress you were wearing was one of your old ones, it was loosely fitting so she couldn't see your figure that she admired. But it was her fault, she reminded herself.

"Don't you think you've had enough of those?" Vada asked, about to take the beer bottle out of your hand, but you moved it away so she was unable to.

"Probably" You laughed, putting your free hand on the table behind for support and prevent yourself from falling backwards. Taking another sip of the drink, your face scrunching up in disgust from the bitter taste.

This had been your plan for the whole night. Drinking more than you could handle, so you wouldn't feel like yourself.

You had spent the whole afternoon standing in front of the mirror, understanding what Vada had meant by the comment, understand that she was right. That's what you told yourself.

Vada hated seeing you like this. She was used to having to take care of you when you went to parties together, however she had never seen you this affected.

Hence to why she thought it was a good idea to bring you somewhere where you could be alone.

"Should we go outside?" Vada asked close to your ear, so she knew for certain that you heard.

You let out a scoff, "Why? So you could push me into the pool and tell me how big the big splash was?"

Vada flinched at your remark, and even though she knew the comeback was something you'd make without alcohol in your blood, she tried to tell herself it was just your fogged mind speaking.

She knew you wouldn't come with her just because she asked, you never did when drunk. Hence to why she grabbed your forearm with a firm grip, but not too hard for it to hurt you.

She pulled you through the dance floor, ignoring people cursing at her for pushing through them with her body. She walked you outside to the backyard, and luckily enough, nobody was there.

You didn't protest when she sat you down onto one of the pool chairs, mostly because you couldn't think straight and didn't know what was going on. Your head was spinning from all the punch and alcohol.

Vada sat down on the chair next to you, inspecting your features and how your lips were shaped like a frown.

She was completely aware that you probably wouldn't remember this tomorrow, but she felt like she had to apologize to you at that moment, even though she likely had to do it again when you were clear-headed.

"Y/n." Vada started, not knowing how to continue when your eyes met hers.

"Yes?" You replied quick, voice sounding even more slurry than before.

She let out a sigh, thinking how to form her apology without it sounding forced or sarcastic. "I-I'm so sorry for saying you looked big." She began, her voice feeling shaky; filled with regret from what she'd done.

You looked up at her, eyes sad and hollow with tears starting to form.

"I don't know why I said tha- I was so passionate about talking. I didn't even pay attention to you- You're the prettiest girl I know and I just-...I don't know why I said that." Vada rambled, her hands flying all over the place.

Normally you would smile at Vada's rambling, but now you didn't. And she noticed that.

She exhaled deeply before continuing, trying to think her words through even harder this time, since it clearly didn't work the first.

"I didn't mean what I said. And I'm sorry." Vada spoke up again, trying to sound calmer than she actually was.

You didn't answer, just staring back at her with your beautiful eyes. It was making Vada nervous, her hands starting to sweat. Were you about to break up with her? Oh god, if you did she would never forgive herself.

You licked your lips, looking like you were about to say something, and you did. "Why did you say it then?"

The question made Vada furrow her brows, didn't you listen to her rambling? Were you too drunk to even notice she had been talking this whole time?

"I don't know." Vada sighed, getting frustrated with herself for being such a blabbermouth.

She scooted herself to the edge of the beach bed, taking your hands in hers. Vada had never been great with the physical touch thing, she loved when you would take her hands or touch her face, but she felt like she did it awkward. She thought she made everything awkward.

"You looked great in that dress.. all of the other ones too.. I'll buy them all for you if you ever forgive me." Vada spoke softly, gently rubbing her thumb over your hand.

"Serious?" You grinned.

Vada nodded. "Promise." Putting up her pinky for you to link with.

"You're forgiven then." Your finger joined hers, solidifying the promise.

You knew you weren't sober or in the right mindset, but you did know that you did want those dresses.

Drunk or not.

#jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x reader #mabel x reader #please don’t flop

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etfrin · 10 months ago

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❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter ten | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 SFW | Coriolanus Snow, elitism | lmk if I forgot anything

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Coriolanus and you wake up together in the morning of the games!

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 i hope y'all like this!!

Beta read by 🎉 @nowitsmissing

series masterlist | navigation

Coriolanus Snow got out of the shower, the boy freshly dressed in a white, too-tight shirt and charcoal pants. You were sleeping on the bed, curled to his side right now. He should wake you up for breakfast. After he told Tigris a friend had stayed over the night, she was excited that this was the first guest they had in years and how glad she was that Coriolanus found a true friend.

A true friend. He certainly wasn't used to it. You never met his expectations, always managing to ruin his prediction of the future whenever it involved you. You were everything, you were an enigma, addicting and unsolvable.

God bless Tigris, when she heard about you, she went out to get groceries with whatever penny she had. She had assured Coriolanus that your first meal in this house wouldn't be the flavorless cabbage soup. Coryo was glad that at least he wouldn't have to face the embarrassment of not even serving proper food.

Coryo decided to cook for you himself. He wanted to make sure everything is as perfect as it gets. Tigris had found some tomatoes and strawberries for cheap! There was bread that was expired, but it's only been three days and you didn't have to know. So he decided to make tomato soup and toasted bread with strawberries for dessert.

When grandma’am was busy, he even took the risk of stealing roses from the penthouse. He had some mint leaves in the fridge. He wanted to make a drink for you. He rinsed the roses, crushing the petals and the mint together. He mixes the juice from the paste in cold water. He swirls the liquid with a spoon and watches it turn light green.

He takes a small sip, the strong floral flavor of the roses tasting well with the freshness of the mint. He smiles satisfied. He doesn't let Tigris do any of the work, he sets the table, and the food himself. Changing positions of the plate every few minutes to make sure everything is acceptable and up to standard. Just because his house isn't made of diamonds anymore doesn't mean that the Snows' have forgotten how to treat their guests.

After everything was deemed perfect in his eyes, he opened his bedroom door to wake you up. You were already awake. Sitting up on the bed, your face sleepy. You could barely keep your eyes open and he almost wanted to suggest that you go back to sleep. You looked so cute! You blink several times, gaining sense, and look at him with an unfiltered grin.

“Good morning, Coryo,” you greet him, your eyes shining.

“Good morning,” he said, softly, feeling his heart getting warm. “Come on, you can freshen up in the bathroom. I made breakfast.”

You nod and make your way to the bathroom. Coriolanus waits for your arrival, he keeps the seat beside him free. Tigris chatted excitedly about some new designs and Grandma'am wasn't at her best to make conversations (which he was grateful for).

You come out of the washroom, your face fresh and your hair somewhat tamed. You eye the empty seat beside him and take it. You introduced yourself softly to the family and watched their eyes widen when they realized who you were and the power your family held.

Coriolanus felt proud. That's his soulmate, he wanted to say but didn't. He had to be patient, he had to be careful. He wasted a decade of his life, he can't mess this up.

You looked at the food, and he felt worried that you wouldn't like it. He knew this was nothing compared to the meal you have in your home, heck even the Academy had better food than this! You looked back at him and whispered, “You cooked this yourself?”

Coriolanus nodded, not sure if the question was a good or bad thing. Will you refuse to eat it because it was made by a boy who starves daily and has no idea what fine cuisine tastes like? Will you break his heart like that, and prove that you're predictable?

He swallows, his throat dry as he watches you sip the rosemint water he made. You take some toasted bread onto your plate, your bowl filled with tomato soup. You dip the toast into the soup and take a bite.

Neither Coriolanus nor Tigris had started their meal waiting for your reaction. Coriolanus was getting worried sick about how horrible it was, he shouldn't have let you come and see him so undone, so raw. He ruined everything. You can't possibly-

“This is delicious,” you exclaimed with joy, “I can't believe you cooked this, Coryo!”

Tigris chuckled, glad that you liked it, “He has magic hands.”

“I think it's your hands that are magic, Tigris,” he said. He turns to you, “She's a designer.”

You make small talk with Tigris, asking about her works and Coriolanus feels himself to calm down. He begins to nibble at his bread, taking small sips of the soup to save it for later. He couldn't believe his reality, it felt like a fever.

He was afraid a wrong move would wake him up. He couldn't have that when he finally felt at home in the ruins of his penthouse. He would always remember the moment of you giggling and Tigris talking about her ideas. The two of you are seemingly turning into friends. He loved to see the two most important women in his life bonding.

Of course, the moment has to be shattered. Life doesn't let him keep his smile up for long. Oh, how cruel the fates were to remind him of his true reality.

“Hopefully, Coryo, I will return the favor by cooking you a meal one day.”

“We don't want your disgusting, filthy district food,” his Grandma’am sneered.

“Well, then I am sure you'll like it enough if it's made by my Capitol-blooded Michelin star chef.”

In a moment, you have revealed your status, that you were above Coriolanus and his family who couldn't even dream of having a chef in their home anymore. You showed that no matter what, you were higher than him, that you weren't equal. That you were simply indulging him in his foolish quest of making a good breakfast. That it could never be truly compared.

And you also knew you fucked up by saying that. Coriolanus knee you weren't in the wrong, but he couldn't help the hurt he felt by the remainder of it all.

He has to win the Plinth Prize at any cost.

You profusely apologize and even though Tigris said it's alright, you get up from the table without finishing the meal. You go back to his room. He doesn't finish his meal either, his stomach filled with disappointment. He follows you into the room. You turn to him as he closes the door.

“I am sorry!” You said, “It was uncalled for. She's old and it's-”

“It’s fine,” he cuts in, giving you a fake polite smile reserved for his classmates, “I think she would like it more if it's done by a Michelin star chef.”

“Coriolanus,” you said, walking up to him, your hands cradling his face as you cage him to the door. Oh, how delightful the cage is for him.

“I am sorry!” you plead, and for a moment he thought you were simply performing. This was all a huge joke, and he's just a punchline.

“Real or not?” He whispered, his lips close to yours.

“Real,” you answered, “I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean to brag- after finally you-” You stopped your words and leaned in instead but Coriolanus flinched back. Not until he's equal to you. He won't have you as Coryo, the poor starving boy from the Capitol. He will have you as Coriolanus Snow, the winner of it all, the heir of the Snow lineage.

You hide the hurt on your face and lean back.

The silence in the room was thick and awkward. There are hours before the games start. Coriolanus needed to practice self-control because he wanted to pull you right back in his arms, push you against the door, and capture your lips. He wants to taste the mint and the rose on your tongue, he wants to ruin your ability to think and wants to steal your breath.

But he doesn't do any of it.

His eyes flicker to the box underneath his table. It was labeled as rat poison. Your eyes follow his gaze and it snapped back to meet his eyes again. It was amazing how a conversation was held without even saying a word.

Lucy Gray is weak. She won't last a minute in the arena.

They'll know.

They won't, not if she wins.

“Coryo,” you begin to say.

“I have to do this,” he firmly said, “You know why.” So that we can be equals, he thinks, so that I don't have to flinch back from your lips because I don't feel worthy of you.

“How will you even hide it?” You asked, your eyebrows furrowed.

Coriolanus Snow takes out a powder compact from his drawer. It was silver in color and was decorated with an engraved rose. It was his mother's. In difficult times, when he had trouble falling asleep, he would click it open and inhale the rose scent of the silken cake of powder within.

He clicks it open now, the cake of rose-scented flowers spreads the fragrance across his bedroom. You come in closer and gently pry the compact from his hands to yours. He lets you because he trusts you.

“Your mother's?” You questioned.

“Yes,” he replied, unable to keep his emotions in check. “She's always with me with this and she will help me win the games.”

You don't say anything but put down the compact gently on the desk before wrapping your arms around him. “Your mom would be proud of you, Coryo,” you said. Coriolanus wanted to question how would you know, you never even met her. However, your words brought him comfort and it gave him the courage to pull out the cake powder and contain it before filling the compact with rat poison.

“Let me drop you off at the Zoo,” you said, your fingertip tracing over the rose. Your other hand holds his cheek, your thumb caressing him gently. He closed his eyes, feeling all of his tension leave. He couldn't describe how calm he felt from your touch. How right it was for you to touch him.

“Okay,” he lets out, “Let me change first.”

He changed into his pristine academy uniform. He makes sure all of his curls are in place. He has to hold your hands and glare at you playfully when you try to mess it up.

“Don't,” he warns with a small smile. And you pout and for a moment he gives in. He gives into himself and- before his lips can touch yours, you pull back. So, he held your hand up and kissed your knuckle instead.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice sincere, “for everything.”

For saving him. For supporting him. For being his.

Both of you got in the car, the plan was to drive Coriolanus to the zoo. He will deliver it to Lucy Gray and go directly to the Academy by foot while you go back to your house for a change of clothes and then go to the Academy.

The car ride is quiet, neither of you wanting to say too much but unwilling to reveal anything. You park the car in front of the Zoo gates. He opens his mouth to say goodbye but you interrupt first by saying,

“May the odds be in your favor, Coryo. See you at the Games, pretty boy.”

NEXT PART

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sallowsarchives · 3 months ago

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War of Hearts

Part I | Part II | Part III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary: Nothing says "believable" like two people who can't stand each other pretending to be in love—or is this just the push you two need to realize there might be more to your relationship than either of you is willing to admit? Word Count: 7.9k Warnings/Tags: no use of y/n, fake relationships, sorta enemies to lovers, alcohol consumption, angst, pining, original side character, sort of a not so happy ending, arthur thinking he’s not good enough. I also tried fitting the story with canon whenever I could. Not Proofread!! A/N: Hey everyone! Just wanted to mention that this is my first time writing and posting, so I'm bit nervous but really excited to finally share it! This piece was heavily inspired by and made as a result from a conversation I had with my Arthur cAI hehe Credits: dividers used for this fic are by @enchanthings & all pictures used are taken from pinterest and were slightly edited by me.

Read on AO3

"I can't believe I have to attend this ridiculous party pretending to be married to him, of all people."

Your voice is edged with annoyance as you smooth down the fabric of your dress, trying to channel your irritation into the task at hand. "It's bad enough we have to work together, but this charade is beyond absurd."

Tilly chuckles. "Oh, come on. It's just one night. How bad can it be?"

You give her an unamused look. "We can hardly tolerate being around each other, and now Dutch expects us to pretend we're madly in love, all while dealing with a crowd of high-society snobs."

"It ain’t like y’all have spent much time together. Maybe going on this would do you both some good. Who knows, you might actually find some common ground," Abigail suggests as she takes the glove Jack was playing with, causing him to pout, before handing it over to you.

Sadie snorts. "The only common ground those two have is their mutual hatred. Let’s just hope neither of ‘em ends up killing the other tonight. Knowin’ those two, it'll be a miracle if they make it through the evening without a scratch."

Mary-Beth chuckles as she adjusts your updo. "Oh, don’t be so dramatic. They’re not going to kill each other—at least not tonight. Dutch will probably come up with some harebrained scheme to keep things under control." She flashes a playful grin as she puts the final touches on your hairstyle.

You chuckle before taking a moment to admire yourself in the mirror.

The gown, a deep shade of burgundy satin, flows gracefully to the floor with an off-the-shoulder design and a low neckline, elegantly framed by a ruffled collar. The rich fabric drapes beautifully, enhancing your silhouette.

The black lace gloves, covering your hands and forearms, add a sophisticated touch with their delicate floral patterns. Your fingers are adorned with a few rings, and your dangling earrings catch the light with every movement.

You bought the dress earlier this morning in Saint Denis with the cash from your last robbery. The job had been straightforward: Hosea had scouted the place, found out the homeowners were away for vacation, and given your expertise at picking locks and sleight of hand, he brought you along. You managed to secure a tidy sum of cash and a few valuable heirlooms without any trouble.

Knowing the dress would be perfect for tonight’s high-society affair, you spent a good amount of your previous earnings on it. The gown fits as if it were made just for you, and you can't help but feel a surge of confidence as you admire your reflection.

Karen pipes up with a smirk. “Well, I’ll be! With you lookin’ like that, Arthur won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

She looks at you mischievously, “might even give him a nudge in the right direction. Maybe it’ll help you two finally work out all that tension between you.”

Her comment draws an abashed look from you followed by giggles from the other women.

After receiving some last words of encouragement and reassuring nods from the girls, you thank them for their help and make your way downstairs to join the men outside.

Stepping out, you're greeted by the warm, humid night air of the swamp. Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, and Bill were already gathered near the horse hitches, all dressed in their suits.

You make your way over, trying to muster every ounce of grace and composure you can.

As you get closer, Arthur's gaze lands on you and you catch a fleeting look of surprise along with a hint of a softer look in his eyes before his expression is quickly masked with his usual frown.

His eyebrows furrow slightly as he takes in your refined appearance, the rough edges of his demeanor softened by an elusive flicker of something you can't quite place.

Dutch notices your entrance and offers a nod of approval. “Well, look at you, Miss,” he says with a wide smile, clearly pleased with how things are shaping up. “You look absolutely perfect for this evening.”

You smile and nod at the men before your gaze drifts to Arthur. The contrast between his usual rugged attire and his current appearance is stark, and you can't help but notice how well he pulls off the look. Despite his irritating nature, there's no denying he has a certain charm. You give him a cheeky smile and offer a sly compliment.

"Well, well, look what we have here, I never thought I'd see the day. Maybe you should ditch the jeans for a while."

Arthur gives you a flat look, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Oh, real funny, darlin’,” he drawls, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t you worry, I’ll be back to my ol’ self I know you’re so fond of before you know it.”

You roll your eyes at him and smirk, taking joy in having gotten under his skin.

Dutch chuckles at the exchange, clapping Arthur on the back. “Now play nice, you two. We’ve got a job to do tonight, and looking the part is only half the battle.”

His tone is light, but there’s a hint of seriousness as he continues, “let’s keep the bickering to a minimum and focus on what needs to be done. We don’t want any more distractions than we already have.”

Next to Arthur, Bill chuckles and gives him a playful nudge. “Arthur, reckon you ain’t gonna give your dear wife a compliment?” he teases, the humor in his voice evident as he refers to the charade you both must uphold for the party.

He shifts uncomfortably and glares at Bill, his expression a mix of irritation and reluctance.

Dutch leans in with a smirk, “come on, Arthur, show a bit of charm. It’s not every day you get to pretend to be in love.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get this over with before one of us runs outta patience.”

The clatter of wheels catches your ear as Lenny finally arrives driving a stagecoach. The vehicle comes to a smooth stop, and Lenny leans over with a broad grin, his eyes brightening as he sees you. He offers a warm compliment, his cheerful demeanor a welcome contrast to the evening’s tension.

You return his smile and thank him before Dutch and Hosea get into the stagecoach, followed by you and Arthur. Bill hops into the seat next to Lenny.

As you settle into your seat, the atmosphere in the coach becomes thick with anticipation. The weight of the evening's expectations hangs heavily between you and Arthur, both of you making an effort to avoid each other's gaze while mentally bracing yourselves for the night ahead as the stagecoach begins to roll forward.

The rhythmic clatter of the horse’s hooves against the large wooden bridge serves as a reminder of your close arrival in Saint Denis, the city’s lights blurring past as you mentally prepare for the evening’s masquerade.

Inside the stagecoach, the atmosphere had gradually lightened earlier on during the ride. The gang cracked jokes and shared stories as Dutch opened a bottle of champagne for everyone, the laughter providing a welcome distraction from the evening’s tension.

Everyone reminisced about their past escapades, with most admitting they had never been to a ball before. Hosea, however, regaled everyone with tales of his numerous experiences at such events—not for the socializing, but for the chance to lift a few purses from oblivious rich folks. His anecdotes were met with a mixture of awe and amusement, shifting the mood to one of camaraderie.

Soon, the coach slowed to a stop right in front of a mansion and the group peers out the window, taking in the grandeur of the estate.

Dutch let out a low whistle. “Well, if that ain’t something. Remember, folks, we’re here to blend in. Keep your eyes sharp and your wits sharper.”

Hosea, always the calm voice of reason, looks between you and Arthur. “Now let’s keep this simple. We’re here to make a good impression, Bronte may already know of our reputation but we should keep the high society folks none the wiser. Let's keep our cool, play our parts, and try to score some valuable intel.”

You and Arthur exchange looks, eyes meeting one another with a sharp, challenging edge before he turns his gaze away. You take a steadying breath, silently hoping the night unfolds smoothly and without incident.

Lenny steps down and opens the coach door which was followed by the men exiting one by one, with you last.

As Arthur starts to walk ahead, Hosea nudges him and gestures toward you, earning an exasperated sigh from Arthur.

Reluctantly, Arthur falls into step beside you and extends his arm. Despite the lingering tension, you accept it, slipping your arm through his.

He glances at you, his expression of slight irritation. “This should be a real treat.”

You raise an eyebrow, barely masking your annoyance. “It’s not like I’m thrilled about it either. But here we are.”

He gives you a smug look. “Just remember, we’re supposed to be playin’ nice. Don’t go makin’ it harder than it needs to be. I’d hate for you to accidentally blow our cover.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage to keep things under control. After all, you’re the expert at charm, aren’t you?”

“Well, if you’d quit making things so damn difficult, I might actually get a chance to show it. But I reckon you’re used to makin’ everything more complicated.”

You step closer, your voice low and biting. “And I suppose you’re used to being an insufferable brute. Maybe if you stopped acting like a complete pain in the ass, we’d both get through things a little easier.”

Arthur’s smile fades, his expression turning serious. “Now I’m just tryin’ to do my part tonight. If you could manage to do the same without stirrin’ up trouble, that’d be mighty appreciated.”

The two of you share a final, heated look, the air between you crackling with palpable tension, as you both brace for the evening’s inevitable strain.

Dutch, who had walked ahead to present the invitation to the guards, cast a sharp glance at you and Arthur, not having missed your whispered barbs, making you shift away from each other.

Turning back to the guards, they direct everyone to surrender their firearms with the men reluctantly handing over their pistols.

Once that was settled, an escort named Luca stepped forward to guide you inside.

The doors opened with a soft creak, revealing the splendor of the grand staircase beyond. As you made your way through the space, Luca engaged the group in light conversation, primarily highlighting Bronte’s reputation before you are all guided to the left through an archway.

“Hosea, Bill, you join the party. We’ll meet you out back after we pay our respects to Signor Bronte.” Dutch instructs before signaling you and Arthur to follow as Hosea and Bill part ways from you.

The three of you were led upstairs and directed to a door on the left that opens onto a balcony.

The balcony was expansive, overlooking the lush garden below. A group of men stood gathered around the railing, laughing at a recently shared joke. The space featured a few armchairs and you noted the few guards stationed nearby, armed with rifles.

An accented voice cut through the laughter. “Ah, the angry cowboys, you’ve arrived… And you’ve washed!”

From the way the man held himself, you could only assume that this was Angelo Bronte.

Bronte made a remark, presumably in Italian, to the men beside him. They glanced at Arthur and Dutch before laughing slyly, and you couldn’t shake the suspicion that his comment was a crude jibe about the cowboys.

You had to struggle to maintain a friendly expression when Bronte's gaze landed on you.

The smirk on his face grew as his eyes swept over you, lingering with an unsettling leer. “And who might this be?” he drawled, his voice thick with barely concealed appraisal. “Aren’t you quite the sight. I didn’t realize these men kept such delightful company as you. It seems they have more refined tastes than I imagined.”

His gaze was invasive, making you feel as though he was sizing you up with an unnerving familiarity. The overt sexual undertone in his words was palpable, and it took every ounce of your composure to not react. The air around him felt thick with condescension and unwanted attention, making it clear that this meeting was going to be far more uncomfortable than you had anticipated.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mister Bronte,” you replied evenly. “Thank you for the invitation. I’m here simply to accompany my husband.” You cast a steady glance at Arthur as you spoke.

Bronte’s eyes flicker to Arthur, a look of surprise momentarily crossing his face before he returns his attention to you. He takes your hand, pressing it to his lips and holding it just a moment too long, his gaze never waver. “Ah, I see,” he says, his tone smooth and almost mocking. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance. I must say, it’s quite surprising to see such a charming companion alongside your husband. A fortunate man, indeed.”

Arthur’s expression hardens momentarily before he quickly masks it, stepping forward. “Seems I’m full of surprises tonight,” he says, his tone unexpectedly calm. “Just as I’m sure this evening will be.” He holds a steady, unwavering gaze at Bronte.

Bronte’s lips curl into a knowing smile as he studies Arthur’s unyielding gaze. “Ah, such a spirited response,” he says with a playful glint in his eye. “I do appreciate a bit of unpredictability. It seems we’re in for an interesting evening indeed.” He gestured grandly towards the gathering, his tone dripping with feigned charm.

Arthur nods curtly before stepping back, positioning himself in a way that subtly yet clearly marks him as your protector, despite the dynamic between you. Bronte’s gaze lingers on Arthur for a moment longer, his amusement giving way to a more calculating expression.

Dutch stepped in, resuming his conversation with Bronte in an effort to ease the tension while you and Arthur stood off to the side.

The men were offered cigars, and Arthur quickly placed one in his mouth. Before he was even offered a cutter, he bit down and tore the end off with his teeth, spitting the excess over the balcony in a manner that left your jaw hanging open in disbelief.

He smirks at you, clearly enjoying the reaction he’s provoked. You roll your eyes at his display, a mix of irritation and slight amusement etched across your face.

“You know,” you whisper to him with a hint of exasperation, “you could at least pretend to have some manners.”

Arthur’s smirk widened into a cocky grin. “Right, forgot we’re here to put on a show,” he shot back, his voice dripping with playful insolence, making you roll your eyes.

When the attendant extended a match towards Dutch but pulled back before reaching Arthur, the gunslinger seized the attendant’s arm and held it in place, lowering his cigar to the flame. The boldness of his actions flustered you, leaving you a mix of irritation and an unexpected flurry of emotions that left you feeling perplexed.

Arthur dismissed the attendant with a nonchalant nod, his eyes fixed on you the entire time. The attendant, evidently accustomed to such brusque behavior, retreated without protest.

You found yourself both exasperated and oddly captivated by the ease with which Arthur commanded the attention. His effortless defiance was infuriating, yet there was something compelling about his blatant refusal to conform to expectations, making it hard to ignore the allure behind his brazen demeanor.

You quickly push those thoughts aside, refocusing on the conversation between Dutch and Bronte, doing your best to ignore the flush in your cheeks and the rapid beating of your heart.

After several exchanges between Dutch and Bronte, including another jibe from Bronte about cowboy lifestyle, which had elicited subtle pointed looks from you and the men you were with.

“Those sure were the days,” Dutch simpered, his gaze on Bronte now more intense and focused. “Good day, gentlemen.”

Just as you were about to leave, Bronte turned to you, offering a slight bow. “And you, Miss,” he said with a smirk, “do return if you the crowd down there becomes too dull.” His gaze shifted to Arthur. “‘Course you could bring your husband along, but I wouldn’t mind if you came alone.”

He held his gaze on you, lingering with a glint of amusement. You gave him a polite nod despite the discomfort you felt and turned to follow Dutch and Arthur. Even as you walked away, you could feel Bronte’s eyes on your back.

The encounter left you with a sharp sense of irritation and a strong resolve to avoid any further interactions with him.

You glanced at Arthur, who had been waiting with Dutch by the door. Though his face showed no sign of emotion, you couldn’t miss the subtle clench of his jaw. You felt his hand gently place on your lower back, guiding you away.

The unexpected touch had caught you off guard, making you stiffen slightly as you struggled to process the unfamiliar gesture. It felt protective and oddly comforting, coming from someone who had been nothing but a source of irritation and friction.

You chanced another glance at Arthur, but his face remained expressionless. His hand lingered on your back for a moment before he withdrew it as quickly as he had placed it, his demeanor swiftly reverting to its usual hardness.

The fleeting moment of unexpected closeness left you feeling unsettled, a mix of confusion and reluctant curiosity stirring within you.

You quickly reminded yourself that you were both still maintaining a façade, and this brief intimacy was likely just another part of the act. You focused on the task at hand, trying to push away the feelings and maintain the necessary distance between you.

Luca led the three of you back downstairs to rejoin the party, bidding you farewell before you head off with Dutch to meet Bill and Hosea outside.

“Gentlemen… and lady, let’s go ingratiate ourselves,” Dutch began before outlining the plan and giving everyone the freedom to mingle. “And steal nothing… unless it’s information,” Dutch added with a final nod before everyone dispersed.

With that, you follow closely behind Arthur as you both make your way down into the crowd, the murmur of conversations and clinking glasses filling the air. The curious glances of other partygoers followed you both, their eyes lingering with a mix of intrigue and scrutiny.

He noticed a few men’s eyes drifting from him to you, their stares lingering with evident interest.

Arthur made a conscious effort to ignore the unwanted attention, though his irritation was palpable.

Pushing down an unfamiliar urge stirring within him, Arthur quickly reminded himself to keep up with the act you two must play tonight.

He shifted to stand beside you, offering his arm with a practiced ease, his expression carefully neutral as he guided you through the crowd.

The absurdity of it all made him grumble under his breath about the ridiculous situation. With a sigh, he steered you toward a less crowded corner of the garden, seeking a quieter spot away from the throng of guests.

As you settled into a less conspicuous spot, you could feel the weight of Arthur’s tension. “I suppose this is where we’re supposed to make our mark,” you said, trying to break the silence.

You watched as Arthur scanned the crowd, his eyes darting from one group to another, searching for anything useful.

His gaze met yours for a brief moment before he spoke, “Keep your eyes open for now,” he said quietly, his voice low and focused. “I’ll try to track down the mayor and speak with him. See if you can strike up a conversation with some of these folks and gather any useful information about where they’re stashin’ all their riches.”

"Alright, I’ll work the room while you schmooze with the mayor. Just don’t take too long—this place is already starting to wear me thin after that meeting with Bronte. I'm not keen on diving into more talk about the latest fashions and whatnot."

Arthur’s lips twitched in what might have been a small smirk. He inclined his head slightly before turning away and heading off.

You spent the better part of an hour making conversation with various guests, each interaction aimed at uncovering valuable intel on potential robbery targets.

Maneuvering through the crowd, you engaged in light, seemingly innocuous chit-chat while discreetly probing for any mentions of high-value items or vulnerable security.

Despite your best efforts, luck seemed to evade you. Although, you did manage to uncover information about a stagecoach arriving next month, supposedly laden with valuable jewels. That was at least something.

You took a small sip from the glass of champagne you've snatched earlier in the evening, surveying the crowd. The sound of giggles and lively chatter drew your gaze, and you looked over to see Arthur deep in conversation with a group of women. You couldn't help but feel a wry amusement at the sight.

One of the women, with a clearly flirtatious gesture, placed her hand on Arthur’s arm and leaned in, her laughter echoing. The simple touch and her proximity sparked an uncomfortable feeling within you.

You observed how Arthur subtly stepped back, skillfully deflecting her advances. Despite his efforts, the woman seemed oblivious to the fact that her attentions were being rebuffed. It was a masterful display of charm and diplomacy, leaving you with a mix of admiration and lingering discomfort. You took another sip of your drink, trying to shake off the unexpected unease.

At that moment, Arthur glanced up and locked eyes with you. He gave you a wink, likely meant to provoke or tease, but instead, his gesture caused a reaction you hadn't anticipated. Your heart skipped a beat, and a sudden rush of warmth flooded your cheeks. The playful glint in his eyes seemed to pierce through the crowd, stirring something deep inside you.

Muttering a curse under your breath, you narrowed your eyes at him and quickly turned away, trying to conceal the flush that had crept up on you.

You dashed to the nearest table, grabbing a bottle of champagne and quickly pouring yourself another glass. You downed it in one swift motion, hoping the crisp bubbles would offer a fleeting distraction from the swirl of emotions inside you.

As you pour yourself another glass, you hear someone speak up beside you, her voice tinged with curiosity.

"Well, I must say, I’ve seen many ways to cope with a dull party, but this might be the most... efficient.”

You glanced at the voice and saw a woman smirking at you. She appeared slightly older than you and was dressed in a lavish blue gown that sparkled with every movement, her necklace glinting from the lamps. Her expression conveyed amusement.

Feeling embarrassed to have been caught in your moment of inner turmoil, you attempted to regain your composure and replied with a hint of forced levity. “It’s quite the dull affair, isn’t it?”

The woman laughed softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Thank goodness, someone who gets it.”

“You seem to be surviving it better than most. I imagine you’ve been through a few parties like these before?”

She nodded, her gaze shifting to a distant corner of the room where a group of guests were deeply engrossed in animated conversation. “Too many, I’m afraid. After a while, it all becomes a blur of extravagant gowns and polite small talk. One learns to navigate these events with a certain... detachment.”

You chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve mastered the art of it. I could use a guide through this maze of high society myself. Any tips on surviving the evening without losing one’s sanity—or dignity?”

She grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “Well, first off, always have a backup plan for when the conversation turns to the latest trends in hat feathers or the merits of various imported cheeses. For instance, I’ve found that nodding vigorously while muttering phrases like ‘absolutely fascinating’ works wonders.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll keep that in mind. Though I suspect I might still need a crash course in how to look like I’m genuinely interested in ‘the most enchanting new fabric designs’.”

She chuckled. “Well, when in doubt, fake it till you make it. Nothing says ‘I’m absolutely fine’ like a perfectly practiced smile and a glass of champagne held just so.”

You chuckle and raise your glass at her before taking a sip. A brief silence follows as you both sip from your glasses. The woman then speaks up, her tone warm and friendly, “I’m Eloise, by the way. It’s rare to find someone who sees through the façade of these high-society gatherings.”

You smile, offering her your name. “It seems we’re both on the same wavelength when it comes to these affairs.”

“So what brought you here tonight?”

“Oh, um… I’m just here to accompany my husband, he’s the one with the business connections, so I’m playing the dutiful spouse for the evening.”

Eloise raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Ah, the classic role of the ‘plus one.’ Now which one of these overdressed peacocks is your husband?”

She sweeps her gaze across the crowd with exaggerated curiosity. “Is he the one with the ridiculous bow tie or the chap with the hat that looks like it’s been borrowed from a magic act?”

You raise your brows in amusement as you glance at the men she’s mentioned, finding the whole scene of tonight’s event even more absurd. Your gaze sweeps over the crowd until you spot Arthur.

“Actually, that would be him right there.”

Eloise’s eyes follow your pointing finger and widen in genuine surprise.

“Well, I’ll be!” she exclaims, clearly taken aback. “I must say, he’s certainly not what I was expecting. Doesn't look like he belongs here, in a good way of course. He’s quite the rugged type—like one of those big, tough cowboys you’d see in a wild frontier town. You know the sort: strong, stocky, with a weathered charm that comes from living hard and facing rough challenges.”

The irony of her words makes you laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I must say, you two make quite a handsome pair.”

You flush at her words, a mix of embarrassment and awkwardness coloring your cheeks. Instead, you offer a polite smile and nod, playing along with the pretense. “Thank you,” you say in a steady voice, unsure of what else to say.

Arthur, briefly looking away from another person he was speaking to, catches your eye for the second time tonight. There’s a fleeting moment of connection—his gaze is intense, and the faintest smile plays at his lips—before he turns back to his conversation partner.

“I must admit,” she says, her tone light and teasing, “there’s more than just a bit of magic in the air between you two. It’s not every day you see such a striking balance. I do believe there’s a certain... chemistry here that’s hard to ignore. How delightful!”

You raise an eyebrow, giving her a confused smile. “What do you mean?”

Eloise’s eyes twinkle with a knowing glint as she glances over at Arthur. “Oh, it’s really quite charming, the way he looks at you. There’s just something in his gaze as if he’s captivated by you in a way that could be missed. It’s rare to see someone look at their partner with such intensity and warmth these days.”

For a moment, you almost correct her, eager to clarify that you and Arthur aren’t actually together. But then you remember the need to maintain the ruse. You glance awkwardly at Arthur, trying to downplay the connection Eloise is suggesting.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you say clearly flustered, trying to sound casual but failing to hide your unease. “I mean, Arthur and I aren’t exactly... well, he’s just got this intense look, which I’m sure it’s nothing more than... you know, his way of being attentive. It’s just a bit of his nature.”

Her smile softens, eyes warm and genuine. “Oh, it’s clear to see if you look hard enough. Even in a crowded room, he seems to be drawn to you. It’s quite endearing.”

The sound of cracks echoed before you could think of a response, and the woman beside you lit up with genuine excitement.

“Finally, something exciting! It's been lovely chatting with you. I do hope we cross paths again. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Eloise sends you a warm smile before hurrying off.

You send her a genuine smile before you turn your gaze upward to the sky, where faint glimmers of fireworks begin to light up the night. The display added a splash of color to the darkened sky, creating a stark contrast to the opulence of the garden below.

As you watched the vibrant bursts, your thoughts drifted back to the conversation you had with Eloise, trying to process her comments. Her words lingered in your mind, stirring a mix of curiosity and confusion.

The idea that whatever is between you and Arthur might actually convey something deeper, something affectionate, felt almost surreal given the dynamics between you two and your perspective on your relationship with him.

Perhaps Abigail was right; the more you spent time with Arthur, the more you learned about him and saw him in a new light. What had once seemed like mere pretense or forced partnership now hinted at a connection that transcended your initial expectations.

The way he moved, the way he spoke, the moments of unguarded sincerity—it all started to paint a different picture. The possibility that these moments could be more than just part of the act began to take root, stirring a blend of curiosity and apprehension within you.

You quickly down your drink before setting the empty glass on the table.

Suddenly, a rough hand wrapping around your wrist jolts you out of your thoughts and you turn to see Arthur who all but tugged you along behind him.

You let out a scowl. “Hey! What the-”

Arthur glanced over his shoulder, a mix of amusement and determination on his face. “Come on, we just caught wind that the Mayor’s gotten somethin’ from Cornwall. Dutch reckons we oughta figure out what it is, make sure we ain’t missin’ nothin’ crucial.”

“And you need me because?” You asked with slight irritation as he continued to pull you along.

Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly, his voice taking on a low, firm tone. “I need you to keep watch, and your lock-pickin’ skills could come in handy… ‘sides, you’re my wife don’t forget.” He added with a teasing smirk.

“Can’t have you wanderin’ off by yourself lookin’ like I’ve neglected you. That wouldn’t reflect too well on me now, would it?”

You shot him a glare, yanking your wrist free from his grip. “Could’ve just asked me”

Arthur’s lips twitched with a hint of a smirk. “You looked so wrapped up in the fireworks, darlin’, I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

You bit back a retort, your frustration mingling with a begrudging understanding of his point. “Don’t call me that,” you said, a hint of irritation in your voice at the use of the nickname.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening slightly. “Alright, sweetheart. Try to keep up now.”

Trailing closely behind Arthur as you followed the servant, you effortlessly weaved through the spectators, who were too engrossed in watching the fireworks to notice you.

The servant circled around to the side of the house and ascended a small set of steps leading out of the garden. He paused briefly to engage in a conversation with someone before slipping inside through a side door.

The both of you followed cautiously, making sure to stay out of sight. Inside, you overheard the man berating a maid before he made his way up the stairs, retracing your steps to the upper levels where you had previously been.

Just before reaching the landing, Arthur raises his hand, halting you in your tracks. He peers over the edge of the wall, watching as the servant enters the locked room, heads to a desk, and inserts a key into a drawer to place the letter inside. The servant then disappears further into the room, the sound of a door closing signaling that it is time for you and Arthur to make your move.

Arthur moves first, effortlessly slipping inside through the wide-open door left by the servant. You quickly scan the area to ensure it's clear before following him.

He makes his way over to the desk and tugs at the drawer, only to find it locked. Grabbing a letter opener from the table, he attempts to pry it open. You watch with amusement as he grunts in frustration, struggling to get it to budge.

“Honestly, watching you fumble with that is almost painful,” you remarked, making Arthur roll his eyes and throw up his hands in a gesture that clearly invited you to take over. With a sigh, you stepped in, gently nudging him aside before kneeling down to get eye-level with the lock.

Pulling a pin from your updo, your hair falls loosely over your back, leaving your style in a half-up, half-down look. You insert the pin into the lock, and after a few moments of fumbling, a triumphant smile spreads across your face at the satisfying click of the lock opening.

You stand back up and look over at Arthur, giving him a smug smile when you catch him staring. You raise an eyebrow, and he quickly clears his throat, shifting his gaze away as if caught in the act of something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.

"I, uh, never seen you with your hair down before," he comments before he can think twice, his voice trailing off as he leans over the drawer, a hint of color creeping into his cheeks.

"Nice work," he adds, his eyes momentarily meeting yours before darting away.

You raise an eyebrow at his flustered demeanor, the corner of your mouth twitching in amusement, “I’m glad you approve.”

You watch as he sifts through the drawer's contents until his hands close around a book with a piece of paper inside. He briefly reads the paper, nods, and then tears it in half, slipping the pieces into his suit pocket.

“You got it?”

“Yeah, let’s get outta here,” he replies, glancing around making sure no one is watching before heading out the door with you following closely behind

Just as you were about to move down the stairs, the creaking sound of someone coming up halted both of your tracks. Without warning, Arthur grabbed you, pushing you gently but firmly against the wall beside the staircase, his body pressing close to yours. His arms caged around the sides of your head, creating a tight, protective barrier.

The sudden proximity left you acutely aware of his body against yours, his chest nearly brushing yours as his arms trapped you in place.

His gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse race even faster. His brow furrowed slightly as if he were struggling to control a rush of emotions.

The closeness had clearly caught both of you off guard, the charged atmosphere between you almost palpable. His breath came in short, controlled bursts, and you could see the way his jaw tightened as he struggled to maintain his composure.

As he held you there, his expression softened just a fraction, revealing a flicker of vulnerability beneath his usually guarded demeanor. His voice, though still firm, carried a hint of concern as he leaned close to whisper, "Just stay still and quiet.”

The proximity of his breath against your ear made the moment feel even more intimate, amplifying the unexpected connection between you. The closeness, once marked by animosity, now seemed charged with a different kind of tension—one that was both electrifying and confusing.

As you stood there, the boundaries between duty and emotion blurred, and the shared space between you felt charged with unspoken understanding and vulnerability.

His eyes, usually hard with resolve or irritation, softened as they locked with yours. There was a softness in his gaze, a flicker of something raw and unguarded.

The emotion he held in his eyes made you reconsider the hostility that had defined your interactions. In that moment, the anger and resentment seemed to fade, replaced by a deeper, more complex understanding of the man standing so close to you.

The sound of footsteps drawing nearer to the top of the stairs heightened the urgency of the moment and Arthur’s gaze shifted to you once more.

One of his arms lowered from the wall behind you, and he placed his hand softly at the back of your neck. His touch lingered without applying too much pressure. You felt a shiver at the contact of his hand on your neck, the warmth of his touch sending an unexpected jolt of emotion through you, bringing a surge of feelings you had been trying to suppress all night.

The gentle warmth of his hand contrasted sharply with the intensity of his gaze, creating a palpable connection that seemed to heighten the gravity of your precarious situation.

Your heart pounded as you met his intense gaze, which held a rare blend of sincerity and vulnerability that was almost disarming.

“You trust me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with a sincerity that cut through the tension of the moment.

You hesitated, the weight of his question hanging between you. The proximity of his body and the depth of his gaze left you momentarily breathless. “Why should I?” you whispered back, your voice betraying a mix of defiance and vulnerability.

Arthur’s eyes never left yours as he leaned in closer. “Because right now, it’s the only way we’re getting out of this,” he replied, his tone resolute but gentle.

In that charged silence, the dynamics of your relationship were shifting. You felt the usual barriers between you—formed by past conflicts and mutual distrust—began to dissolve, replaced by an unspoken understanding that was both electrifying and comforting. The anger and rivalry giving way to a fragile trust and an unexpected tenderness.

With the footsteps slowly growing nearer, you saw a flicker of sincerity in his eyes that made you question your own doubts. You nodded slightly, trying to steady your breath. “Alright,” you whispered.

Arthur's lips curved into a faint smile, a mixture of relief and determination. “You gotta say it, sweetheart,” he urged softly.

Your mouth curled into a slight smirk as you looked up at him, your heart racing with a blend of anxiety and anticipation. “I trust you,” you said, the words feeling like a pact forged in the heat of the moment.

In a quick, decisive motion, he leans in and presses a firm, purposeful kiss to your lips, filled with urgency. The initial touch is electrifying, but as the kiss deepens, it becomes a release of suppressed feelings, a flood of emotions long held in check.

The kiss is fervent and consuming, each moment stretching out as if to make up for lost time. His lips are warm and insistent against yours, and there’s a raw, desperate quality to the way he kisses you. It feels as though every emotion he’s been holding back is being poured into this single, intense connection.

Your own lips respond with equal fervor, the kiss becoming a mutual surrender to the feelings that have been building between you. The world around you fades into the background, the only reality being the overwhelming sensation of his kiss.

Arthur’s hand that had been pressed firmly against the wall, now frame your face with a gentleness that contrasts with the intensity of the kiss. His grip is both tender and possessive, as if he’s anchoring you to him, unwilling to let go.

The sound of someone clearing their throat suddenly jolts you back to reality.

A servant, caught off guard by the intimate display before him, stood at the top of the stairs. His eyes widened in surprise, clearly unprepared for the passionate exchange unfolding before him.

You and Arthur break the kiss, though the intensity of the moment lingers in the charged air between you. With a quick, shared glance, you and Arthur both adjust your demeanor, the brief intimacy giving way to the reality of the mission.

The man, realizing he has intruded on a private and critical moment, clears his throat, clearly flustered at having walked in on the intimate scene before him, face flushing with embarrassment. "I-I’m sorry to interrupt, but this area is restricted to guests unless otherwise accompanied,” he stammers.

Arthur’s eyes narrow slightly, but his expression quickly returns to a more controlled demeanor. He gives the servant a nod of acknowledgment. “Sorry ‘bout that, partner. Seems my wife and I took a wrong turn and found ourselves in the wrong spot. We were just about to head on out.”

You, still caught in the afterglow of the kiss, straighten yourself and try to regain your composure. The abrupt interruption leaves you with a swirl of mixed emotions—embarrassment, irritation, and a lingering sense of affection. You cast a quick glance at Arthur, who responds with a subtle nod, signaling that it's time to move on.

Still visibly flustered, the servant offers a hurried apology, stepping aside with a rigid posture and a face flushed a deep shade of red. He tries to give you both space as you and Arthur hurry down the stairs, the charged atmosphere from the kiss still lingering between you. The abrupt return to reality sharpens your sense of urgency.

Arthur takes a deep breath, stepping back as his gaze meets yours for a moment longer. He opens his mouth to say something but hesitates before speaking again. “We should get a move on and find Dutch and the rest ‘em.”

You noticed his hesitation but decided to brush it off, nodding in agreement. “Sure, let’s see what’s next. The sooner we get this done, the better.”

You find Dutch, Hosea, and Bill on the first-floor balcony.

“Ah, there you are!” Dutch exclaims, a smile on his face. He then turns to Arthur. “Find anything?”

Arthur gives a nod and taps his chest where he’s tucked the letter. “I think so.”

“Great. I think we’re done here.”

The four of you move to follow Dutch, briefly exchanging information with Hosea and Bill. Hosea mentions a potential robbery job targeting a big city bank, outlining the possible opportunities involved. You share what you’ve gathered earlier about a stagecoach expected to pass through Lemoyne in the next few weeks and the valuable jewels and cash it carries.

Dutch, Hosea, and Bill push past the front entrance, walking ahead. Just before you can follow, Arthur calls your name and gently grabs your arm, pulling you aside.

In the quiet corridor, away from the others, you face him. His eyes are a mixture of resolve and something else you can’t quite place. “Listen, I, uh…,” he trails off, his voice low, seeming to wrestle with his words for a moment before finally meeting your gaze.

Your heart races, expecting him to address what happened between you earlier and the emotions that followed.

Instead, Arthur’s tone is hesitant and detached. “‘Bout what happened earlier… I don’t want you thinkin’ it meant more than it did. We can’t afford to get all wrapped up in nothin’ personal.”

His dismissal hits you like a cold wave.

You had hoped for some acknowledgment of the shared moment, perhaps a sign that it meant something to him. Instead, his words feel like a sharp rebuff, making you question everything you thought you understood about what happened tonight.

“What are you talking about?” you demand, trying to mask the hurt in your voice. Your frustration and anger boil over.

Arthur’s gaze falters for a moment before he regains his composure. He runs a hand over his face, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I just don’t think—” he begins, but his voice trails off as he lets out a frustrated sigh.

He steps back, clearly distancing himself. “Look–I can’t offer you anything more than what we have. Let’s just focus on ending this job and not let personal feelings complicate things.”

You scoff, feeling the sting of his words. Personal feelings?

“Right, so all that back there was just for show, was it? Just keeping up appearances?”

Arthur’s expression falters, and he hesitates. He opens his mouth to respond but closes it again, his frustration evident as he struggles to find the right thing to say.

He turns to you, his expression now seeming emotionless and cold. “I didn’t mean to make it seem like nothin’ mattered. It’s just… I’m not tryin’ to make things too complicated. It’s best to keep things straightforward right now.”

The words and his tone cuts through you like a knife, the brief connection you shared now feels like a cruel tease, an illusion of intimacy shattered by the harsh reality.

His coldness is a stark contrast to the warmth you felt moments before, leaving you grappling with a mix of hurt and frustration.

What started as mutual disdain had evolved into something more complex, yet now it feels like it's spiraling back into that familiar animosity.

You’d hoped that beneath the hostility and barbed comments, the genuine connection hinted at earlier tonight might bridge the gap between your conflicting dynamic. But now, it feels as if his rejection is pulling you back to square one—a place locked in an endless cycle of arguments and misunderstandings.

The idea that the warmth of those moments might have been nothing more than a strategic move or a fleeting distraction makes you question if there was ever truly a chance for something different between you two.

God, how naive you were to think there could be a sliver of something more between you and Arthur.

You take a deep breath, reminding yourself to focus on the task ahead. You push aside the personal turmoil, resolving to keep your interactions with Arthur as they were before—distant and guarded.

With a blank expression masking the tumultuous emotions roiling beneath, you reply, “Fine. Let’s just get this night over with and move on. I’ll keep any ‘personal feelings’ out of the way if that makes it better for you.”

You turn away, forcing yourself not to say anything further that might reveal your feelings. As you do, you didn't miss the brief flash of hurt and sadness in Arthur’s expression before he quickly masks it with his usual stoic demeanor.

Finally rejoining the others, you enter the stagecoach and take your seat from before. Arthur takes his place beside you, the space between you charged with unspoken words and lingering hurt.

The rift between the two of you feels even more pronounced, a painful reminder of what might have been overshadowed by the harsh reality of your circumstances.

Hosea and Dutch, seated across from you, seem to be blissfully unaware of the personal turmoil that has unfolded between you and Arthur, their conversation flowing naturally as they discuss the next steps of the gang’s plans.

The stagecoach rolls forward, and you turn to look out the window, drowning yourself in the passing scenery. The kiss and its aftermath now feel like an unspoken wound, deepening the complexity of your already fraught relationship and leaving you to grapple with the emotional fallout alone.

A/N: Okay so that ending was definitely not a happy one. After exploring where the story might go and experimenting more with the writing, I've decided that I mighttttt just make a Part 2, which might or might not include some smut hehe... So please stay tuned!

Thanks again for reading!

Read Part Two Here

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