#Water filter replacement parts

[fridgewaterfiltermelbourne]

Ensure Fresh Water Supply with the Best Water Filter Replacement Parts

The greatest water filter cartridges and water filter replacement parts are offered by the top water filter retailers as these are quintessential for most filters to work properly. After a certain period of time, filter cartridges frequently need to be replaced. It takes more than just installing a water filtration system to make kitchen activities easier. Sink faucets are only one of the several possibilities available, so a person may select a product that complements their particular style.

Since drinking water is a basic human necessity, getting the highest water quality possible may be achievable with the aid of an inline water filter for caravan. The greatest options for residential and commercial structures are offered by the top water filter provider. There are several choices available when it comes to household filters, which are often utilised to obtain high-quality water for better health. Among the most popular items is the countertop filter, which is small and light and comes with a variety of cartridges to pick from depending on needs.

A Summary of a Several Prominent Water Filtration Products

Filters for Ultra Violet: The Ultra Violet Whole House System 10" is one item in this category. These filters integrate adsorption, filtration, and UV disinfection methods. This device is excellent for providing clean water to homes since it utilizes UV light to kill microorganisms. The Ultra Violet Whole House System, a 20" undersink dual UV water filtration system, and various cartridges are a few more excellent goods in this category.

Caravan Filter System: These systems are amazing in that they can eliminate 99.9% of Giardia and Cryptosporidium cysts, therefore it's critical to always obtain dependable, high-quality items. With clean, safe water readily available, visitors to Australia's vast areas may go there with confidence. There are two types of cartridges available: five-micron pleated sediment and designer carbon cartridge and five-micron pleated sediment and molded silver cartridge.

The greatest water filters and cartridges are now available for purchase online. If you're having trouble making a decision, you may get advice from the top companies of water filters.  

Source         

[the-amber-droid-dreams]

[ID: A priest in a confession booth looking shocked]

[headspace-hotel]

nature things that a lot of people don't know about and weren't even taught about adequately, but they're actually really fundamental and important to know about

how rivers work. Where do they get started? how do they decide which way to flow?? what makes one river muddy and the other one clear?

[They flow downhill. Always. If a river is flowing a Way, that way is Downhill. They start with rain flowing or soaking downhill until it forms into a little trickle through a channel like a gully or drainage ditch, and the farther it flows the more other trickles flow into it from the land around it, until you have a stream, and the streams all flow downhill until they run into each other, and eventually you have a river which finally reaches the ocean. Rivers never flow FROM the ocean because the ocean is the most downhill you can possibly go. I don't think rivers usually split in two—a fork in a waterway is usually two rivers joining together.]

[On the subject of pollution, rain is usually supposed to soak slowly through the layer of leaves, roots, and dead plant material that covers most biomes. But if you tear up the plants and leave bare mud, or replace a forest with a muddy cow pasture, there's no filter, and mud and contaminants wash into the river. Just plain mud can be pollution.]

how soil works. What makes different soils different? Why are some soils good for growing a garden and others terrible? Does it need more fertilizer?

[The sand, silt, clay diagram is very simplified and only deals with one aspect of soil. Roots, soil animals, fungi, and dead plant material are all part of soil and affect its structure, making it spongy and full of holes and passages for nutrients, water, and new roots. Tilling can break hard soil, but tilling doesn't make soil light, fluffy, and permeable—disturbing the soil as little as possible, protecting it with a layer of plant material, and allowing the natural life forms of the soil develop their networks and tunnels and slowly break down the plant material layer does. This is also very simplified. Soil is COMPLICATED.]

what fungi are, and whether they are dangerous.

[fungi cannot harm you unless you eat them or unless they're growing inside your house and you're inhaling their spores in a concentrated space. There's like, one species in Japan that causes skin irritation. You can touch any other species without any harm whatsoever. *Most* of them don't harm your garden either—in fact, most plants connect their root systems to the fungal mycelium in the soil and receive nutrients from the fungus in exchange for the products of photosynthesis.]

Whether lichen harm trees

[no. They're just hanging out. But a LOT of lichen on a tree might be a sign that the tree is dying. It's not the lichen's fault though.]

What moss is??

[it's a plant, but a very simple plant that doesn't have any vessels for transporting water, so it has to live somewhere damp and soak it up like a sponge. There are hundreds of species of moss, and different species live on the side of a boulder vs. the top, or a living tree trunk vs. a fallen dead tree trunk!]

where bugs go in the winter? I straight up had a book as a kid that told me that they just die, without explaining how the species doesn't go extinct if the winter kills them all.

[Tl;dr they're usually hibernating in fallen leaves and dead wood and plant material. Some do this as eggs or larvae/caterpillars; in this case the adults do die, but their children sleep peacefully through the winter to awake in the spring. And still others hibernate as adults. This is why you don't clean up your flower beds until late spring.]

How Many plants there are

[WAY more than you think]

How ecosystems work apart from "everything is out to get everything else and take resources from other organisms."

[Competition and cooperation are both important in ecosystems! Weeds are competitive and they can choke out other plants, but they also protect the soil from erosion and harsh sunlight, keeping it moist and helping organic matter to build up. A lot of plants, when they're young, need to be sheltered by other plants that protect them from dryness, heat, and herbivores. This isn't even getting into how some plants will send nutrients to seedlings or to understory plants in a forest! Before industrial agriculture made monocultures dominant, people used and were familiar with cooperative relationships between plants a LOT more.]

The range of creatures that are pollinators, and how important the variety is.

[Bees, wasps, butterflies, moths, flies, ants, beetles, hummingbirds, and bats are all pollinators, and flowers are usually shaped and colored and scented to attract particular pollinators. Bees can't do everything, and honey bees are only one kind of bee. Red flowers and long tube shaped flowers are often for hummingbirds, pale-colored flowers that open at night need moths, and flowers that give off strong foul odors often attract flies. It gets WAY more complicated than that—sometimes a flower is only pollinated by a single species of bee or wasp or beetle.]

How many bees there are besides honey bees

[LOTS. And you've probably never seen most of them, if you don't regularly spend time around native plants! There are 140 species of longhorn bee alone, and most people haven't even heard of longhorn bees! There are well over a hundred bumble bees too! Bees come in bright, metallic green, blue, and pure gold. In the USA where I live, some of the most endangered bees are the adorable, fluffy bumble bees—the American Bumble Bee is threatened, and we have some species, like the rusty-patched bumble bee, that are critically endangered.]

[Please, please, please do not use pesticides on plants unless it is a necessity, and please do a LOT of research on the specific pesticide you are using and its effects on non-target insects. If there is any alternative, Do Not Do It. ESPECIALLY not pesticides that come in dust or powder form, ESPECIALLY in the USA, because regulations are so loose here that regular people can buy pesticides in dust form that are horribly toxic to bees.]

[How horribly toxic? A pesticide like Sevin dust will cling to the fuzz on every single bee that visits your plant—like pollen—and those bees will probably die. And in social bees, before they die, they will take the poison back to their hive (like pollen) and potentially kill the entire hive.]

[ryanguzmanscowlick]

The thing is, Tommy’s worried about Evan coming over to his house for the first time. He’s seen Evan’s loft. It’s all clean lines, modern appliances and details. What little sentimental odds and ends he owns are tucked away or so subtle than Tommy didn’t spot them the first couple of times he came over.

Tommy’s house, by contrast, is filled with the detritus one accumulates when they’ve gone no contact with everyone related to them and they’re trying to create a homey, family atmosphere out of thrift stores and the Pottery Barn catalogue instead of friends and family.

He’s a knick-knacker, an antique furniture collector, a throw pillow and afghan fanatic.

He doesn’t have much in the way of books, but he has shelves and shelves of notebooks, some full, some half-used, some untouched. It’s a habit he picked up when his first ever therapist (after he left the 118) coaxed him into writing everything down to make a little sense of the mess of contradictions, phobias, old prejudices, prejudices still clinging on and traumas that made it feel impossible to figure out what to talk about first when he sat down in that office.

There’s a small, awkward section of wall in his kitchen created when a previous owner of the house decided to add a laundry room (embarrassingly, his favorite room in the house for it’s sheer utility) and that’s where Tommy hangs his collection of coffee mugs. Some of them are Goodwill finds, some souvenirs, some band merch or creations by local artists he picked up at some market or other.

There’s five different varieties of protein powder constantly cluttering his kitchen counter because he ran out of room in the small pantry. His pots and pans hang over the tiny, rolling kitchen island, which is itself nearly taken over by a serving tray that holds his water filter, a candle, a decorative planter filled with his cooking utensils, a plastic case of toothpicks.

He still has a dvd collection, for heaven’s sake, and it takes up most of his sagging entertainment center. He should replace it, but it’s the first piece of furniture he ever restored and he’s having trouble letting go. Speaking of letting go, there’s a dog bed in the corner for a dog that passed away nearly ten months ago. He probably will at least hide that in a closet before Evan gets here.

Because he is coming over. No matter how nervous Tommy is, he’s not gonna come up with another excuse for why they have to postpone or meet at Evan’s instead. He gets the feeling he’s already made Evan a little wary, and with Evan’s relationship history and his fear of being too much, not enough, just left, Tommy will eat his own foot before he purposely exacerbates Evan’s fears.

If Evan looks around and decides Tommy is a hoarder or a slob or a million other nasty epithets Tommy’s brain is offering up like some cruel, self-sabotaging buffet- Well, they’ll talk about it. They’ll learn and adjust. Evan has never, ever been cruel to Tommy and it’s quite frankly laughable that he would start now.

That’s what Tommy tells the rogue half of his brain trying to rain on their parade. Another thing he picked up from his therapist - name the part of you that spews negative self-talk and talk back to it. Predictably, Tommy named his Vince. Shut the fuck up, Vince.

Evan’s shift ended twenty minutes ago and Tommy has chili on the stove keeping warm. Between showering and the drive over, Evan should be due at his door in another twenty-five or so. Tommy hides the dog bed, lights the kitchen candle, tries to find things to do with his hands so he doesn't watch the time like a hawk. They’ve had conflicting shifts for almost two weeks with only stolen moments and half-asleep kisses in between. Tommy misses his boyfriend. But a watched clock never ticks, or whatever.

His strategy works, because Evan’s knock on the front door actually startles him a little from the stack of unopened mail he’s sorting through. So many flyers for what feels like every home decor and craft store in the state.

Evan’s eyes are gentle and joyful when Tommy answers the door. “Hey.” He leans in to squeeze Tommy’s bicep and press a kiss to the wing of his cheek. Tommy can feel Evan’s mouth stretch into a smile against his skin.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Tommy wiggles his fingers under the strap of Evan’s duffel to take it from him and steps aside to let him into the house. His heart thuds in his chest.

Evan surrenders his bag and steps into Tommy’s home for the first time. If he notices Tommy holding his breath, he doesn’t comment yet.

He takes a look around while Tommy tries to look anywhere but his face. He doesn’t want to let on that he’s being a complete lunatic about this, that he let his anxiety take over for the better part of the day.

When Evan turns around to face Tommy again and slides his hands over Tommy’s waist, presses his fingers into Tommy’s back, nudging them closer together, his smile has split into a full grin. Tommy can’t help reflexively smiling in return. He can feel his cheeks flooding with warmth. It should be embarrassing that Evan still makes Tommy blush at the drop of a hat even all these months later, but if it helps Evan know deep in his bones that Tommy is gone for him, Tommy wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“It looks like you.” Evan draws his hands up and down Tommy’s torso in gentle strokes. “Cozy. Warm. Like…” He trails off and bites his lip, drops his eyes to Tommy’s chest.

Tommy hooks his fingers under Buck’s chin and lifts his gaze back up until their eyes meet in a move that’s become so routine it’s pretty much an inside joke between them. “Like what? Don’t leave me hanging.”

It’s Evan turn to flush a deep pink. He takes an unsteady breath in. “L-like home.”

An immense weight lifts off Tommy’s chest so quickly it almost steals his breath, but Evan has tensed up just a fraction, so Tommy hums softly, spreads his big hands over Buck’s wide shoulders and digs his fingers in to massage the tension back out. He slides deeper into Evan’s space to take his mouth in a chaste, lingering kiss, and he murmurs against his lips. “Glad to hear it.”

[elladreams]

Echoes of the Past // MV1

summary: An unexpected reunion with her high school bully reignites old wounds and unresolved feelings.

trigger warnings: she/her Y/N, mentions of bullying, smut (18+), dom!max, dub!con if you squint, size kink.

words: 5.4K

The warm Mediterranean sun cast a golden glow on the elegant terrace of La Villa Belle Époque, overlooking the turquoise waters of the Côte d'Azur. Y/N took a sip of a Mimosa, her eyes casually scanning the crowd of impeccably dressed guests. Her breath hitched when her gaze unexpectedly landed on a face she had desperately hoped to forget—Max fucking Verstappen.

The shock of seeing him for the first time since high school sent a jolt through her. Y/N had spent countless nights imagining this moment, rehearsing every possible scenario, crafting a mental script to prepare herself. Despite her preparations, now, standing on the brink of reality, she realized that no amount of overthinking could have braced her for the adrenaline surging through her veins. Years of therapy and thousands of Euros spent had not insulated her from the impact of his presence; she was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. That’s how much control he still had over her.

She hadn’t exactly been hiding under a rock these past years. His achievements were plastered all over the news, his smug face beamed from towering billboards and shop windows. No matter how many social media accounts she blocked, the gossip, the paparazzi photos—they always found a way to haunt her feed. Somehow, she had meticulously crafted a filtered reality where he didn’t exist in any way, shape, or form. 

She had worked tirelessly to erase that part of her teenage years, especially the memories of a particularly cruel boy who had tormented her during the most awkward phase of her life. Every day, he seemed to find new ways to humiliate her—cutting remarks about her appearance, mocking her every move, and ensuring she felt small whenever he was around. It was as if he took pleasure in targeting her insecurities, knowing exactly where to strike to leave lasting scars. 

Yet, despite the cruelty, her heart betrayed her; she couldn't help but admire him from afar, drawn to the charm he effortlessly wielded over everyone but her. The worst part was the way her love for him only deepened the pain, turning every insult into a twisted reminder of the affection she would never receive from him.

With him spending most of his time training and competing in Formula 3 races, school started offering her sweet relief from his torment. So imagine her shock when he showed up at the annual summer camp—a place she had always considered her safe haven, where she hoped to blend in and finally focus on building her social life. But even there, he found her, and the teasing that haunted her school days followed her to what was supposed to be her escape. 

They were paired together during a hike that led them deep into the woods. She had been quiet the whole time, trying to keep her distance, while he alternated between mocking her and ignoring her altogether. As the sun began to set and the group started heading back to camp, they somehow got separated from the others. It was just the two of them, walking through the trees, the air thick with the sounds of nature and an awkward silence between them.

She was nervous, her heart pounding for reasons she wanted to ignore. Then, out of nowhere, he stopped and turned to her, a strange look in his eyes. Before she could ask what he was doing, he stepped closer, his usual smirk replaced by something darker, more serious. She froze as he reached out, his hand brushing her arm, and without warning, he leaned in and slammed his lips to hers. It wasn’t the kiss she had dreamed of—it was quick, almost rough, and utterly unexpected. It felt more like a challenge than a romantic moment, like he was proving something to himself or to her. The kiss left her reeling, not because it was sweet or tender, but because it was him. The boy she had secretly loved, the same boy who had made her life a nightmare, had just stolen her first kiss in the middle of the woods, with no one around to witness it.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stop. Her lips tingled, her mind racing to make sense of what had just happened. But then he pulled back, his familiar smirk returning as if the kiss had meant nothing to him, just another way to mess with her head. He didn’t say anything, just turned and continued walking back to camp as if nothing had happened, leaving her standing there, stunned and conflicted. She touched her lips, feeling a mix of emotions she couldn’t untangle—anger, confusion, and a tiny, treacherous part of her that had wanted it to mean something more. But it didn’t. To him, it was just another game, another way to keep her under his thumb. And as she followed him back to camp, the weight of that realisation crushed the small spark of hope she hadn’t even known she’d been carrying. She had planned to confront him that very next day, the very day he announced he would be leaving school and joining a Formula 1 team.

Now here she was, dressed in her Sunday best, at this pretentious brunch party with a breathtaking view of the Côte d'Azur, clutching a second Mimosa like a lifeline. She silently hoped that drinking it on an empty stomach might actually give her the liquid courage she desperately needed. But there he was, the life of the fucking party, as always. His dark blonde hair, tousled by the August morning breeze, framed a face that could have belonged to a golden age movie star than an elite Formula 1 champion. His tall, lean frame, clad in a loose linen shirt, towered over an older woman he appeared deeply engaged with in conversation. His crystal blue eyes intermittently scanned the crowd, as he took measured sips from what seemed to be some type of hard liquor on the rocks. The casual yet precise movements gave him an air of effortless control, as if he was both part of the scene and aloof from it, surveying his surroundings with a detached curiosity.

In a surge of raw panic, Y/N quickly turned on her heel, praying he hadn’t caught sight of her. There was still time to slip away, unseen, and pretend everything was fine. But she hadn't shown up just for the free drinks or the minuscule hors d’oeuvres. No, she was here because her darling mother—currently nowhere in sight—had insisted on some quality mother-daughter time, lamenting how rare it was these days. 

She downed the rest of her drink and placed the empty glass on a nearby server’s tray with a silent thanks. She needed to leave—now. As she fumbled with her phone, hastily typing an excuse to send her mother, a voice calling her name stopped her cold. A low voice that haunted her nightmares while simultaneously lingering in her darkest fantasies.

“Y/N?” 

Her chance to escape had slammed shut, and all the carefully crafted scenarios she had rehearsed now seemed like distant, fleeting thoughts, slipping further and further from her grasp. Panic threatened to take hold, but she knew she couldn’t afford to unravel—not here, not now. She needed to get her shit together, swallow the rising lump in her throat, and face the situation head-on. It was time to end this—no more running, no more letting him hold power over her. She had come too far, fought too hard to let the past cripple her again. This time, she would be the one in control.

A surprising wave of calm washed over her as she turned to face him, her chin lifted just enough to meet his gaze head-on. "Max." She offered a small, composed smile, hoping it would mask the lingering adrenaline still buzzing at the tips of her fingers. "What a surprise." Her words carried a faint hint of irony, as she couldn’t help but acknowledge the bitter truth—this wasn’t exactly the kind of surprise she had been hoping for. Still, she held her ground, determined not to let him see the turmoil beneath her calm exterior.

"I could say the same," he replied, his voice dripping with a casual arrogance that hadn't faded over the years. His gaze lingered on her, drifting from her slightly parted lips down to the silk dress that clung to her curves in a way that made his mouth dry. He took a step closer, his eyes darkening with a mixture of intrigue and something more primal. "It's been a while. What, pray tell, brings you here?"

She couldn’t suppress the small laugh that bubbled up, partly from nerves, partly from the absurdity of the situation. Grateful for the distraction, she reached for another Mimosa from a passing tray and brought it to her lips, the cool liquid a welcome relief to her parched throat. "It certainly has been quite a while," she said, nodding more to herself than to him, her gaze drifting away as she feigned interest in the stunning view. Anything to avoid the intensity of his stare. She could feel the weight of his presence beside her, and it took every ounce of effort not to let her emotions spill over. But as much as she tried to appear unaffected, the memories of their past tangled with the present, leaving her struggling to maintain her composure.

"Well, aside from the fact that I live here," she replied, her tone crisp, "I’m meeting someone." She took another sip of her Mimosa, using the glass as a shield. "What about you? Don’t you have a crash to cause or a penalty to collect? It is Sunday, last I checked." Her words were laced with a biting sarcasm that she hoped would keep him at a distance, but beneath the surface, her annoyance was bubbling dangerously close to boiling over.

She forced herself to maintain a calm exterior, trying to disguise just how much his presence unsettled her. Every carefully chosen word, every measured breath, was an attempt to keep him from seeing the effect he still had on her. She couldn’t afford to let him know that after all these years, he could still rattle her with just a glance. So she stood there, chin up, desperately clinging to her composure, even as her heart hammered in her chest.

He seemed taken aback by her sharp retort, letting out an actual laugh that filled the air with a mix of surprise and nostalgia. "Look at her, she's finally grown a spine," he remarked, his tone laced with both amusement and a hint of respect. "It is a Sunday, but it’s also summer break, schat. Thanks for keeping tabs tho.” he said, his voice smooth and self-assured as he took a step closer to her, closing the distance between them to almost nothing. The intimate proximity left little room for anything else, certainly not for any proverbial Jesus.

"We need to have a few words, Y/N; in private," he continued, nodding subtly toward an upper deck that appeared to be secluded from the rest of the party. His eyes locked on hers, attempting to read her reaction, to gauge her willingness—or lack thereof.

Y/N felt a chill at his suggestion, despite the warm air. She eyed the upper deck warily, her mind racing with possibilities. His broad shoulders and large hands, which seemed capable of overpowering her without much effort, loomed in her mind. Though she was by no means petite, next to him, she felt alarmingly vulnerable—as if he could easily overpower her if he chose to.

Her voice, when she finally spoke, carried a blend of wariness and mock amusement. “Really, Max, if you think for a second I'm going to follow you anywhere secluded, you might be more delusional than I remembered." Her words were sharp, intended to push back against his presumption, to remind him that she wasn't the same person he used to bully.

Max's smile didn't waver, but she noticed a flicker of something else—was it annoyance?—flash through his eyes. "Come, Y/N" he insisted, his tone softening. "A few minutes, that's all I'm asking.” 

Y/N hesitated, her resolve flickering as curiosity pricked at her defences. What could he possibly have to say that couldn’t be discussed right here, surrounded by the safety of the crowd? Despite her reservations, a part of her needed to know. She nodded, whispering a quiet approval, her voice barely audible over the buzz of conversation around them.

He responded by reaching out and gently grasping her arm, his grip firm yet surprisingly tender. He guided her through the throng of partygoers, leading her up the stairs to the secluded upper deck. As he manoeuvred them through the crowd, his touch—a mixture of control and care—tugged unexpectedly at her heartstrings. It resurrected a swarm of emotions she had diligently worked to suppress, the memories of their past interactions mingling with a confusing sense of present vulnerability and an inexplicable hint of safety. The duality of her feelings, the blend of old fears and an emerging trust, left her both anxious and strangely anticipatory as they ascended to the quiet of the upper deck.

He set his drink down on a railing overlooking the Mediterranean and ran his fingers through his tousled hair, drawing a deep breath. Surprisingly, he seemed just as nervous as she was—a stark contrast to the unflappable demeanour he usually displayed. Hell, he drove at impossible speeds, there’s no way a conversation with little old her would even raise his heart beat. 

“I spent a lot of time thinking about what I would say to you if we ever met again,” she confessed. He sighed, turning to face her with an expression that was difficult to read, his eyes holding a mix of anticipation and caution.

“And what did you prepare for today?” he asked, his voice steady. He downed the remaining liquor in his glass, the ice clinking sharply against the sides as he set it back with a slight thud.

A wry smile flickered across her lips. “I seem to suffer from a sudden case of amnesia,” she quipped, her tone light but her eyes serious. She placed her glass next to his, the gentle clink echoing their earlier years of discord. “It was something along the lines of: You made a good part of high school hell for me, I’ve talked about you in therapy, and you had no right to steal my first kiss...and so on.” Her voice trailed off, but her stance was firm, her words laying bare the wounds that still lingered from their past.

He seemed aware that he owed her several apologies—aware but clearly not pleased about it. Yet, the mention of that stolen kiss visibly shook him. His hands gripped the rail, knuckles whitening as if he needed the support to stand. “You never deserved the way I treated you,” he said, his voice laced with an angry edge, more at himself than at her. “That was a different person back then, someone I can't bring myself to be proud of.” 

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Max paused, taking a deep breath as he continued, struggling to articulate his remorse. “I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on those days, trying to understand why I acted the way I did and how I could have been so cruel.” His gaze met hers, earnest and searching.

Max leaned closer, his voice dropping to a huskier tone, charged with a mix of regret and unresolved tension. "You know, it was always your reactions and banter that captivated me," he murmured, his eyes locked on hers, searching. "That curiosity, that fire—I found it irresistible. My father would've had a fit if he knew. He wanted me completely focused on racing, living and breathing every turn of the circuits.” She could feel his whiskey laced breath on her face as he grabbed a lock of her hair and started playing with it mindlessly.

He paused, his gaze intensifying. "So, I hid behind teasing, masked my true feelings with taunts. It was the only way I could interact with you without crossing the line I was supposed to keep. But every jibe was just a poor substitute for what I really wanted to say." He moved a step closer, his presence overwhelming. "I regret that—more than you know.” 

Each word Max spoke seemed to weave around her, slowly turning up her internal heat despite the cool, refreshing breeze off the sea. He was close enough now that she could catch the scent of his skin—a complex fragrance that mingled the fresh, salty air with the rich undertones of spiced woods and amber. The aroma enveloped her, drawing her in, stirring a mix of memories and desires. It was as if the subtle layers of his scent were designed to beckon her closer, awakening a longing she thought she had long buried. As she breathed him in, the proximity made her heart beat faster, her thoughts tangled between the past pain and a present, pulsing attraction. 

She was the one who slammed their lips together this time, champagne mixing with whiskey in a tango only they could dance. His hand traveled from the delicate edge of her hair to the back of her head, gripping a fistful and drawing her even closer. The intensity of his hold only deepened their kiss, pulling them into a moment that felt both reckless and inevitable. 

She was completely and utterly lost as he devoured her mouth with a passion that she never thought possible. He forcefully nibbled at her lips, the pressure of his tongue dancing against her own ripping gasps from her throat. His hands where everywhere and yet not where she desperately needed them as her own trembling fingers were weaving through his hair. When he came up for air he rested his forehead against her own breathing heavily. His expression was reminiscent of Cabanel’s Fallen Angel, both tormented by the impact of their own choices. 

“Tell me to stop.” He ordered as he cupped her face, his forehead never leaving her own. If someone had told her early this morning that she would soon be on the verge of dry humping her high school bully, she would have slapped said someone across the face. Yet here she was, gasping for air and shaking her head because words were just not compatible with the her level of arousal. 

“Please don’t.” were the only words that she could muster out and it was all the confirmation he needed to fully ravage her. Their mouths resumed their favorite dance as Max’s hands started travelling south cupping her breasts through her silk dress, her nipples so hard he could see them through her bra. She couldn’t help but moan in his mouth. Everything was so intense with him, he knew just how much pressure to apply to dance on the edge of pain and ecstasy.

His hands continued their journey finally reaching her heat, making her sigh with pleasure. Her dress was bunched up at her hips now, leaving her legs exposed to his hungry gaze. He traced his fingers down her thigh, slowly, deliberately, as if trying to memorize every curve. As he reached the sensitive spot behind her knee, she let out a gasp, the sensation sending shivers through her body. His touch was electrifying, awakening parts of her she didn't even know existed.

He smirked as his fingers trailed higher, inching closer to her core, never taking her eyes off of her face. She trembled in anticipation, eager for his touch. But instead, his fingers suddenly stopped, lingering just a few centimeters from her center.

His voice was husky, his breath warm against her ear. "Are you sure you want this?"

She could feel her face flush, her body aching for him. "Yes."

"Beg me."

Her eyes widened, surprised by his boldness. "What?"

He chuckled softly, his hand still resting on her inner thigh, just inches from her core. "You heard me." His gaze locked onto hers, a mix of mischief and desire. "I want you to beg me."

His words sent a jolt of arousal through her, her pulse quickening. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But despite her embarrassment, the desire burning within her was undeniable. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, before speaking again.

"Please," she whispered, her voice shaking slightly. "I want you, Max"

His eyes flashed with satisfaction, his lips curling into a smirk. "That's my good girl."

With that, he finally gave her what she craved, his fingers sliding over her underwear. She moaned as he stroked her, her body responding eagerly to his touch. His other hand moved to her breast, squeezing it through her dress, and she arched into his palm, desperate for more contact. Without a warning he grabbed her drenched panties, sliding them down her legs. She could have sworn she saw him shove them in his back pocket but with all the dopamine and anticipation, she was simply an unreliable narrator.

Max gathered her in his arms leading them to an alcove where a table sat, patiently waiting for them. She could feel the cool marble on her thighs as he lifted her to sit, spreading her legs and kneeling before her. There was something so primal about the sight of him, her high school tormentor, on his knees before her.

Her legs parted and he took a moment to appreciate the view, making her squirm under his ravenous gaze. She was already so wet and he slid his finger inside her, groaning in satisfaction at the feel of her incredibly tight walls around him. She bit back a whimper, her body aching for more. He added another finger trying to prepare her for him, curling them just right and eliciting a string of whimpers and moans from her.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice husky with lust. She needed more, her hips bucking against his hand. She could feel her orgasm building, her breath coming in short gasps. But just as she was about to fall over the edge, he withdrew his fingers, leaving her aching and unsatisfied.

He looked up at her with a devilish grin, his eyes dark with desire. "I'm not done with you yet."

Her breath caught in her throat as he spread her legs wider, his mouth moving to her entrance. She let out a gasp as his tongue flicked across her clit, sending sparks of pleasure through her body. His fingers joined his mouth, teasing her, exploring her. She was completely at his mercy, her body writhing with pleasure.

"You taste so fucking good," he growled, his voice thick with desire as he was mercilessly lapping at her, drinking her nectar like the sweetest ambrosia.

The sensations were overwhelming, her body overwhelmed with pleasure. She could feel herself teetering on the edge, her orgasm imminent. And just when she thought she couldn't take any more, he curled his fingers inside her, hitting the perfect spot, and she came undone.

"Max!" she cried out, her body shuddering with pleasure. He worked her through her orgasm, his tongue and fingers bringing her to new heights of ecstasy. It was like nothing she had ever experienced, the aftershocks rippling through her body, leaving her spent and trembling as tears of pleasure started streaming from her eyes.

He stood, his erection prominent against his pants. He pulled her to him, his mouth crashing down on hers. She could taste herself on his lips, a hint of sweetness mixed with his own unique flavour. It was intoxicating, and she melted into his embrace, her body still tingling from her climax. He took a second to lick her salty tears, as if the very taste of them was an aphrodisiac. She couldn't believe what had just happened, her mind still reeling from the intensity of the experience. But as she gazed up at him, his eyes dark with desire, she knew there was no turning back.

He was everywhere, surrounding her, his presence overwhelming her senses. She could feel the hard planes of his body against hers, the heat of his skin burning through the thin fabric of her dress. She clung to him, her hands exploring his back, his muscles taut beneath her touch.

As the initial rush of pleasure began to subside, Y/N realized the gravity of what they had done. This wasn't some random hook-up—this was Max, the boy who had once made her life hell. The man she was supposed to hate. The man who, despite everything, she had never been able to fully get over.

She could feel the walls she had carefully built up over the years starting to crumble, the floodgates opening and unleashing a torrent of emotions she had worked so hard to keep at bay. She tried to push him away, to regain some semblance of control, but his grip on her was too strong.

"Let me go," she protested, her voice shaky and uneven.

"Not a chance," he growled, his lips trailing along the side of her neck, his stubble rough against her skin.

"You don't get to walk away this time."

He lifted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. She could feel his erection pressing against her core, his hands gripping her thighs. He carried her to the nearest wall, her back taking the brunt of the impact. His mouth was on hers again, his kiss rough and demanding, stealing the air from her lungs. She was drowning in him, the feel of his body pressed against hers, the taste of him on her lips. It was intoxicating, addicting, and she knew she was lost.

"This is wrong," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"So fucking right," he countered, his mouth claiming hers once more.

She could feel his hard clothed erection rubbing against her bare cunt, she was probably dripping all over his pants. It was the hottest thing she had ever experienced. He ground his hips into her, his covered length sliding between her folds. The friction was incredible, and she let out a soft moan, her body responding to his touch.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I've wanted this for so long, dreamed of it."

His words sent a thrill through her, a rush of adrenaline mingling with the pleasure coursing through her veins. He freed himself from his pants, eliciting a gasp of surprise from her. In truth, she had limited sexual experience, but nothing could have prepared her for his size. She had to remind herself to breathe as he positioned himself at her entrance, his tip sliding between her folds, teasing her.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hands gripping her thighs so hard they would certainly leave marks. He probably read her fear in the expression, "I'll take you slow in the beginning" he said, his voice low and gravelly.

He pushed inside her, his girth stretching her, filling her. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and she buried her face in his neck, her fingers digging into his back. The stretch was unlike anything she's ever felt before, but the pleasure was equally intense. Her body began to relax, the pain starting to give way to pure intense ecstasy.

With another push he was fully seated inside her. He paused, letting her fully adjust to his size. "Breathe through it." he instructed as he stroked the back of her head.

She followed his command, inhaling deeply, and the sharp burn began to fade, replaced by an overwhelming sense of fullness. It was like nothing she had ever felt before, the pleasure almost too intense to handle.

"So fucking tight," he groaned, his voice strained. "So perfect."

"I can't," she whimpered, her body trembling, on the edge of collapse.

"Yes, you can," he growled, his grip on her thighs tightening. "You were made for me."

He began to move, at first his thrusts slow and deep, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through her. He raised her head from the crook of his neck to gaze into her eyes, finding a slow rhythm, their bodies moving in sync, their breathing ragged and heavy.

Her body responded to his, hips rocking against his, her nails digging into his back. She was lost in the moment, the sensations overwhelming her, her body consumed by the pleasure of his touch.

As their pace increased, her thoughts began to melt away, her body giving in to the pure instinctual urge. His thrusts became harder, more urgent, and her climax was building, the pleasure mounting with each stroke.

She was so close, the pressure coiling deep inside her. But before she could reach her peak, he suddenly stopped, his breath ragged, his expression almost pained.

"Why?" she gasped, her body aching for release.

"Not yet," he replied, his voice strained. "I want to make this last."

He lowered her to the floor, his length sliding out of her, the loss of contact leaving her feeling empty and unsatisfied. Before she could protest, he turned her around, her palms resting on the marble table as he bent her over.

His fingers dug into her hips as he thrust into her from behind, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper.

"Fuck Max, you're going to break me." she whimpered, her voice shaking with pleasure.

"Oh, I intend to," he growled, his pace increasing, each stroke sending waves of ecstasy through her.

She could feel her orgasm building, the pleasure rising with every thrust. She was on the edge, her body teetering on the verge of release. He reached around and his fingers found her clit, stroking her, the added stimulation sending her over the edge. She cried out, her body tensing as her orgasm tore through her, the pleasure crashing over her like a wave.

He wasn't far behind, his hips slamming into hers as he chased his own release. His fingers dug into her skin, his movements frantic, the sounds of their bodies coming together mingling with their ragged breaths. "Where do you want me?" he grunted, his voice strained, the effort to maintain his composure clear.

"Inside me, please" she gasped, her body still trembling from her orgasm.

He thrust deep, burying himself in her, and she could feel him pulse inside her as he came, his release mingling with hers. He collapsed against her, his chest pressed against her back, his weight a welcome comfort. They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies entwined, the euphoria of their climax lingering.

Eventually, he pulled out of her, his grip on her hips easing, his fingertips grazing her skin as if he was reluctant to let her go. Reality once again came crashing down. She was a mess, her dress bunched up at her hips, her legs still quivering, the evidence of their pleasure trickling down her thighs.

She turned to face him, the afterglow of their coupling slowly fading. Her mother was probably downstairs looking for her, there was no way she could meet her in her current state. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, the intensity of his blue eyes too much to handle.

"I need to leave," she said, her voice quiet as she tried to tame her hair with her fingers.

He reached out and cupped her face, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.

"Let me take you home," he said, his voice soft. "I know another way out. You don't have to face anyone right now."

Her mind raced with a thousand questions, but before she could speak, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Trust me, Y/N."

And against all reason, she did.

[joelscoffeemachine]

Forget

Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: 5.4k

Summary: After waking up from what felt like the best night ever, you wanted to figure out what Joel’s thoughts about what was going on, were.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, Joel acting like a total jerk, language, unprotected piv, pet names, reader uses feminine pronouns, jackson era!Joel, slight fluff towards the end, arguing, angst, no use of Y/N, apologies if anything was missed.

please read A/N: guys, i tried so freaking hard to like this, but i just can’t. so, i am so sorry if you feel the same way as me. i really tried my hardest. i’m not sure if i want this to be the last part, but i can kinda feel it going towards that route, so im going to say this once, thank you so much for all the support for this mini series. i couldn’t be more grateful. thank you. and once again, i am so fucking sorry if you don’t like this. please don’t hate me. 🤗 oh, and also, ntm on the photos not matching, honestly could careless ab the damn photos.

part one part two

Joel couldn’t get a wink of sleep last night, the feeling of you being so close to him, in his arms, feeling your warm body against his, having your scent fill his nose, all of it was too much.

Every time he closed his eyes, memories of your shared night and the warmth of your touch would flood his mind, making his heart race. The moonlight filtering through the curtains enveloped a soft glow on your face, making you look even more serene and beautiful, which only added to his restless thoughts.

He laid there for a couple more hours, listening to your breathing, the way you’d mutter in your sleep, the little sounds that would escape you. Each breath you took seemed to synchronize with his heartbeat, creating a rhythm that was both comforting and unsettling. But he knew he had to leave. He knew he couldn’t stay because what was this?

What were you two?

The uncertainty gnawed at him, and the fear of crossing a line that could change everything between you both was overwhelming.

So, he eventually slid out of your bed, picking up his clothes and getting dressed. He moved quietly, trying not to wake you, stealing one last glance at your peaceful face before slipping out the door.

As he walked away, the cool night air hit him, a slight contrast to the warmth he had just left behind. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, but he knew he needed to figure out what this meant for both of you.

—

You blinked your eyes open, the sun shining through the crack of your curtains into your room. The sheets of your bed hugged your body perfectly, stretching your arms out with a yawn.

You expected to feel a big and warm body, but you didn’t.

You just felt the ruffled-up blanket. The familiar warmth and comfort were missing, replaced by a cold emptiness that made you shiver slightly.

You turned your body, nothing. No one. He left. You glanced at the alarm clock on your bedside table, the bright red numbers glaring at you.

With it being the ass crack of dawn, you’d be expecting him to be waking up now.

Did he leave last night? You asked him to stay.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, and a wave of disappointment washed over you. You replayed the moments of the previous night in your head, trying to understand why he would leave without a word.

You sat up, confusion taking over your features. For some odd reason, your heart felt heavy. You wanted him to be there when you woke up. You needed him too because now that he wasn’t, was it even real?

The questions swirled in your mind, each one adding to the ache in your chest. The silence of the room seemed to echo the emptiness you felt inside.

You stood up, not bothering to put on the old bra and shirt from last night, turning the shower on as you pulled your panties off, hopping in. The warm water cascaded over you, but it did little to wash away the sense of loss and confusion. You hoped the shower would clear your mind, letting the water run down your face.

But it didn’t.

The shower didn’t work. You couldn’t get the situation off your mind. You couldn’t get him off your mind. It couldn’t have been real, but the faint memory of him running his rough fingers down your skin, the way he felt inside of you, stayed in your mind. The sensation was so vivid, it was almost as if you could still feel his touch, haunting you with every passing second.

You needed to see him. To talk to him. You prayed he wasn't anywhere but his house. The first place you could expect him to be was his house. So, you found yourself there. The walk to his place felt like an eternity, each step heavy with anticipation. Your heart pounded in your chest as you approached his door.

Softly banging on the door, no answer. Peeking through the window, no sight.

“Fucking Joel.” You whisper breathily. How fucking surprising was that. Joel Miller finally left his house.

For a second there your heart dropped, praying that he didn’t get patrol duty.

Goddamn it. I mean you could wait, but you didn’t want to.

You didn’t want to go back home, so you didn’t, knuckles bruising as you hit them against the door. The pain shot through your hand, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil inside you. Still no fucking answer. You stepped back and glanced up at the house, looking for a way to get in.

No way in from the front, window was shut tightly, curtains drawn as if to shut out the world.

So, like any sane person who was looking for a — friend, you walked towards the back to maybe get in from the patio door. But that’s when you heard it.

Sweet music, fingers strumming away at the strings from what sounds like a guitar, and sweet, and quiet humming. The melody was hauntingly beautiful, calming to the chaos in your mind.

You poked your head around the corner, Joel sitting in a plastic, white chair, guitar in hands. He nodded his head softly as he felt the music, eyes closed, and body relaxed with a cup of coffee on the small table next to him.

The steam from the coffee rose in gentle spirals, mingling with the early morning mist.

His foot tapped lightly in rhythm with the music, completely unaware of your presence.

You felt stupid. You almost broke into his fucking house all because he was unable to hear the damn knocking.

You slowly stepped onto the wood, your sneakers making a loud noise that made Joel stop playing. The sound echoed in the stillness, shattering the tranquility.

He looked you up and down, setting his guitar down with no words spoken. The silence between you hung heavy, like a thick fog that neither of you could see through.

Joel's eyes, usually so full of warmth, seemed distant as they locked onto yours. The early morning sun cast long shadows, and the gentle breeze carried the scent of dew and freshly cut grass. You could hear the faint rustling of leaves in the background, the weight of unspoken words pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe.

You let out a quiet ‘hey’, smile slightly upside down as you leaned on the railing of the patio. Your eyes were basically inviting him over, so he obliged, grabbing his coffee, and standing beside you, a gap in between.

It was pretty much awkward. It was clear he didn’t forget about the activities from last night.

“I’ve been knocking.” Your voice breaking the silence, looking at him, but he avoided your gaze.

“I’ve been here all mornin’, didn’t hear it.”

"Something on your mind?" You knew exactly what was on his mind, but you thought, if you pushed it, maybe this moment wouldn’t be so goddamn awkward.

Each second of silence stretching longer than the last.

"Nothin’ on my mind," he replied, lifting the cup up to his lips, taking a light sip.

The steam from his coffee curled up into the air, mingling with the tension that seemed almost palpable between you. His eyes, though momentarily hidden behind the rim of the cup, betrayed his true thoughts.

His eyes, dark and guarded, flickered over to you. There was a heaviness in his gaze, a storm of unsaid words and pent-up emotions swirling just beneath the surface.

His expression unreadable, before letting out a quiet, almost resigned sigh. The sound was barely audible, yet it echoed in the stillness, amplifying the tension that crackled in the air like static electricity.

He wanted you to say something. He wanted you to just be honest and tell him exactly how you felt about last night, why you were there, if you even remotely felt what he did.

Instead, you were both standing there, avoiding each other’s gazes like idiots.

Your heart raced; each beat a reminder of the words you were too afraid to speak. His sigh lingered in the air, a silent plea for you to break the cycle, to reach out and bridge the gap that seemed to widen with every passing moment.

"You gonna invite me in, or are you just gonna stand there?" You point lazily at the door.

Joel huffed a laugh, tilting his head slightly as he finally looked at you. “You’re being pushy today, ain’t ya?”

He was being a smartass, and he knew it, but it was his way of deflecting whatever the hell happened last night, and the way you were acting this morning.

The gesture is casual, almost dismissive, but your heart is going crazy. The morning sun filters through the trees, putting a warm glow on the porch where you both stand. His eyes flicker to the door and then back to you, a moment of hesitation that feels like an eternity.

His eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and challenge, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a smirk that was all too familiar. The morning light radiating a golden halo around his figure, highlighting the lines of tension in his posture that belied his casual tone.

His eyes never left yours, a silent dare for you to cross the threshold and face whatever lay beyond.

As you stood there, you knew that stepping through that door meant more than just entering his home—it meant confronting the emotions and the history that had brought you to this moment.

He shifts his weight, the creak of the wooden floorboards echoing in the quiet day.

He finally turned away from the railing, his movements deliberate and measured, as if each step was a calculated effort to maintain his composure.

He held the door open for you with his empty hand, the gesture both an invitation and a challenge.

You looked around at the nicely decorated house as you stepped into the kitchen, Joel close behind you.

The place was immaculate, with tasteful decor that felt both homey and sophisticated. You leaned against the marble island, the cool surface grounding you as you watched his every move. He stood in front of you, his presence filling the room in a way that made it hard to breathe.

“Why didn’t you stay?” you asked, your voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

You wanted to know so badly that you basically said, ‘fuck the small talk, tell me why.’ You were so straightforward, the words spilling out before you could second-guess them.

Joel’s face remained impassive, his expression a mask of cold-stone indifference. His arms were crossed over his chest, a defensive posture that only added to the distance between you. His eyes, usually so expressive, were unreadable, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d ever get through to him. The tension in the room was evident, a silent battle of wills as you waited for him to break the silence.

He took a moment as he leaned on the counter, taking in your words. He wasn’t really sure how he was supposed to answer.

A part of him, a huge part of him, did want to stay. He wanted to hold your warm body, bask in your sleepy scent, and hear your soft breath hit his neck. But he knew he couldn’t.

He didn’t know what last night was. Why you let him come to you, why you let him touch you the way he wanted to for so long.

"Well?" You push, head tilting, your gaze unwavering.

The intensity in your eyes matched the urgency in your voice, demanding a response from him.

"I don’t know. Okay? I don’t know." He finally let out, throwing his hands up, frustration settling on his face.

The rawness in his voice cut through the air, his eyes burning with a mix of confusion and helplessness.

You threw your head back at his answer, arms falling to your side as you turned around, elbows on the counter, holding your head up as you groaned. The cool surface of the counter did little to soothe the storm inside you. You felt the frustration bubbling over, the unanswered questions and the emotional tumult taking their toll.

He was frustrated for a number of reasons. Mainly because he had no idea how to act in front of you now. The lines between you had blurred, and he was grappling with the new reality, unsure of where he stood. But most of all, because you wanted an explanation for something he didn’t even understand himself.

"What is this?" He questioned, looking up at you, his arms crossed against his chest. His voice was edged with exasperation.

"You just come over here to get on my ass?" His words hung in the air, a challenge and a plea wrapped into one, as he tried to make sense of the chaotic emotions twirling around both of you.

You leaned up instantly, your body closer to his. The heat of his breath mingled with yours, creating an almost suffocating intimacy. Your eyes locked onto his, searching for a glimmer of understanding, something to bridge the chasm between you.

"No, I came here so I could understand you. But that’s never happening, is it?" Your voice was low, but the intensity of your words cut through the silence like a knife.

You could feel the tension radiating off him, the anger and disbelief that mirrored your own. The proximity made it impossible to ignore the raw emotions.

“Not when you’re acting like this.” He muttered, his voice strained, barely above a whisper.

The words were a thin veil over the tumultuous emotions roiling just beneath the surface, a desperate attempt to regain some semblance of control in a situation that felt increasingly out of hand.

Your bodies touched as you leaned closer, he was basically pressed up against you as you looked up at him, his chest rising and falling with a deep breath. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, creating an electric tension that was impossible to ignore.

He tried to keep his composure. He tried to not look at you like some piece of meat. He tried not to think about how close you were, how he could easily shove you down on this counter, or up against a wall. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts, the struggle to maintain control evident in the tightness of his jaw and the flicker in his eyes.

But you weren’t making it easy. The intensity of your gaze, the proximity, the noticeable tension—it all made it nearly impossible for him to think straight.

At this point, this man was just stressing you out. You came to the conclusion that he was just trying to forget whatever happened last night, just like you tried forgetting what happened in the stables, but now you’re glad you didn’t, but for what? Look how he’s acting now.

“Joel, you’re really just gonna act like last night meant nothing? You’re just going to move on with life after that?” Your voice was sharp, each word laced with the hurt and confusion you felt.

Your words struck him like a damn brick. Because yes, that is what he was going to do. He was just going to act like last night wasn’t the best goddamn night of his life.

“That’s what you did.” He remarked, his tone cold and detached.

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, the accusation clear.

He was right.

But you were standing right in front of him, and he could still hear the way you were moaning his name, a sound that echoed in his mind, driving him crazy.

He could still taste your lips, the sweetness lingering on his tongue, a reminder of the passion you shared. He could still smell you on him, your scent enveloping him, making it impossible to forget even if he tried.

You had no idea what to say. You weren’t going to deny it, because you do remember pushing him away, remember drinking to forget. All you could do was go along with it, even though it was going to hurt.

“Fine—“ Your voice cracked, strangled back deep in your throat. You cleared it as you spoke again. “It never happened. None of it.”

The words felt like knives in your mouth, each one cutting deeper into the fragile remnants of what you both shared. You could feel the weight of the silence that followed, a suffocating blanket that threatened to choke the last bit of resolve you had left. His eyes bore into yours, searching for a sign, any indication that you didn’t mean what you said.

But he wants to forget so fucking badly. Maybe you do too. Or maybe it’s meant to be this way.

Joel isn’t supposed to be knee-deep in your pussy. He’s supposed to be your best friend’s husband’s brother. Nothing else. It’s so simple.

Just forget. Just let it be like how it was before that day in the stables.

So, so, so, so simple.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

But you both knew it was all bullshit. He wasn’t the same man after he got a taste of you. And by the look you kept giving him, you weren’t the same either.

It’ll be forgotten. For now, at least. He won’t look at you with hungry eyes, you won’t look at him with a hopeful look.

“You should probably get going.” He muttered.

His voice was barely above a whisper, the words heavy with unspoken regret. The tension a suffocating fog that clung to every breath you took.

“Yeah.” You say quietly. You gathered yourself up, leading yourself to the front door with Joel behind you once again. None of this felt real. You felt like you were floating on your way to the door, your hands clasped together to avoid them shaking, your breath shortened.

As you turned to leave, the memories of that day in the stables flooded your mind—the way his hands had felt on your skin, the way his breath had mingled with yours. It had been a moment of raw, unfiltered passion, a moment that had changed everything.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the finality of his words. You forced yourself to nod, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You reached the door and paused, your hand hovering over the handle. You wanted to say something, anything, to break the silence, but the words wouldn’t come—

You can’t fucking do this.

You spun back so fast; Joel couldn’t even react. Your lips caught his, arms wrapping around his neck as he eased in closer to you. His initial surprise quickly melted away, and he returned the kiss with a fervor that matched your own. The world outside ceased to exist; it was just the two of you in that moment, lost in a whirlwind of pent-up emotions.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as if he needed to feel every inch of you against him. The kiss deepened, becoming more desperate and passionate, a silent conversation of everything you both had been holding back.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his heartbeat syncing with yours in a chaotic rhythm.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, his forehead rested against yours. His eyes searched yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty.

“What are we doing?” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

You didn’t have an answer, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. You both knew that whatever came next, it would be something you’d face together.

He shouldn’t give in, he really shouldn’t. He should push you away and make you leave.

But then he pulled you in again.

His hands were gripping you, and he was melting into the kiss. His self-respect was crumbling with every passing second, the warmth of your body against his breaking down his defenses.

He wanted this. More than he could admit, even to himself.

The taste of your lips, the feel of your body so close to his, it was overwhelming. He surrendered to the moment. All the reasons why this was a bad idea faded away, leaving only the undeniable truth that he wanted you, needed you, in that moment more than anything else.

You quickly pulled the brown t-shirt off from his body, hands instantly gliding down the skin. His muscles tensed under your touch, sending shivers through his body.

He stumbled to the living room, lips still together, throwing himself on the couch. You slid your white top off before sitting on his lap, his semi-hard cock that hid in his pants, pressing up against your clothed entrance in the best way, causing a delicious friction that made you both gasp.

He moved his fingers to unclasp your bra, the fabric falling away with ease. Finally, pulling away, his eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you, he lent kisses to both your nipples, his mouth warm and wet against your sensitive skin. He then moved to suck and bite at the tender skin on your neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

Your breath was ragged, hands in his hair, pulling his head closer, needing more of his touch.

“G-God.” You whimpered, furrowing your eyebrows from the pleasure.

The sensations were too much, each touch, each kiss sending waves of ecstasy through your body. His name escaped your lips like a prayer, a desperate plea for more, as you felt yourself getting lost in the intensity of the moment.

He could hardly keep up.

His head was spinning from the taste of you, from the way you felt in his arms. From the noises you were making as he gently bit around your chest, the soft whimpers and gasps that drove him wild. He was trying his best not to just rip the rest of your clothes off and fuck you on the couch like some sex toy. But he somehow managed to maintain a certain level of patience, his grip on control tenuous at best.

He pressed kisses up your neck, breathing hot air into your skin, each exhale sending shivers down your spine.

“I swear, you’re gonna be the damn death of me,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire.

His hands roamed your body, tracing every curve, every line, as if trying to memorize the feel of you. The tension between you was electric, each touch, each kiss heightening the anticipation, the need for more.

You let out a breathy chuckle, body shuddering. You reached your hands in between both of your bodies, fingers working on unzipping his fly. When you finally got it, he lifted your body up, pants pushed down just above his knees.

His weeping tip grazed over your belly button, pre-cum rolling down onto his thighs, glistening in the dim light.

You stood up for a moment, easily taking your pants off, along with your panties, and throwing them on the coffee table. The grunt that left his mouth when you let your hole slide down his member made you feel like you were about to cum already.

He felt so good, stretching you perfectly, filling you in a way that made your toes curl.

You let yourself get adjusted, but you could tell, by the look on his face, and the way his hands bruised your hips, he wanted you to move. His eyes were dark with lust, breaths coming in ragged gasps. His grip on your hips was almost painful, but it only added to the intensity of the moment. The need in his eyes mirrored your own, a silent plea for you to give in, to let the pleasure take over.

He was trying so desperately to keep control. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to just let this happen. He was so firm on his decision to forget about whatever happened between you both. Then you came in here, and just turned his world upside down and now here he was, cock throbbing inside your tight cunt.

You began bouncing, hands gripping his shoulders for support.

“Christ,” he moaned, head nuzzling into your neck to plant kisses all over.

Your eyes focused on the bookshelf behind the couch, somehow reading every title of the books. Joel’s hand rested on the back of your neck, the other flat on your back.

“You’re doing so good, darlin’.”

“Joel….” you whined.

Jesus, what the hell were you doing? This isn’t forgetting; matter of fact, this is making it so much worse. But you couldn’t stop. No way in hell. You just kept riding, sweat starting to glisten off of your soft skin.

Joel noticed your bouncing and grinding getting sloppy, grasping your hips so he could help.

Your body completely gave out, so tired, but his cock hit your G-spot perfectly, making you moan in his ear as loud as you could.

“I got you, baby,” he whispered, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos of your thoughts.

His hands guided your movements, each thrust precise, driving you closer to the edge. The room was filled with the sound of your shared breaths, the slap of skin against skin, and the overwhelming furosity of your connection.

Joel’s kisses became more urgent, trailing down your neck to your collarbone, each one leaving a burning imprint on your skin. His grip on your hips tightened, steadying you as he thrust deeper, hitting that perfect spot over and over again. Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks as you tried to hold on to the last shreds of your sanity.

Every movement, every touch, was a testament to the unspoken emotions swirling between you. The room seemed to close in around you, the world outside fading into oblivion as you both lost yourselves in the moment. Your breaths synchronized, a dance of desperation and desire, building to an inevitable crescendo.

“Joel, please…” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything you couldn’t say.

He responded with a growl, his pace quickening, pushing you both to the brink. The tension coiled inside you, tighter and tighter.

Until it snapped, your hips in sync with his as your orgasm washed over the both of you, the feeling of his warm cum inside of you making your heart pound. You start working on catching your breath as he pumps his cum into you, throwing his head back with strangled groans.

You kissed his jaw, slicking his damp hair back with your hand.

He looked so good like this.

You rested your head against his chest, finally catching your cool. Not a word was spoken by him, so you decided to speak up.

You could feel his heartbeat against your cheek, a steady rhythm that mirrored the tumultuous feelings inside you.

“I don’t want to forget.”

You moved your head to look at him, your hand on the back of his head, forcing him to look back at you. His eyes, filled with a mix of exhaustion and raw emotion, met yours.

Joel’s hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone.

“I don’t either, sweetheart.” he finally whispered, his voice hoarse.

The vulnerability in his eyes was familiar, a mirror to your own. This wasn’t just physical; it was something deeper, something that neither of you could deny anymore.

The room felt smaller, more intimate, as if the walls themselves were bearing witness to this moment of truth.

You both knew that this was a turning point, a moment that would define whatever came next. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer until your foreheads touched, breaths mingling in the space between you.

“Then let’s not,” you murmured, the words a promise and a plea.

Joel’s lips found yours in a kiss that was both tender and desperate, sealing the unspoken agreement. In that moment, everything else faded away, leaving just the two of you, bound together by the intensity of your connection and the uncharted future that lay ahead.

“Okay.” he murmured.

[emacrow]

When 20 year old Danny moved into gotham for Space Engineer University, his apartment that was set up thanks to Sam had exploded due to a super villain. (joker)

Leaving Danny's only available apartment that was stuck to a seedy part of Gotham. Nobody didn't told him that most of Gotham's waters that wasn't from the rich area was very very pollution with nasty rancid junk ectoplasm.

Ellie and Dan were with him due to a core accident with a forgotten fenton trap that hadn't been torn down yet, but they were now 4 and 6 years old physically and mentally until The medicine Frostbite specifically made for them to take every once a month, help their core regained the loss energy to reform back to their natural state later.

Luckily he had the fenton ectoplasm water pipes filter to throughly clean out the nasty junk to turn back into normal pure ectoplasm mixed water which was a bit light greenish blue to the normal person's eyes but glowing green to liminals, ghosts and halfas. Though he had to sneakily goes transport down in the sewer to fixes those rusty ol pipes, made a undead zombie friend whom seem to be trapped in a terrible limbo of saying a repeated phase.

Then danny felt a bit terrible that some of the neighborhoods also had the same problems with the pipes. Whom is the mayor to not investigate this much rusty pipes that had a a few thousands spirits and feral blob ghosts of the deceased not properly buried!?!

Seeing sick looking children outside with a bad case of slow bad ectoplasm poisoning jerk at his slow beating heart. He knew that if it goes on, there is going to be enough corrupted ectoplasm to cause a lminals to go completely crazy with enough mixed dark ghostly intentions and territorial issues from the restless spirits (a certain leader of assassin sneezed)

The protection mixed space core in him was nearly feral at this point of all the harm that had been done to the people of gotham before Danny gave in, called in his parents to sent him a couple hundred of fenton ectoplasm water pipe filters and grab emergency fenton shovel smacker to start building proper graves for the restless spirits..

By next three month, just looking at his window to see the street kids playing outside actually acting like children, looking more healthy and lively, the anemic lady next door who just had a baby seem more calm and friendly instead of paranoid and scared when he first met her with a package of freshly baked fenton Brownies.

He had almost replaced 3/5 of gothams rusty ol waters pipes, had made nearly 10 thousands Graves more then what he had expected after diving deep in the Gotham's oceans, lakes, ponds, and abandoned public pools.

So far that Gotham has gotten a positive effect when the first morning of August came in, as that the Gotham's news went viral as the black smog clouds that mostly covered Gotham's skies had parted to reveal a beautiful sky along side with incredible decreased in Crimes in certain parts of gothams.

Only for Danny to arrived into his Apartment to see Gotham's City Spirit, who was absolutely jaw dropping gorgeous sitting on his Couch with Dan and ellie chatting her ears off.

Meanwhile a certain bat fam are becoming more and more anxious as the decreased in crimes at night became to the point that tim is becoming more paranoid then gollum from the rings, damian is becoming nearly feral with the lack of criminals to beat upon, dick is actually enjoying the break, dick had been commenting on the lovely colors that gotham had been getting lately, and Jason haven't contact them in weeks ago until last Friday coming by for Dinner feeling and seemingly like the ol Robin he once was before that Bruce had actually ugly cried clinging to him when Jason hugged him.

[wallowslistener]

late night drive. ೨ৎ r. cameron x reader

𐙚˚ rafe cameron x fem!reader. fluff. 0.9k words.

✦ the party’s long over, and you’re settled in the passenger seat of rafe’s truck, headlights cutting through the darkness as he drives. you expected him to take you straight home, but instead, he’s driving aimlessly down empty roads, the silence between you broken only by the soft music playing from the radio. there’s something calm about this moment, an unspoken understanding that neither of you need to fill the silence.

after a few minutes, you glance over at him, catching the way his grip tightens on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. the casual smirk he wore all night is gone, replaced by an expression that’s harder to read. something distant, weighed down. finally, he lets out a sigh, the kind that seems like it’s been building up for a while.

“i swear… sometimes i just feel like i can’t win,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. he’s not looking at you, his eyes focused straight ahead, but you can feel the intensity in his words. “it’s like everyone already has this… idea of who i’m supposed to be. my dad, my friends… even sarah sometimes.” he pauses, his jaw clenching like he’s holding something back. “they don’t actually know me, you know? they just see what they want.”

you stay quiet, not wanting to interrupt. you’ve never heard rafe talk like this before, and the vulnerability in his voice is almost startling.

“it’s exhausting,” he continues, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the wheel. “always trying to live up to what they expect, always feeling like i’m failing them no matter what i do.” he lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “you know, sometimes i wonder what would happen if i just… stopped. stopped pretending to be what they want.”

he finally glances over at you, his gaze raw, almost searching, like he’s waiting for you to judge him. but you don’t. you hold his gaze, letting him see that you’re listening, that you’re there.

“maybe you don’t have to be what they want,” you say softly, watching the way his expression shifts. “you can be whoever you actually want to be, even if it means letting go of their expectations.”

he chuckles softly, the sound laced with something vulnerable. “easier said than done.”

“maybe,” you admit, “but maybe you deserve a break from all that pressure.”

the words hang between you, and he relaxes slightly, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips as he glances over at you. “i don’t really… talk about this stuff. but with you…” he trails off, like he’s almost surprised he’s shared so much.

you give him a reassuring smile, reaching out to place a hand on his arm, and he doesn’t pull away. the tension seems to drain from his posture, and he rests his hand over yours, giving it a small, grateful squeeze.

for the rest of the drive, he doesn’t take you home. not yet. instead, he keeps driving, the silence between you both comfortable now, as if sharing this part of himself has somehow made the world just a little lighter for him. and as you watch the road stretch on, you realize it’s these small, unexpected moments that reveal a side of rafe he rarely shows anyone else.

rafe keeps his hand over yours, glancing at you every so often as he drives. the night feels different now, quieter but somehow fuller, like the two of you have slipped into a space where time slows and everything else falls away. he takes another turn, winding through roads without any destination, like he’s not ready for this to end.

after a while, he pulls off onto a side road, finally stopping the truck at a clearing overlooking the water. he turns off the engine, leaving only the hum of crickets and the soft rustle of leaves outside. the moonlight filters in, casting a gentle glow on his face, and he looks at you, his gaze softer, more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen.

“i think… i think maybe i’ve been waiting for someone to just listen,” he says, barely above a whisper, his hand still holding yours. “and for some reason, it’s easy with you.”

the confession hangs between you both, heavy and raw, and it hits you that this version of rafe, the one stripped of all the expectations and masks, is something precious. you squeeze his hand, giving him a small, understanding smile.

“you don’t have to go through this alone, rafe,” you say gently. “i’m here.”

there’s a flicker in his eyes, something like relief mixed with disbelief, like he’s not used to someone sticking around for him without asking for anything in return. his gaze drops to your hand in his, and he takes a shaky breath.

when he looks back up, he’s leaning in just slightly, his eyes searching yours. “i don’t… want this to end,” he says, voice laced with something vulnerable, like he’s afraid to admit it out loud.

“you don’t have to go back yet,” you reply, your voice just as quiet, reassuring him in a way words alone can’t.

he gives you a small, almost shy smile, and with a gentle squeeze of your hand, you both settle into the silence, watching the water glimmer under the moonlight. for once, he doesn’t feel the weight of anyone’s expectations, and as he lets out a deep breath, you realize you’ve given him something he’s rarely had—peace.

[austinbutlerslovers]

Benny Cross the Bikeriders Fantasy Part 4

Label Mature 18+

Chapter 4 Till Death

🔗 chapter 1 🔗 chapter 2 🔗 chapter 3

Summary You and Benny tie the knot in a biker-style wedding, surrounded by your closest friends and his Vandal club members. The celebration is filled with love and support for your whirlwind romance.

As newlyweds, you take full advantage of your time enjoying every moment together. Little by little, small cracks begin to surface in Benny's gentle behavior.

You initially brush it off as the stress of Benny adjusting from biker life to married life, until his charming personality completely falls revealing a side of him you've never seen before.

The turning point comes when the illusion shatters completely. The love you once felt is replaced by heartbreak, leaving you to pick up the broken pieces and face the painful reality of who Benny really is.

♠️ Passionate Smut ♠️ morning sex •fingering • sex on a counter • claiming • dirty talk•size kink•oral on female •squirting • cum eating • nipple play • foreplay •wedding night sex• multiple cream pies •multiple orgasms •extreme after care

Proof Readers 📖@purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia Smut Consultant 🫦@butdaddyilovehim99

Heavily Inspired by the Bikeriders Movie 🩸Mentions of blood (Benny gets into a fight)

🏍️ Inspo: anonymous requests combined 🏍️ •Marrying Benny cross full detail •Benny can’t stop thinking about you at all times •Benny turns overly protective seeing you get hurt •Benny claims you before and after the wedding •You and Benny have sex out doors •Benny breaks your heart

Til Death

You awaken in the morning, still basking in the afterglow of your engagement party. As you stretch with a contented smile, you hear the sound of running water as Benny washes his face and brushes his teeth.

The sunlight begins filtering softly through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the room as Benny finishes and quickly climbs back into bed with you.

His warm body presses against yours and he wraps his muscular arms around you, pulling you close. His smile is infectious as you lay staring into each other’s eyes.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he says his voice still rough from sleep.

“Good morning, handsome,” you say in return, your fingers trailing along his jawline as he smiles.

“Last night was something else, hm?” he asks, his fingertips caressing along your shoulder.

“I still can’t believe we’re engaged, Benny,” you reveal warmly.

“I believe it,” he grins softly, resting his hand on your cheek. “I’ve never been this happy before.”

“I’ve never felt this way either, Benny,” you confess, your eyes filled with affection.

 Benny smiles warmly, brushing his thumb gently across your chin. 

“You’re everything I ever wanted,” he reveals, his voice soft and tender as he gazes deeply into your eyes.

“And I’m lucky,” he continues, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw with a featherlight touch, “because I get to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.” He says and the intensity of his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

You feel the familiar blush creeping up your cheeks and you lower your gaze. But Benny doesn’t let you shy from him and gently tilts your chin, guiding you to look back at him.

He leans in, capturing your lips in a deeply passionate kiss. His soft, plush lips moving against yours as his fingertips trail down the curves of your waist.

He pulls your thigh closer, lifting your leg over his waist and pressing his firm cock against you. The intimate contact makes you gasp, your body responding with a surge of anticipation.

“Need to be inside you, baby,” he whispers with desire, as he tilts your head back pressing soft kisses along your throat.

“Y-yes, Benny…” you pant, your voice trembling with need as you surrender. His movements are deliberate a he takes his time kissing and sucking the sensitive skin of your neck.

The firmness of his body presses against yours as he glides his hard cock your through wetness, slicking your arousal along his shaft with every pass. The sensation is euphoric, making your breath catch as your body reacts.

“You’re so wet for me” he says gently pressing the tip of his cock to your entrance. He pauses just long enough to let the moment linger before he pushes his large cock into you, inch by inch with a slow insistent thrust.

His gaze is locked on yours, watching every pleasurable emotion on your face as you feel him guiding deeper inside.

“You feel…so good, baby,” he rasps, his voice filled with raw desire as your walls tighten around his cock drawing him in . “I’m going to take you all the way.” He promises, claiming you completely.

“Yes, Benny,” you moan, your body arching against him as he fills you entirely. Each thrust heightens your pleasure as Benny holds you steady guiding his large cock through your tight walls.

You start to move in rhythm with him, your leg wrapped around his waist, pulling him even deeper. His breath comes out in a heated sigh as he feels you moving with him.

“Feels so good …when you push on me, baby,” he rasps, his voice a blend of awe and affection as he feels the tightness of your walls on each thrust. “Keep …that up for me,” he breathes his voice strained in pleasure.

“I won’t stop, Benny,” you promise, your voice breathless as you push your hips in time with his, meeting each of his deliberate thrusts. You gaze into each other’s eyes, feeling the endless pleasure as you moan in unison your bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

Benny captures your lips in a searing kiss, the passion between you intensifying with each thrust. You melt into him, your bodies moving as one. The feel of him against you and the taste of him on your tongue make you surrender completely, letting Benny consume you entirely.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours, filled with a burning devotion that makes your heart race. “I love you,” he breathes, his voice heavy with emotion.

“I love you too, Benny,” you reply, your voice trembling with sincerity sending a thrill through him. His face shifts to one of pure surrender as his love for you overwhelms him.

His muscles tense as he pushes harder driving his cock deeper into you with every thrust. The sound of your soft cries mingles with his ragged breaths, as you surrender to his relentless pace.

Each stroke is raw and possessive, his thrusts harder and faster leaving you gasping for air. His muscles flex with each powerful movement, every shift aimed at bringing you to the peak of ecstasy.

“Your gonna come for aren’t you baby?” he asks, feeling your walls tighten around his thrusting cock.

“Yes, Benny!” you cry out, your voice trembling with the intensity of pleasure building inside your body.

“I’m close,” he rasps, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he feels you tightening around him, driving him closer to his own release. “I want to feel you come with me, baby,” he whispers, his voice filled with anticipation, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your moans grow more frantic as you nod, and he thrusts into you with relentless force. His cock sliding in and out with of you with an intensity that pushes you to the edge.

His guttural groans blend with your cries of pleasure. The sensation of his hips clapping against you makes your walls flutter until you can’t hold back.

“Benny I——!” you cry out, your voice breaking as the overwhelming orgasm crashes over you, your walls tightening around his cock as you moan in ecstasy.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps, his pace faltering as he watches you feeling the intense pleasure of his cock. “I’m gonna come,” he yells, his voice strained with effort.

With a final thrust , he releases deep inside of you, his cock throbbing as it pulses rope after rope of cum, each surge sending a new wave of pleasure coursing through your body.

The world falls away as you orgasm together, his guttural groans and your loud cries filling the air. The intensity of your orgasms leaving you both breathless, lost in the shared ecstasy of the moment.

He shudders heavily, his entire body trembling with the force of his release and he holds you close, his grip almost desperate as he begins to roughly kiss you, his lips capturing yours holding on to the connection you just shared.

He moves back from the kiss and you remain entwined, hearts pounding in unison until the room fills with the soft sounds of your mingled breaths. As the aftershocks of pleasure fade Benny holds you close as you stare at him in awe.

“I’m so in love with you Benny,” you reveal the words escaping your lips.

His eyes wander over your face, remembering every detail as you give your heart to him and he slowly smiles softly stroking your cheek with his  thumb.

“I’m so in love with you too,” he responds, his voice sincere and filled with tenderness. He leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a gentle, loving kiss, and you close your eyes, savoring the intimacy of the moment, feeling the depth of his love for you.

You both rest a moment longer, your bodies intertwined in the afterglow of the passion you just shared. Fully satisfied, he begins to carefully pull out of you. The gradual withdrawal of his large cock sends a final shiver of pleasure through your body, making you gasp softly.

He rolls onto his back and pulls you close to his chest, his fingers gently weaving through your hair as he savors the intimacy of the moment.

You gaze up at him, your eyes soft and loving as you admire his handsome features. His strong jawline softened by stubble, his vibrant blue eyes holding a depth that makes your heart flutter. The curve of his full lips, resting in a confident, teasing smile. You adore Benny and can’t help but smile to yourself, feeling a surge of love and contentment being his fiancé.

“Come shower with me, Benny,” you whisper, as he almost sleeps in the warmth of your embrace.

“I’d like that,” he grins becoming more alert, savoring any intimate moment he can share with you. He releases you from his embrace, and you both slowly untangle from the sheets. The cool morning air brushes against your warm skin as you head to the bathroom ready to start your day together.

As you turn on the water, letting it warm up, Benny looks over your naked form, his hand slowly trailing down your back,“Your irresistible baby,” he says, squeezing your hip.

“And you’re insatiable Benny,” you tease, stepping under the shower and pulling him in with you. The water cascades over your bodies as you lean into him.

“You bring it out of me,” he says gently, brushing your wet hair back with one hand while the other cradles your face. You gaze up at him, and his lips meet yours in a soft, affectionate kiss that radiates warmth and love.

You wrap your arms around his neck, savoring the moment as steam rises around you, feeling both the heat of the water and the warmth of his kiss. You take turns washing each other’s bodies, enjoying the closeness and intimacy with the excitement of being engaged lingering between you.

After you dry off and head to the bedroom Benny slips on his jeans and a beige shirt while you choose a comfortable button up summer dress. You both move in sync, exchanging occasional smiles and touches as you prepare for the day an once ready, you head downstairs together.

In the kitchen, you make a simple breakfast, eggs, toast, and tea then sit at the counter together, sharing bites and light conversation about the excitement of your party last night. After breakfast you pull the calendar from the refrigerator, returning to sit next to him.

With the engagement successfully announced, you and Benny have an even bigger task ahead; planning the wedding.

“What date would you like for the big day?” you ask, flipping through the pages for the following months.

“Tomorrow,” Benny says with a sly grin.

You give him a playful look. “Benny, we can’t possibly do it tomorrow.”.

“End of the week,” he confirms without hesitation as he walks away to put the dishes in the sink.

“Benny, that’s too soon,” you protest.

He walks back to you, his eyes softening as he approaches. He wraps his strong arms around you from behind, his embrace warm and reassuring as you sit at the counter. 

He plants a kiss on your temple, then glances over the dates flipping back to the current month.

“I want to marry you as soon as possible” he says gently against your ear. “I don’t want to wait a moment longer,” he says with a depth of emotion.

You sigh, hearing the dedication in his words and feeling the same. “Maybe we can do it end of this week if the wedding is really small,” you suggest with a hopeful smile.

“The wedding will be big well included the entire club of Vandals,” he confirms with a grin,  excited to share the momentous occasion with his brotherhood.

When you look to him unsure he smiles holding you tighter into his embrace. “I’ll call Johnny and Betty they were already planning to help anyway, they’d love to do this for us.” He reveals m.

You smile, feeling a sense of relief and excitement. “They would do that?” you ask in surprise, and after a moment of thought Benny nods.

“Yea they know everyone, and this is a big deal for us. They’ve always had my back” he says reassuringly.

“What about the venue?” you ask, trying to think of a location in town.

Benny smiles, already knowing the answer. “We’ll do it right, hire a pastor and get married at the lake,” he says softly. You look over your shoulder, trying to hold your resolve at his sentiment, and he holds you tighter, seeing your pleased expression.

“That sounds wonderful Benny,” you confirm and place your hands on his forearms as he holds you.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” he whispers, his voice filled with love and anticipation.

You smile, your heart swelling with love in return. “I can’t wait to marry you either Benny” you respond and he smiles his eyes filled with affection as he plants a kiss on your lips.

You and Benny spend the rest of the afternoon making various calls to set the arrangements for the upcoming weekend.

As word gets around the Vandals and your friends excitedly offer their help in various ways to be part of the spontaneous celebration.

Benny chooses Johnny as his Best Man with Brusy and Cal as his groomsmen and you Chose Sarah as your Maid of Honor with Donna and Emily as your brides maids.

Benny, not being traditional chooses to wear his colors for the wedding proving his loyalty to the Vandals, and for your dress, you already have the most sentimental gown imaginable.

Wedding Jitters

The next day, you invite your maid of honor and bridesmaids over, ensuring Benny will be out with Johnny, working on the beverage order for the afternoon.

As your friends arrive, you share greetings and offer them glasses of wine in the kitchen, exchanging pleasantries before bringing them into your mother’s sitting room.

The space is cozy and nostalgic, with a large window facing the garden. A plush, floral-patterned sofa sits against one wall, complementing the room’s warm, inviting colors. Directly across from the sofa is your mother’s well-loved sewing machine. A full-length mirror stands in one corner next to a changing partition, and in the center of the room is a mannequin proudly displaying your mother’s wedding dress.

The gown is a stunning satin white, its fabric smooth and lustrous, with delicate straps that gracefully frame the shoulders, leading to a low-cut neckline. The bodice is fitted, accentuating the waist before flaring out into a full, flowing skirt that sweeps the floor.

When Emily and Sarah see your mother’s gown upon entering the room, they quickly become emotional, their eyes welling up with tears. The sight moves you deeply, and you find yourself tearing up with them. The four of you hold each other, sharing a heartfelt moment as you look over the gown together.

“It’s perfect,” Sarah says, wiping away happy tears. “Try it on for us,” Emily requests, and you nod in agreement. They each take a seat on the sofa, wines in hand, ready to see you wear the dress.

Though you’ve tried it on after pulling it from the trunk in the attic, something about wearing it in front of your friends makes it feel real. You nervously unbutton the silk gown from the mannequin, your hands trembling slightly as you struggle, and Sarah immediately gets up to help you.

“I’ve got it for you,” she says, taking over. Once she has the dress down, you step behind the partition to remove your clothing, and she hands the dress to you.

When you emerge, the dress fits you perfectly. Emily and Donna gasp, their eyes shining with emotion. Sarah helps you button up the back and delicately fastens the veil in your hair. She steps back, and they all admire you, their faces reflecting a mix of awe and affection.

“You’re going to be such a beautiful bride,” Sarah says, her voice full of admiration.

You smile, looking at yourself in the full-length mirror, feeling the weight of the moment and the significance of wearing your mother’s dress for your special day. The reality of your upcoming wedding sinks in, filling you with an overwhelming blend of excitement and longing.

“I wish they were here,” you blurt out, suddenly overcome with emotion. You kneel down, trying to hold back your sobs. Emily and Sarah immediately rush to your side, wrapping their arms around you in a comforting embrace, offering their support and understanding.

“Oh, sweetie,” Emily whispers, her voice filled with empathy. “They are here with you, in spirit and in your heart.”

“Your mom would be so proud of you,” Sarah adds supportively. “You look absolutely beautiful, and she’s watching over you, smiling.”

Donna softly strokes your back. “We’ll make sure your day is perfect, just like you deserve,” she confirms.

“We love you so much,” Sarah says, squeezing you tightly. “We know your parents would have loved to see you in this dress, marrying the man you love.”

They all look to you with supportive smiles. Donna steps away momentarily before coming forward and nudging you gently with your glass of wine. “Drink all of this down,” she orders, lightening the mood and as you laugh, you all lift your glasses for a toast.

“To love and friendship,” Donna says, her voice warm and reassuring.

“To marrying the love of your life,” Sarah adds, smiling through her tears.

“To the most beautiful bride,” Emily chimes in, her eyes shining with affection.

You all clink your glasses together, cheering in celebration.

During the week, you hand Benny several checks and envelopes of cash, which he distributes to cover all the expenses, making everything flow smoothly.

With the final detail of a local pastor confirmed, Benny looks at you with a triumphant grin. “I think we did it,” he says, pulling you into a tight embrace. “We’re getting married this weekend!” He says excitedly.

You smile, feeling joy and anticipation rising inside of you. “I can’t believe we made it happen, Benny,” you say, excitement surging as you tiptoe up and

press an appreciative kiss on his lips. Benny grins warmly and pulls you closer. “You’re gonna be my wife, baby,” he says affectionately.

One Night of Fun

The day before the wedding is filled with excitement and a flurry of activity. Betty and the older ladies meet with your maid of honor and bridesmaids to plan a surprise for you, while Johnny and the Vandals do the same for Benny.

You and Benny spend the day running last minute errands, making sure everything is ready for the next day.

As evening arrives, you begin to feel the wedding jitters setting in and decide to calm your nerves by cooking dinner together, a comforting ritual you both enjoy.

“Do you think we’ve forgotten anything?” you ask, perfectly browning a chicken breast in the skillet.

Benny stands beside you, chopping vegetables at the kitchen counter. “I don’t think so. I double-checked the list this morning,” he replies, concentrating on his task. “But if we did forget something, I’m sure it’ll work out.” He reassures you with calm confidence.

You nod, taking a deep breath. “You’re right, Benny. I guess it’s just the nerves talking,” you admit, feeling a bit anxious.

Benny leans over, smiling, and gently kisses your forehead. “We’re going to have an amazing day, baby. Everything will be perfect,” he says. His voice is steady and calming, and you smile, appreciating the way he grounds you.

Once dinner is ready, you sit down at the table together, trying to focus on the moment rather than the whirlwind of thoughts in your head.

“The chicken is amazing,” Benny says as he takes another bite, looking up at you affectionately.

You smile, finding comfort in the familiar routine of having dinner together. “I’m so glad, Benny,” you say, feeling a surge of emotion. “I want to do this with you forever.”

He gives you a look filled with understanding, getting up and walking around the table to kneel beside you. His eyes filled with warmth and love as he gazes into yours. “I want you forever,” he says softly, his voice full of sincerity, and leans placing a kiss on your lips and sealing his promise.

After dinner, you decide to relax on the couch together watching a show to distract your minds and calm your nerves. You settle in, nestled against Benny’s side, as the television flickers softly in the living room.

Benny’s holds you around your shoulders, his thumb gently stroking your arm in a soothing rhythm. The warmth of his body and the steady rise and fall of his chest easing your nerves.

Neither of you really pays attention to the show playing in the background. Instead, you sit in thoughtful silence, your minds drifting through the anticipation of tomorrow.

Occasionally, Benny leans over to plant a soft kiss on your temple or cheek, grounding you in the moment with his gentle affection. His fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your thigh, the touch both calming and reassuring.

“Tomorrow’s the big day,” he finally says, voicing what’s on both of your minds as he looks down at you with a warm smile.

You tilt your head to meet his gaze. “It feels like a dream, Benny,” you say softly.

He smiles deepens as he rests his head gently against yours. “It’s a dream come true,” he says warmly.

You both lapse back into a comfortable silence, the only sound in the room the show on the television. Being together in your shared space bringing a sense of peace.

Suddenly, the phone rings, breaking the tranquility, and you sit up. “I wonder who that could be at this hour,” you say, rising from the couch.

You answer the phone to hear the familiar voice of Johnny.

“How you doing, sweetheart?” he asks with genuine curiosity, and you feel your nerves begin to rise again.

“I’m fine, Johnny,” you say quickly.

“Put Benny on for me, would ya?” he asks.

“Of course,” you reply, handing the call to Benny. He takes the phone and gently squeezes your hand before you leave to give him privacy.

Once Benny finishes talking, he hangs up and finds you in the kitchen. “Hey, um,” he says, scratching the back of his head, “The guys want to take me out tonight,” he says with a sly grin.

You bite your lip to contain your smile. You are well aware of the kind of night they have planned for him. His cheeks flush as he realizes you know, and you head to your purse in the kitchen to hand him a small stack of bills.

“Have fun,” you say, walking past him in a playfully dismissive manner, but he grabs your wrist, holding you in place as he pockets the money.

“What do you mean, ‘have fun’?” he grins, pulling you back to him. “You’re my fun,” he says, pressing a kiss to your ear. “I want to have fun with you right now,” he whispers, nudging his nose against your cheek.

“Benny, go,” you say, trying to sound serious through your smile.

“No, I want you now,” he says, his voice lower tinged with desire as he guides his large hands down your body. “I want you satisfied while I’m out,” he whispers, reaching his hand between your legs and squeezing gently.

You gasp at his insistence, your heart fluttering with anticipation. “Try to behave yourself tonig—” Benny leans in, kissing you deeply, savoring the warmth of your mouth and cutting off your words before you can finish the thought.

His kiss is all consuming, his lips moving against yours with an insatiable hunger and you melt into him, losing yourself in the moment, his touch and presence enveloping you completely.

He pulls back, his eyes dark with desire as they wander your body. “I’m going to misbehave right now,” he promises, unfastening his belt.

“Oh god, Benny,” you gasp, feeling chills at his intensity.

He holds your waist and lifts you onto the counter’s edge, kissing you hard as he unbuttons your top. He unclasps your bra, letting it fall to the tiled surface as his large hands grab your breasts, kneading and squeezing them as his tongue explores your mouth.

Your thighs instinctively tighten around his waist, your arousal pooling from his touch as you feel him becoming hard between your legs.

“Gonna make you feel so good baby,” he promises and you feel the heat of his breath as he kisses down your neck, the warmth of his mouth sucking, licking, and leaving a trail of sensation as you pant above him.

“Please, Benny,” you sigh, your fingertips running through his hair as his lips move lower, licking and kissing across your hardened nipples. He takes one into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the peak before sucking it hard, drawing it in deeply. The pressure of his warmth tonge makes you moan, your wetness increasing with every pull of his mouth.

“Benny..that feels so good,” you moan, your walls clenching around nothing as he releases your nipple with a wet pop.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispers as his hands gently cup your breasts and his warm mouth returns, softly licking and firmly sucking each nipple. The sensations are overwhelming, each flick of his tongue and squeeze of his hands drawing a moan from your lips.

“I need you Benny,” you say breathlessly, your body aching for his touch. He responds by reaching his hand between your legs, sliding his fingers against your panties feeling them soaked through.

“God, you’re so wet for me,” he breathes, the heat of his words matching the intensity of his touch. His eyes lock onto yours as his fingers trace soft circles on your clit through the fabric.

Your hips push instinctively into his hand, and he slides your panties aside, his fingers gliding through your wetness, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you moan.

He teases your entrance with gentle circles and firm strokes, the sensation are overwhelming leaving you breathless. “Benny, please…” you whisper, spreading your legs wider, silently begging to be filled.

“You want more, baby?” he asks seductively.

“Y-yes, Benny,” you whisper.

“I’ll always give you more,” he promises and glides his fingers through your slickness before pushing them all the way inside of you.

“Oh God, Benny,” you gasp, your body trembling as he curls them upward pressing against a sensitive ridge. The sensation is exquisite, sending jolts of pleasure through your body as he moves his fingers in and out.

“Does it feel good baby?” he asks low and teasing.

“Yes, Benny!” you moan, “Please don’t stop,” you cry out with desperate need.

“I won’t stop until you’re satisfied,” he vows.

His other hand begins to knead your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in time with his fingers thrusting below, creating a symphony of sensations that makes you cry out his name.

“Benny, yes,” you moan as he plunges his fingers deeper curling them expertly against a a soft ridge that has you seeing stars

He returns his warm mouth to your breast, sucking and licking with intensity. The combination of his skilled fingers and the suction of his warm mouth pushes you to the brink, your body arching as you cry out his name.

“Benny....-I’m going to come,” you cry, the pleasure becoming so great you can no longer withstand it. Your body trembles with force as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around his fingers as waves of ecstasy ripple through your core.

He releases your nipple with a wet pop, and his eyes lock onto yours as he watches you come.

The slick sound of your wetness increases as his fingers thrust faster and harder making your cheeks flush a deep pink. Your breaths come in ragged gasps as the sensation intensifies, the euphoria overwhelming as you become lightheaded.

Benny slows his fingers as your thighs quiver against his hand and watches with a satisfied grin as you come down from your high.

Once you regain your breath, he removes his fingers from you bringing them to his mouth and tasting you with a satisfied hum.

His eyes roam over you as he decides what he wants to do next, finally locking his intense gaze with yours making your heart race.

His expression darkens with a mix of pride and hunger. “I need more,” he says, his voice rough with desire. “I want to taste you, until you come in my mouth.”

A shiver runs through you at his words and your heart races as he places his hand on your chest, gently guiding down to lay on the counter.

You let out a soft, breathy moan as you settle onto the cool tiles, the reality of his promise sinking in. Your skin tingles with anticipation as he prepares you for what’s next, tracing his fingers lightly over your skin.

“I want this off” he says and you feel a surge of excitement as his hands slide lower to your hips, tugging your skirt down and slipping off your panties. With you fully naked before him his gaze lingers on your curves, taking in every detail with a look of appreciation and desire.

“Spread your legs for me,” he commands, his voice tinged with pride and admiration as you do, his eyes locking onto the glistening arousal between them. He reaches out, his fingers grazing the slickness, savoring the effect he has on you.

“So wet for me” he praises with a smile and his hands slowly push your thighs wider apart. He lowers his face between them, and you shiver at the heat of his breath fanning against your skin.

He slowly traces his tongue along your wetness, savoring your taste, each stroke deliberate and intense as he enjoys every moment.

“Benny!” you gasp, your body tensing and releasing as the motions of his tongue become faster, your breath hitching as the pleasure radiates through your core. He flicks his tongue against your clit with an intensity that has you moan into the air.

“Benny, god!” you cry, your body arching toward his mouth and he grips your thighs, thrusting his tongue in and out of your entrance. The wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth fill the room as your hips begin to move of their own accord, each plunge of his tongue sending shockwaves through your core.

Your breaths come in ragged gasps as he works his tongue deeper, your moans unending as he consumes you. He groans against in passion and the vibration intensify your pleasure, spreading it from your core outward, tingling along your skin and making your thighs tighten around his head.

His hands grip your thighs and gently pull them apart, keeping you in place as you surrender to every exquisite sensation of his mouth devouring you.

“Benny I’m gonna come !” You moan your walls tightening on the brink of release. He maintains the perfect rhythm the sensation dizzying, each thrust and flick of his tongue drawing you closer to climax. Your hands grip the counter, desperate for something to hold onto as you feel yourself about to come.

When the tension snaps, you cry out in euphoria as another powerful orgasm crashes over you, the sheer intensity of your release leaving you utterly at his mercy.

Benny continues sloppily kissing and licking you as you come, determined to drive you beyond the edge of ecstasy.

Desperate cries escape your lips as he firmly slips two fingers inside of your sensitive walls, thrusting hard, creating an intense dull ache that builds, coiling tighter and tighter with every deep stroke.

“Benny, oh god!” you whimper as he thrusts faster, making the pressure build until you feel a demanding need for release.

You cry out as you reach the brink, and he slips his fingers from you, circling them against your clit. The sudden shift in sensation causes your body to respond with a powerful release, warm liquid squirting freely from your core with each stroke of his fingers.

Benny leans in, capturing your release with his mouth, his tongue eagerly lapping in as you push against his face. Your moans are unending as you come, completely overwhelmed by Benny.

Your body gives out, going limp as you lay flat on the counter, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

The overwhelming pleasure leaves you dazed and blissfully exhausted as you bask in the afterglow of your earth shattering orgasm. Benny stands with a satisfied smirk, clearly pleased with his handiwork, and slowly licks the taste of you from his lips.

“I love to make you come like that,” he grins at you in satisfaction.

You weakly smile, your mind clouded in complete euphoria. “I… I love it too,” you manage to say, unable to form an another thought.

He watches you with a contented smile, his touch lingering softly on your thighs as you come down from the high, the aftershocks of pleasure still rippling through your body.

His eyes are filled with admiration as he takes in your blissful state, his thumbs gently stroking your skin, grounding you in the moment as you slowly regain your composure.

“I want to satisfy you even more,” he says, tightly gripping your hips and pulling you to the edge of the counter. “Need to feel you tight around me” he rasps “I want to thrust until I can’t hold back anymore,” he reveals his voice rough with need.

“Oh god Benny,” you softly moan, your eyes pleading for him.

He unzips his jeans, lowering them as his large, hard cock springs free. You watch as he wraps one hand firmly around the base, his other hand resting on your hip to hold you in place.

He presses the tip against your entrance, sliding it through the slick wetness of your arousal and the sensation causes waves of intense pleasure to course through your already overstimulated body.

“I want you so much,” he whispers as he aligns himself with you. “Do you feel how hard you make me, baby?” he asks, gripping both of your hips possessively.

You moan feeling the heat of his tip press into you, and with a deliberate, steady push, he thrusts himself inside. Your body arches as he penetrates, your walls throbbing as he stretches you around his size.

He places his large hand across your pelvis, holding you in place as he sinks deeper, the sensation drawing moans from you both as he bottoms out, filling you completely.

“You feel so good on me,” he groans softly, his voice thick with desire.

You gaze into his eyes, completely consumed by the size of his cock. “Benny…you’re so deep” you whine, the fullness so intense that you can’t move.

“Every inch of me belongs inside of you,” he confirms, holding you steady as he begins to thrust, his head immediately tilting back in pure bliss as he enjoys in the tightness of your walls squeezing him.

You whimper and moan beneath him, your sounds mingling with the wet, rhythmic slickness of his cock as he roughly pushes into you, each firm stroke accompanied by his grunts and pants.

Your fingers grasp desperately at the edge of the counter, the only thing to brace yourself felling every inch of him pushing deeper, the fullness and pressure sending shockwaves to your core.

He glances down at you, captivated by the sight of your eyes fluttering closed in bliss as you take him.

“Look at me, baby,” he says affectionately and when your eyes meet, the intensity of your gaze sends a jolt of desire through him as his cock twitch inside your walls.

“You’re all I’m going to be thinking about tonight,” he confesses, his words a promise as he drives his cock into you with a newfound intensity.

You respond eagerly to his words, your moans growing louder and more desperate as you feel yourself spiraling toward another climax. The tension coils tighter within you, your body straining toward release, every thrust reinforcing the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Oh god Benny!” You finally cry as his pace increases to a dangerous rate, thrusting faster, driving deeper and holding you in place. He begin to pounds into your walls with a relentless rhythm. His groans fill your ears as your pelvic muscles contract around his large cock squeezing it tightly.

“S-so good,” he stammers, losing his ability to think, the sounds of your wetness mingling with the slaps of his skin, driving him insane as he nears release.

Your walls begin to flutter, drawing him in deeper with every thrust, and you feel the familiar tightness building within as you gasp, and moan reaching your peak of your pleasure.

“Don’t come yet, baby,” Benny rasps, his voice commanding and filled with control.

You strain not to come and he presses his hand down firmly on your pelvis, the force sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core as he thrusts intensifying the sensation beyond your limits.

Your hips buck up against him, your cries of his name spilling from your lips like a desperate prayer.

“Benny, god Benny please!” you moan incoherently, your voice trembling with desperation.

“Fuck,” he gasps, he falters, nearly losing control, but he quickly recovers, determined to give you an earth shattering orgasm. “Not yet, baby,” he commands, holding you firmly in place as he begins flicking his thumb over your clit.

Your cries are foreign to your ears as he relentlessly thrusts and sweetly tortures your clit. The combination drives you to the brink, your body instinctively pushing against him, completely overwhelmed and overstimulated.

Your orgasm crashes over you with full force, your vision blurring as waves of pleasure radiate through your core. Your walls spasm around his cock, and you moan his name, feeling the warmth of your release coating his cock as he continues to glide in and out of you.

He groans as the rush of warm liquid makes his thrusts sloppier and more desperate. He falters slightly, the pleasure all consuming. “I’m gonna come,” he relents, keeping his hand in place, feeling himself thrusting harder under his palm as he chases his own high.

He lets out a guttural moan, his body tensing as his cock pulses inside of you. The sensation of his warm cum filling you makes you moan beneath him. His cock throbs in sync with the contractions of your walls and the intensity of your orgasms leaves you both breathless and satisfied.

He waits as the throbbing of your walls subsides, savoring the feeling of being completely connected to you.

He brushes soft touches along your sides, his eyes taking in your blissfully surrendered form. “You’re incredible,” he says with a soft smile as his fingers trace gently over your delicate skin.

You manage a weak smile in return, still overwhelmed from the intensity of the moment . “I’ve never felt anything like that, Benny,” you admit, your voice filled with awe.

He smiles, a look of satisfaction in his eyes. “I want to make you feel like that always,” he says softly, his hand gently guiding down your leg.

With your bodies calmed he places a hand on your thigh bracing himself and carefully pulls out of you. The sensation of his large cock withdrawing leaves you feeling both empty and relieved as a warmth spreads through your core.

He takes your wrists and gently pulls you up to him, guiding your arms around his neck as he wraps his strong arms around your waist, holding you close.

He gazes into your eyes, a playful grin on his lips. “What if I don’t go?” he asks, his voice teasing with a hint of genuine reluctance.

You smile, leaning in to kiss his lips softly. “Go play with your boys,” you whisper against his mouth, knowing full well he’ll be thinking of you the entire time. The connection between you is undeniable, and you both linger in the moment, unwilling to let it end.

Suddenly there is a loud knock at the front door startling you both due to the hour.

“Who could that be?” you ask, glancing at Benny.

“I don’t know,” he replies, quickly helping you off the counter. You scramble to get dressed, pulling on your top and buttoning it up, while he tucks himself away, adjusting his jeans. He collects your skirt, kneeling to help you step into it.

Once you are both dressed, Benny heads to answer the front door.

He pulls it open to find all the old ladies from the club, along with your friends, waiting in anticipation. Their faces flushed with excitement as they yell and cheer. Bennys eyes widen in shock at the sudden visit and they scream and catcall at him, clearly there to celebrate. With a mix of surprise and amusement, he steps aside, inviting them all in.

They pour into the entryway, each one touching and patting his firm arms and chest as they pass him by.

“What are you still doing here, Benny? You’re supposed to be at the club!” Gale yells with a grin.

“This is girls’ night!” Donna teases as their laughter and chatter filling the house with infectious energy.

They make their way to the kitchen, and feeling exposed, you quickly try to compose yourself but Gale spots your bra on the counter, picking it up with a sly grin.

“Looks like this is why Benny hasn’t left yet,” she teases, waving your bra playfully around making you and Benny turn bright red as he enters the kitchen seeing what she’s discovered.

Despite the teasing, Benny walks over to you, wrapping his arms around you in a warm embrace.

The girls gather around, intensifying the moment as Benny cups your jaw in his hand, placing a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. “I love you” he says tenderly, his eyes locking with yours as he smiles.

“I love you too,” you reply softly, feeling shy under the gaze of your friends as they catcall and cheer around you.

Benny then pulls on his jacket, turning to the group with a grin. “Take good care of her tonight,” he says, his tone a mix of affection and humor as he waves goodbye.

The girls respond with playful teasing and laughter, filling the room with their vibrant energy as Benny finally heads out the front door. The noise and energy in the room continue to buzz as your friends settle in, ready to celebrate the night away before your big day.

You usher everyone into the living room, with their bottles and glasses in hand, heading over to the record player. You carefully select a popular record, gently sliding it out of its sleeve. Placing it on the turntable, you set the needle down with precision, hearing the soft crackle as it finds the groove.

The music fills the room, and you and your friends begin to dance and drink singing along to the entire record, the atmosphere buzzing with energy and joy bringing you all closer together.As the record comes to an end, the energy begins to wind down, and everyone gathers around to start handing out the traditional bridal gifts for your wedding.

Betty is the first to step forward, presenting you with something borrowed, a Vandals biker patch. The old ladies of the club grow sentimental as she places it in your palm and you trace your thumb along the familiar stitching, recognizing the symbol that means so much to Benny.

“You’re one of us now,” Betty says, her voice heavy with emotion as she pulls you into a tight embrace. Her words, filled with deep meaning, make your friends feel a touch out of place, but they smile warmly, sharing in the moment.

Next, Sarah approaches, her excitement barely contained as she hands you something new, a large, ribboned box with ‘Lily of France’ written across the front. You can’t help but gasp as you open it to reveal a stunning white lingerie set, complete with garter belts and fasteners. The women around you clap and cheer, their eyes sparkling with delight.

“That’ll get you pregnant faster than a horse in heat!” Gale shouts, and the room erupts into fits of laughter. You blush deeply, and carefully place the lingerie back into its box, nodding your appreciation to Sarah, who beams with pride.

Emily steps forward next, holding a tiny bag in her hands. You open it to find a small, gold-engraved black box, and inside, nestled on a bed of satin, are a pair of exquisite sapphire earrings.

The room falls silent for a moment as everyone admires their delicate beauty. “Something blue,” Emily says softly, her voice shy but filled with warmth. A lump forms in your throat as you smile at her, deeply touched by the thoughtful gesture. “They’re beautiful, thank you,” you say, your voice catching slightly.

“Thank you all so much,” you say to the gathered women, suddenly tearful as you feel overwhelmed with gratitude for the love and support surrounding you. Donna begins refilling everyone’s glasses. “Let’s do a toast,” she says once everyone is holding a full glass.

“Wait!” Sandy says, running to her purse and retrieving her camera. “Everyone gather in front of the fireplace around the future bride!” she says excitedly, and all the women surround you as Sandy prepares to take the photo.

“Everyone cheers to the future bride!” Sandy yells, and the camera flashes, capturing you and all of your friends for the wonderful memory.

The night continues with laughter and stories, the warmth of friendship surrounding you as you celebrate the eve of your wedding day.

Den of Wolves

Benny arrives at the Vandals’ biker club, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. He’s seen his fair share of wild nights with the boys, but tonight feels different he knows they’ve got it in for him. He sucks in a deep breath to prepare himself for the inevitable mauling by the den of wolves waiting inside.

Benny pushes open the doors to the sound of Blues blaring from the jukebox, as soon as he steps inside, the crowd of bikers turns their attention to him and rush to greet him. “Benny!” some yell out as they playfully assault him with rough pats on the back and ruffle his hair.

Cal, wraps an arm around Benny, pulling him into a side hug. “Here he is, the man of the hour!” he yells triumph making Benny laugh as he ushered into the club.

Johnny grins from the bar and yells  out, “Glad you decided to show up Benny ! Trouble with the Mrs?” He says pointing at the clock above the bar.

“No, quite the opposite,” Benny yells, flashing a grin.

Then men erupt into laughter and Wahoo grabs Benny by the shoulders . “That poor delicate woman Benny, your gonna break her if you can’t stop being such a dog” he yells and the men erupt  into a fit of laughter as Benny pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to contain his bashful smile of embarrassment.

“Get this man drunk and quick!” Corky shouts, and the men all cheer in agreement, raising their glasses in a toast.

They settle into the familiar routine of playing pool and smoking, the camaraderie easing Benny’s nerves. As he chats with Cal, enjoying the normalcy of the night, he finally begins to relax.

Suddenly, Wahoo and Corky grab Benny by the arms, pulling him backward and landing him in a chair. Benny laughs, playfully fighting to get up, but Corky yells, “Hold him down! I paid good money for this!” and the other bikers join in, holding Benny in place despite his protest.

“C’mon, guys, don’t,” Benny pleads, but his words fall on deaf ears as Wahoo folds a rag and blindfolds him.

“It’s not cheating if you can’t see it,” Wahoo says with a cackle, drawing laughter from the crowd. “Touching’s free, looking will cost ya!” Corky adds, and the bikers laugh at his clear misinterpretation.

Benny, unable to move, relents knowing that whatever they have planned, it’s all in good fun.

The men begin to whistle, and Benny hears the distinct sound of high heels clicking on the wooden floor. His heart rate increases, and his blood runs cold as he realizes it’s real—they’ve in fact hired a stripper.

“Who’s the one getting treated here?” she asks with a sultry voice, trailing her hand up his leg as the room erupts in cheers and laughter “Benny” they yell in unison.

She lifts the hem of his shirt, taking a peek at his abs. “Tsk, tsk, tsk Benny what a lucky woman,” she says, leaning in close enough for him smell her perfume. “Too bad we’re going to ruin all that for a night of fun,” she teases.

On her cue, a rock song starts playing, and Benny can hear the men lower their chattering with growing excitement as she begins to dance.

They begin whistling as she strips down to her bra and panties and walks closer quickly straddling Benny’s lap. Her hips rolls against him to the rhythm of the music and the bikers can’t contain their excitement, hooting and hollering at the spectacle.

She runs her fingers through Benny’s hair and down his chest, her touch light but teasing. Benny keeps his composure, though inside he feels a wave of humiliation setting in as his face flushes. Seeing this, the men around him grow rowdier, egging her on to do more.

“Relax, for me handsome,” she whispers in his ear, her lips grazing his skin. “I promise I don’t bite—unless you want me to.” She teases

Benny finally chuckles, his face turning bright red from the sheer embarrassment of the ordeal. “I’m good, thanks,” he replies, keeping his voice light.

“Are you sure?” she asks playfully and removes his blindfold. As the cloth falls away, she is the one stunned, seeing his handsome face. “What a looker,” she says, flashing him a mischievous grin. “Let’s make sure you have an extra good time tonight.” She winks.

With that, she begins to dance on him with practiced ease, her movements fluid and confident. She holds his knees her body moving  with the rhythm of the music, her long hair cascading over her shoulders as she leans back maintaining eye contact with Benny, her smile playful and teasing. The bikers continue to cheer, tossing dollar bills at her in every direction, the room filled with hoots and laughter.

“C’mon, Benny, enjoy the show I paid good for this!” Wahoo yells, raising his beer to celebrate and the men erupt into more laughter and encouragement, adding to the wild atmosphere.

Benny endures the lap dance, grateful for his friends’ enthusiasm but relieved when the routine finally comes to an end.

“Thanks for playing along, handsome,” she says with a teasing smile. With a smooth, practiced motion, she climbs off Benny’s lap, gathering the scattered bills into a neat stack. As she struts across the room, she glances over her shoulder at Benny, flashing him a flirtatious smile and blowing him a kiss before disappearing into the crowd.

The bikers erupt into applause, slapping Benny on the back and congratulating him on surviving the spectacle and  Benny relaxes, grateful that the unexpected show is over.

As the men let Benny up, he sighs in relief, shaking his head as they continue to tease him.

More girls enter the bar, and Benny groans, thinking the night isn’t over yet and Johnny chimes in seeing his dismay “Nah, nah, Benny, you’ve had your fun. This is for the boys.” He yells and the room erupts into cheers as the women begin selecting their bikers, each one pulling her chosen man along with playful gestures and flirtatious smiles. A brief scuffle breaks out over one of the girls, but it’s quickly broken up by the others, who laugh it off and return to the festivities.

As the party continues, Benny sneaks out front to have a smoke, needing a moment of peace. The only thing on his mind is you and what you’re doing tonight without him. He knows he won’t see you until tomorrow, and the thought tugs at him.

He leans against his bike, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep drag, the smoke curling into the night air as he stands deep in thought.

Johnny steps outside, spotting Benny resting against his bike. “There ya are! I’ve been looking all over for ya,” he says, pulling out a cigarette of his own and lighting it as he joins Benny.

They stay in complete silence for a moment as they smoke, the only sounds being distant laughter and music from inside.

Johnny pulls a drag and exhales, finally glancing over at Benny. “What’s going on in that head of yours kid?” He asks.

Benny exhales slowly, watching the smoke dissipate. “Just thinking about her. She’s all I can ever think about, even with all this going on.” He admits.

Johnny nods, understanding. “She’s special, Benny. You’re lucky to have found someone like her. Don’t let anything muck that up.”

Benny smiles weakly, appreciating the sentiment. “I know. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I just worry, you know?”

Johnny claps him on the shoulder. “We all worry. But you can be a good man Benny. Just be that for her and everything else will fall into place.”

Benny takes another drag of his cigarette, mulling  over Johnnys  words as he exhales. “Thanks, Johnny.” He says appreciatively.

Johnny grins, flicking his cigarette butt to the ground. “Anytime, kid. Now, let’s get back inside before they send out a search party.”

Benny grins and with a final nod, they head back inside, ready to rejoin the chaos of the night.

‘Til Death 

The day of the wedding unfolds under a perfect sky, the sun shining brightly as a gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the towering trees surrounding the serene lake. The setting is idyllic, the grand expanse of water providing a stunning backdrop to the ceremony, its calm surface reflecting the lush greenery and the clear blue sky.

A beautifully decorated flowered awning stands at the center of the ceremony space, its arch adorned with cascading white blooms. The delicate flowers exude a subtle fragrance that mingles with the fresh scent of the lake, enhancing the romantic atmosphere.

The guests are seated in rows of white chairs, all facing the flowered awning. The excitement in the air is undeniable , everyone chatting quietly as they await the start of the ceremony. The guests are a diverse mix of your friends and their families, with dates, and the Vandals with their families and partners. All of the vandals are dressed in their club colors, adding a unique dedicated touch to the gathering.

An elegant runner, lined with petals, stretches from the entrance of the ceremony space to the pastor standing beneath the archway.

Benny stands at the forefront of his groomsmen on the left of the archway, all donned in their Vandals colors. His heart is pounding in his chest with excitement and anticipation as he prepares to marry the love of his life. His mind only focused on seeing you again as he looks out into the crowd of gathered guests, feeling the significance of the ceremony.

A guitarist begins to play a soft melody, the gentle notes floating through the air and the music sets the perfect tone for the ceremony, its soothing rhythm adding to the peaceful ambiance.

As the music continues, the excitement builds. All eyes turn expectantly toward the start of the aisle, awaiting the bride’s entrance.

In the curtained bridal tent, the air is filled with excitement and nervous energy.

You glance at your self in the mirror as Betty stands beside you, giving you a last minute look over. She gently adjusts your veil, ensuring it drapes perfectly over your shoulders, and steps back as she and Gale admire her handiwork.

“You look absolutely stunning,” Betty  says with a warm smile, her eyes shining with pride. 

“Benny’s a lucky man, and he knows it.” Gail adds 

Their words fill you with warmth and reassurance, helping to calm your nerves. You take a deep breath looking to Betty. “Thank you for everything,” you say sincerely, grateful for her arrangements and planning.

Betty smiles warmly and hands you your bouquet, a beautiful arrangement of flowers that perfectly complements your dress. “Go get him sweetie,” she says with an encouraging wink.

She and Gail hold open the curtains of the tent, and you step out from the secluded area surrounded by towering oak leaf hydrangeas.

Your heart swells with emotion as you reach the clearing, pausing for a moment to take in the breathtaking scene at the lake before you. 

Your eyes are immediately drawn to Benny standing at the archway, looking as handsome as ever in his Vandal colors.

Your heart races with a blend of excitement and love as you see Benny waiting for you in front of all the wedding guests.

The moment he smiles at you, a surge of confidence and happiness fills your heart, and you begin your walk down the aisle, the significance of the day washing over you with every step. As you approach, Benny’s nervousness melts away, replaced by a radiant smile that spreads across his lips, his love for you evident in every glance.

Johnny nudges him gently, whispering with a grin, “Damn, Benny, she’s gorgeous.”

Benny, unable to take his eyes off you, nods. “I know, Johnny. I can’t believe she’s mine.”

Johnny chuckles softly, leaning in closer. “You’d better take good care of her, or the whole club’ll be on your ass,” he teases.

Benny grins, his gaze never leaving you as you approach. “I will, Johnny. She’s my everything.”

You look ethereal, a vision in white as your eyes lock onto Benny’s. The members of the club, their faces usually hardened by years of rough living, soften as they watch you. Johnny Cal,and Brusy stand proudly as his groomsmen, their leather cuts a stark contrast to the delicate flowers decorating the awning. 

As you walk down the aisle, the old ladies of the club’s eyes glisten with a mix of pride and nostalgia. They have seen Benny through his darkest times, and now they are witnessing a moment of pure joy, seeing him truly in love. You nod to Sara, Emily, and Donna as you reach your place in front of the archway, their faces barely able to contain their emotions.

Standing before Benny, you marvel at how handsome he looks, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. As his lips curve into a tender smile, you see the depth of his emotions, reflecting the profound commitment you’re both about to make,and your heart swells with love and anticipation for soon being his wife.

The pastor stands between you, his presence a comforting anchor in the profound moment of your commitment. His voice is calm and reassuring as he begins the ceremony, guiding you through each step with a gentle authority.

Benny takes your hands in his, squeezing them lightly, sending a rush of warmth and joy through you. As he speaks, his voice is steady and filled with affection, making the moment feel incredibly intimate and profound.

“I promise to stand by you through every adventure and challenge,” he says, his eyes locked on yours, filled with gratitude and sincerity.

“I vow to love and cherish you every day of our lives, to protect and support you, and to be your partner in all things.” His voice continues, filled with emotion and passion. “You are my heart, my true love, and I will cherish every moment we share. I promise to be faithfully yours now and forever.”

As Benny finishes, his eyes glisten with excitement barely contained. He takes a deep breath, smiling widely, his whole being radiating warmth and love. He squeezes your hands gently, drawing you closer.

His emotional vows touch you deeply, and you can feel tears well up in your eyes and train your focus on the feel of his hands in yours swallowing hard to compose yourself.

You take a deep breath, feeling a rush of emotions as you prepare to say your vows in return.

“I promise to love you with all my heart,” you begin, your voice gentle yet firm. “To be by your side in everything, sharing our joys and facing any challenges together. I vow to fill our lives with devotion and love.”

You take a moment to gather your emotions, your voice shaking slightly as you continue,

“I promise to support your dreams and encourage you every step of the way, to create a home filled with warmth and understanding.” You pause, your heart full as you look at him. Taking another deep breath, steadying yourself as you finish “I will be your confidant and your partner. And I promise to be faithfully yours now and always.”

Benny’s eyes, usually confident and steady, are visibly touched by your heartfelt vows. As he gazes at you, his eyes soften, reflecting the deep blend of love and admiration he holds for you.

He gently squeezes your hands, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles, offering a silent affirmation of his love and gratitude.

Your guests, bearing witness, exchange knowing smiles filled with admiration and approval. A few shed tears, touched by the sincerity and love in your shared words.

With the vows exchanged, the pastor nods and gestures toward the small velvet box held by the best man, Johnny, who opens it to reveal the ring. Benny takes your ring, a delicate handmade band he created that matches his own.

“Benny,” the pastor prompts gently, “please place the ring on her finger and repeat after me.”

Benny slides the ring onto your finger, his touch warm and sure. “With this ring, I thee wed,” he says, his voice filled with emotion. “I give you this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness.”

You feel the cool metal settle against your skin, a tangible reminder of the bond you now share. Then it’s your turn. Sarah, as maid of honor, opens the velvet box she’s holding, revealing a simple band that matches yours. You take Benny’s ring, feeling its reassuring weight in your palm.

“Please place the ring on his finger and repeat after me,” the pastor instructs.

You slide the ring onto Benny’s finger, your hand steady despite the excitement fluttering in your chest. “With this ring, I thee wed,” you repeat, your voice filled with sincerity and love. “I give you this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness.”

With the rings in place, you both take a moment to admire the symbols of your commitment, feeling the significance of the exchange settle in your hearts. The pastor smiles warmly, sealing the moment with a nod of approval.

“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife,” the pastor asks Benny, “to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”

Benny looks into your eyes, his voice steady and filled with emotion as he responds, “I do.”

The pastor then turns to you. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”

You meet Benny’s gaze, your heart full of love and certainty. “I do,” you reply, your voice clear and strong.

With the vows exchanged, the pastor smiles warmly and says, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Benny’s eyes are filled with joy and excitement as he steps closer, lifting your veil with a mix of tenderness and urgency.

His hands cradle your jaw as he leans in and kisses you, his lips moving against yours in perfect harmony, reflecting the love and commitment you’ve just vowed to each other. The kiss is full of passion and promise, and the crowd erupts into cheers and applause around you.

As you and Benny gently part from the kiss, everyone stands, celebrating the beautiful moment with enthusiastic applause.

Benny looks at you with a beautiful smile, feeling elated and deeply in love. He takes your hand, squeezing it gently as you both turn to face your cheering friends.

You see Sandy capturing the moment with a quick flash of the camera, and Johnny gives Benny a playful clap on the back. “Welcome to married life, kid,” he says, grinning.

Sarah rushes over to you, caught up in the excitement. “I’m so happy for you two!” she exclaims, looking at you and Benny, her eyes glistening with tears of joy.

The pastor then steps forward to complete the ceremony and announces.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Cross.”

Benny holds your hand firmly as you exchange elated smiles walking down the aisle together for the first time as husband and wife. The crowd erupts into cheers, the air charged with excitement and joy as your friends surround you, celebrating your new life together.

After the ceremony, the festivities move to the outdoor dance floor set up under twinkling string lights. The live band strikes up a tune that fills the air with rhythm. Guests mingle around the tables their laughter and chatter adding to the joyful atmosphere.

The first dance is a magical moment. As the sun sets behind the lake Benny leads you onto the dance floor as the band plays a slow, romantic song.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close as you sway together, lost in each other’s eyes. The world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you in bliss. Your friends surround the dance floor, watching with smiles and snapping photos to capture the beautiful moment.

After the dance, Johnny takes to the stage delivering a speech. His words are filled with humor and heartfelt sincerity, making everyone laugh and tear up as he finishes. “Benny, you’ve found yourself a real gem,” he says, raising his glass. “May your life together be full of love, laughter, and endless adventures.”

Every one raises and clinks their glasses in cheers. Johnny takes a drink before he continues with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“And Benny,” he adds, pausing to let the crowd settle down. “Now that you’ve got yourself a wife, you need to remember just one thing—”

The bikers, anticipating his line, all join in with a loud chorus: “Always ride her harder than your Harley!”

The entire crowd erupts into laughter and cheers as the bikers pound their fists on the tables in unison. Benny lifts his glass of whiskey high, grinning from ear to ear. “To my beautiful wife!” he calls out and the crowd echoes with cheers as you look to each other unable to contain the immense happiness you feel for one another.

Sarah follows with her emotional speech, sharing stories of your childhood friendship and expressing how happy she is and how proud your parents would be to see you so in love. By the end, she’s tearing up, wiping her eyes as she finishes with a toast, “You two amazing people are even better together and I’m so glad you found each other,” she says her voice shaking with emotion as she smiles.

You nod to her, overwhelmed with gratitude, and Benny gently places his arm around you, seeing you become emotional. As you begin to tremble, he hands you a handkerchief, comfortingly caressing your arm.

Your tears well up as you wipe your eyes, feeling the warmth of the moment. “I love you, Sarah!” you yell out, your voice filled with affection and appreciation.”

She smiles warmly, making her way to your table to give you a quick hug. “I love you too,” she whispers “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make is cry “ she says smiling through happy tears as she helps you pat dry the makeup under your eyes with a gentle touch.

When the food is served, the guests enjoy the meal, mingling and sharing stories as they eat. The mix of bikers and locals creates a vibrant and unique atmosphere, with laughter and conversation flowing freely.

Later, as it’s time to cut the cake, you and Benny approach the tiered confection, adorned with flowers that match your bouquet. With laughter and playful banter, you cut the first slice together, feeding each other big bites earning cheers and applause from the crowd. The guests look on, delighted by the sweet and lighthearted moment, capturing the joy and love shared between you and Benny.

As the night goes on, the bouquet toss becomes a highlight. You gather the single women onto the dance floor and turn your back to them, tossing the bouquet over your shoulder. Donna is the one who catches it and laughs, holding it up triumphantly as everyone bursts into applause.

The festivities continue, with guests dancing and enjoying themselves until they’re thoroughly tipsy, most of the Vandals already drunk, as the band plays energetic songs and the dance floor fills with people letting loose and celebrating.

With the evening drawing to a close, the Vandals prepare for a biker send-off. They line up near the dance floor, engines rumbling, as Benny climbs onto his bike, kick-starting it with a roar.

He offers his hand to you, and you carefully gather your wedding dress climbing onto the back. You can’t help but admire how valiant Benny looks, sitting tall and confident on his bike. His strength and presence fill you with satisfaction, and as you wrap your arms around him tightly , feeling utterly devoted and completely in love with him.

A “Just Married” sign is attached to the back of his bike, and a corsage of roses decorates the wheel mount, adding a romantic touch to his rugged Harley. Emily stands ready with her camera, capturing the moment as you wave goodbye to your guests and everyone cheers.

You ride down the line of roaring engines, your veil blowing in the wind, the cool night air filled with excitement and promise as you and Benny ride off into the night, ready to begin your new adventurous life together.

Honey Moon Phase 

As you ride home from your wedding on the back of Benny’s bike, the engine roars beneath you, the feeling vibrating through your body. You hold onto him tightly, your arms wrapped around his waist, feeling the thrill of the ride and the wind rushing past.

The excitement of being married to Benny is overwhelming, and you let out a scream of pure joy, unable to contain your exhilaration any longer.

Benny laughs hearing your excitement, “I love you baby” he yells over the wind and you lean against him closer “I love you too Benny” you say loudly as you cling onto him tighter.

He speeds up weaving through traffic with the precision of a seasoned rider. Some cars honk as they spot the “Just Married” sign on the back of the bike, their drivers waving and cheering as you pass by.

As you reach the streets near your home, it’s well into the night. Benny slows the bike, the roar of the engine fading to a gentle purr as he parks in front of your home. He helps you off the bike, and instead of letting you stand, he lifts you up effortlessly, cradling you in his arms.

“Mrs. Cross, we’re home now,” he says with a handsome grin, and you giggle in his embrace, feeling a thrill as he carries you in his strong arms. “I’m your wife now, Benny,” you smile, and as he smiles in return, you see the warmth in his eyes deepen.

He carries you to the front door, shifting you slightly in his arms as he pulls out his key and unlocks it. With a smooth motion, he carries you over the threshold and sets you down gently inside with hands around your waist.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tender kiss before softly pulling away. “I can’t believe we’re finally married, Benny. It feels incredible,” you say, gazing into the depths of his blue eyes.

He affectionately touches your veil then smiles gently as he caresses your cheek. “It is incredible,” he says, his eyes filled with warmth. “And I’m so glad I get to spend the rest of my life with you,” he adds, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips.

You gaze up at him, your eyes filled with admiration, before lowering your gaze to his lips, your mind racing with anticipation.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, searching your eyes with a playful curiosity.

“I have a surprise for you, Benny,” you reply, looking up at him through your lashes with a seductive smile.

“Show me,” he whispers, his voice filled with desire, his eyes locked onto yours with anticipation.

You take his hand and lead him upstairs, feeling the excitement building between you two. He gathers your dress as you walk, careful not to let it drag. Once in the bedroom, you click on the lights and turn your back to him so he can unbutton your gown, holding the front to keep it from falling once he does.

After he finishes, you turn to him with a playful smile. “Take off your clothing and wait for me on the bed, Benny,” you gently command, your eyes filled with desire as you point to the bed.

Benny grins, catching the hint of naughtiness in your expression, and readily complies, starting by eagerly taking off his boots.

You walk to the closet as he undresses, pulling the Lily of France box from its place on the shelf. With the box in hand, you head to the bathroom, eager to slip into the lingerie within.

Just as you reach the door, you let your wedding dress glide down to the floor, revealing your body adorned in nothing but a pair of delicate lace panties.

Glancing back, you see Benny already watching you intently, his eyes filled with desire as he takes you in. He slips off his jacket, sliding it over his broad shoulders, then lifts the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head to reveal his toned chest and abs. He tosses it aside, his gaze never leaving you, his expression hungry and filled with longing, making it clear how much he wants you.

You smile at him seductively, enjoying the effect you have on him, then slip inside the bathroom, locking the door behind you to ensure he won’t ruin his surprise.

You take a moment to collect yourself, the anticipation heightening the thrill of the what you have in store for him.

As you open the box, you feel a rush of excitement upon seeing the beautiful lingerie set inside again. You run your fingers over the delicate lace and silk, imagining the look on Benny’s face when you reveal yourself wearing it. The thought makes your heart race with anticipation.

After quickly rinsing off and slipping into the lingerie, you take a moment to admire yourself in the mirror, feeling both confident and excited. The set fits perfectly, accentuating your curves and adding a touch of elegance and allure.

With a deep breath, you unlock the bathroom door and step out, ready to surprise Benny. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of you, appreciation and desire clearly written on his face.

“Wow,” he breathes, sitting up on the bed, his eyes traveling over you appreciatively. “You look incredible,” he says, his voice filled with genuine awe.

You smile, feeling both nervous and empowered by his reaction. “I wanted our first night as husband and wife to be special.” You admit biting your lip and sliding your hands down your curves.

Benny reaches out to you, his eyes filled with lust and admiration. “It already is. Come here.” He says eagerly

You step toward him, your eyes drawn to the sheet draped loosely around his waist, barely concealing the size of his large cock. The sight sends a thrill through you, and as soon as you’re within reach, he gently takes hold of you, his hands warm against your skin as he lays you down on the bed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he compliments, his voice filled with admirations as his hands caress down your body, feeling the delicate lace under his fingertips.

His full lips press onto yours, kissing you softly at first, then deepening the connection you’ve both been longing for. The anticipation of the night melts away, leaving only the shared intimacy that draws you closer together.

His lips trail down to your collarbone, then up the side of your neck. He cups your breast, his hand resting on the delicate silk as he pauses, his breath warm against your ear. “I want you to wear this while I’m inside of you,” he whispers, his voice low and thick and you nod in feeling the intensity of the moment.

Benny takes his time, tracing over every curve as his fingertips glide over the lace. He kisses along your neck and shoulders, his lips trailing down to the swell of your breasts, teasing and tasting as he goes, drawing soft moans from your lips.

His eyes wander over your body, appreciating every curve in the delicate silk. Then gently rests his hand on your chest, feeling the steady rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his fingertips, his blue eyes softening as he looks into your eyes.

“I knew from our first night together that I wanted you forever,” he reveals, his touch becoming more intimate as his hand caresses your skin. “Now that you’re mine, I’m going to fulfill you in every way possible,” he promises, his words resonating deeply in your heart.

A soft smile spreads across your lips gazing back at him. “I want you forever too Benny” you reply staring into the depths of his blue eyes.

Your response makes him smile as his eyes darken with desire. “I’m going to make good on my word ,” he vows.

You breathe a soft sigh as his fingers lower the lace of your bra, exposing your soft nipples to the cool air. He takes one into his mouth, lightly sucking as his tongue gently circles the sensitive skin.

His hand kneads the soft flesh of your other breast in his large palm, squeezing gently and drawing a gasp from your lips.

His warm tongue continues to trace circles and flick your nipple until it is wet and sensitive then he releases it with a soft pull.

You moan as he cups and squeezes your breast making your nipple more pronounced.

He quickly gives equal attention to the other, breast, every swirl of his tongue and pull off his warm mouth sending pleasure directly to your core.

He releases both of your nipples, each glistening with wetness, and squeezes your breasts firmly in his hands making you moan before continuing to kiss down your body, leaving a trail of warmth and anticipation in his wake.

His hands trace the curve of your sides as his lips brush lightly against your ribs, his touch slow and deliberate, teasing you as his hands glide down your sides, trailing his fingertips along your soft skin.

Reaching your hips, his hands spread wide, his thumbs gently stroking the delicate curve of your waist as his lips press tender kisses down your navel.

He moves lower down to your panty line and your breath catches in anticipation as he pauses, savoring the moment.

His tongue flicks out, teasing the sensitive skin just above your panties, drawing a soft moan from your lips as your body responds to the exquisite torment, craving more.

His fingers skim along your inner thighs, knowing exactly where your skin is most sensitive and a gasp escapes your lips.

He brushes his thumb lightly across the front of your panties and you clench in response, the anticipation making you moan.

He leans in closer, his warm breath caressing your skin, sending shivers up your spine.

“You’re so special to me,” he whispers breathlessly, his voice thick with emotion as he presses soft, lingering kisses to your inner thighs, savoring every inch of your delicate skin.

“I want to worship every part of you,” he praises, his voice becoming more hushed as he kisses higher, closer to your core.

His tongue traces a line of heat up to your panties, his breath warm and heavy against your skin and the sensation leaves you breathless.

Your sighs of pleasure are like music to his ears as he gently sucks the tender flesh of your inner thigh into his mouth.

The gentle suction of his mouth, paired with the softness of his lips, contrasts sharply with the rough scrape of his stubble.

His teeth graze your sensitive skin, just enough to make your inner muscles clench in anticipation as a soft moan escapes your lips.

“Benny, please,” you whisper, your voice breathy and filled with need, the warmth of his breath and the lingering sensations from his teeth driving you wild with desire.

He hums in satisfaction, savoring your reaction and softly releases his bite. “I’m always going to satisfy you, baby,” he promises, sliding his hand between your legs.

His fingers press against the silk of your panties, feeling the wetness seeping through.

You gasp as he finds your clit, deliberately flicking it through the soft fabric. His touch sends waves of pleasure rippling through your core as you moan, your voice trembling with need.

“Benny… please, more,” you beg, your voice barely a whisper and he responds instantly, quickening his pace, flicking his fingertips faster on your clit. The increasing pressure sends surges of pleasure jolting through your core.

Your moans grow endless with the sound of your wetness squishing as he teases you.your panties soaking through until they are drenched.

“Is this what you want baby? He asks but he has built the tension so high that you’re sent spiraling into a state of overstimulation.

Your hips roll as if he is inside of you, and your inner walls rhythmically clench around nothing, desperately needing to be filled.

“Benny, please, I need you inside me,” you beg loudly your voice almost breaking. Your hips lift from the bed, your body aching with an overwhelming force, desperate for his penetration.

With a confident smile, Benny pauses and repositions himself above you, his intense desire reflected in his gaze. “I’ve got you,” he assures you and captures your lips in a searing kiss fulfilling his promise and slipping your panties aside pushing his fingers deeply within you as you moan into his mouth.

He curls his fingers expertly, finding the perfect spot within, and your moans of pleasure are swallowed by his kiss as waves of ecstasy radiate through your body. The precise movement of his fingers leaving you trembling.

Feeling how soaked you are, he grins and leans down to whisper in your ear, “You want more, don’t you, baby?” His voice is teasing yet full of promise.

You nod, your breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps and he feels your need as every inch of his fingers thrusts in and out of you. He intensifies the sensation, adding his thumb to circle your clit and the relentless teasing drives you wild, keeping you hovering on the brink of release.

“… Benny please,” you cry out, your voice filled with desperation and pleasure, his name spilling from your lips as you struggle to hold on under the merciless assault of his touch.

Then, just as you begin to gasp and moan, pushing your hips in time with his hand, he withdraws his fingers with an agonizing slowness.

“Benny, you can’t!,” you cry, your voice breathy and filled with need as the sensation of him slipping his fingers out leaves you aching and quivering with desire.

“I know, baby,” he soothes, positioning his hard throbbing cock to your entrance. “I’ll always give you what you need,” he promises.

He places his hand firmly on your hip, guiding his tip into your entrance and then with a deliberate heavy thrust, he begins gliding the rest of his large shaft inside.

The warmth and hardness of his cock eagerly push into your sensitive walls, drawing moans of pleasure from your lips. His eyes are locked onto yours, revealing just how much he’s savoring the moment as he fills you slowly, claiming you with his size.

“God, you feel so good,” he breathes, his fingers digging into your hip as he pushes a little deeper. “You’re going to take every inch of me, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice thick with desire.

“Y-yes, Benny” you moan, your voice trembling with need as you feel every inch of him stretching and filling your walls tight around his cock.

“Good girl,” he groans and pushes deeper, pressing his hips firmly between your legs as his cock fills you entirely. “Feel every inch of me,” he rasps, his voice thick with desire

He begins to thrust slow and steady each movement hard and powerful, driving his cock deeply inside of you as his muscles tense.

Your eyes lock onto each other, the connection deepening with each precise thrust of his hips. The sensation of him filling you completely leaves you breathless, your body straining to accommodate his size.

“Tell me… how good I make you feel,” he whispers against your lips, his breath warm and tantalizing on your skin.

“Benny…you feel incredible!” you moan, the depth of your pleasure unmistakable.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his hand slipping between your bodies. His thumb expertly finding your clit, circling it in a perfect rhythm with each thrust.

The dual sensations cause your body to arch against his as he moves within you, his relentless pace on your clit sending you spiraling toward the brink of ecstasy.

His gaze softens with admiration as he locks eyes with you, drinking in the sight of you moaning in pleasure.

“There’s nothing better than this,” he breathes, his voice thick with raw passion, “nothing better than feeling you like this, knowing you’re mine.” He whispers

You respond with a breathless moan, your body trembling with the intensity as your fingers tangle in his hair.

Every powerful thrust pushes you both closer to the edge, the overwhelming pleasure amplifying with every deep stroke of his cock.

“You gonna come, baby?” he rasps, his voice thick with urgency as he thrusts harder.

“Yes, Benny,” you cry out, your voice filled with desperation and need.

Benny thrusts falter and he almost loses control his breath hitching as he feels himself about to come.

A low groan escapes him, the intensity almost too much to bear and he suddenly withdraws his cock out of you completely.

“Benny!!” you cry out in disbelief , the loss leaving you breathless, your core aching for him desperately.

He lowers himself between your legs, his breath hot against your inner thighs. “Let me taste you, as you come in my mouth. Then I’ll be back inside you, giving you everything you need.” He promises

He rolls his thumb around your clit, stroking it with expert precision, making you arch from the bed and latches his mouth onto your folds, flicking and circling his tongue with an intensity that sends you spiraling over the edge.

“Benny, oh god!” you moan, your hips pushing against his mouth as he plunges his tongue deep inside you. He explores with a firm, rhythmic motion, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your core. Your vision blurs from the intensity as you let go completely, crying out his name in pure ecstasy.

Benny holds you steady as you come, your warm release squirting directly in his mouth as he eagerly laps up every drop continuing to savors your taste with his tongue. His hands squeeze your hips holding you steady as you ride out the aftershocks of pleasure.

When you begin to catch your breath, Benny climbs back up your satisfied body, his lips brushing softly against yours. “I’m going to make you feel that pleasure all over again,” he promises, his voice rough with arousal.

A soft cry escapes your lips as he grips your hips and firmly pushes into you with one powerful stroke. The penetration of his large cock glides into your eager walls, and you gasp in pleasure as he begins to thrust deep and deliberate, each motion driving you closer to the edge once more.

The sound of his hips rhythmically clapping against you begin filling the room, echoing loudly with each powerful thrust. The bed creaks beneath you as his forceful movements push you both to the edge of control. His grip on your hips tightens, guiding you to meet each thrust of his cock sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

“Take it all, baby,” he urges, his pace unrelenting, his hands hold your hips steady as he drives into you again and again.

His grunts mingle with your cries of pleasure and you feel yourself spiraling toward another climax, the intensity building until you can’t hold back any longer.

“Benny!” you scream in ecstasy, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your muscles clench his cock as you reach your peak, the sensation overwhelming. “Yes, Benny, yes!” you cry out, your voice trembling and filled with sheer pleasure as you orgasm.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, his voice rough with satisfaction. He shudders against you, reaching his own peak as your bodies collide in the throes of passion.

“You’re gonna make me come so hard,” he rasps, his eyes filled with desperation and desire as he looks at you.

With a deep, guttural groan, his cock throbs inside you, his entire body tensing with each pulse of his release. His grip on your hips tightens as the warmth of his cum fills you, each surge sending waves of heat through your body.

You both moan together as he continues to thrust slowly, prolonging every last moment riding out the waves of pleasure, unwilling to let it end.

As he slows his movements even more, he gazes into your eyes feeling the deep connection between you both, cherishing every second.

With his body completely weakened from the powerful orgasm, he carefully lays down on top of you his body heavy with exhaustion.

His breaths of exertion brush against your face as he leans in, capturing your lips in an erotic kiss, savoring every ounce of passion you just shared.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, holding him steady as you both come down from your incredible high.

Benny rests his forehead against yours, and his eyes close, as you simply breathe together. The intimacy of the moment is profound and he pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes soft and filled with emotion.

“I love you,” he says gazing into your eyes, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “And I’m going to make sure you know that every day for the rest of our lives,” he promises, the intensity of his words making your heart swell.

“I love you too, Benny,” you reply, your voice full of sincerity as your fingertips gently trace his jawline.

Your touch lingers as he caresses your cheek with his thumb, and he leans his head against your hand letting you cradle his face in your palm. A warm smile spreads across your lips, feeling the deepening connection between you both.

He moves in gently and kisses you slowly, sliding his large cock from your warmth. As he pulls out, a soft sigh escapes your lips, his absence leaving a subtle ache. His hands move skillfully down as he takes off your lingerie, tugging at the waistband of your panties, gently working with the straps and fasteners to slip all of the delicate fabric from your skin.

Once you are completely naked he gently lays back on top of you, his body a warm comforting weight. You stroke his hair, your fingers running through the soft strands as he lays his head on your chest and his heartbeat is a steady rhythm against yours, as you feel the warmth of his skin.

His hand rests on your hip, his thumb lightly drawing slow, soothing circles as he savors the closeness. “I could stay like this forever,” he murmurs againt your skin, as his eyes drift shut with a contented smile.

You gently pull your fingers though his hair as you warmly smile. “Me too, Benny,” you say, feeling the profound sense of peace and love in the moment

The exhaustion from the wedding and the exertion from your intimacy finally take hold. You both begin to drift into a deep and peaceful sleep, the world fading away, leaving only the warmth of Bennys against you wrapped in your loving embrace.

Honeymoon Phase

The weeks following your ceremony are pure wedded bliss. You and Benny spend every waking moment together, cooking, planning, riding, passionately love making whenever the mood strikes. The devotion between you two increasing every day, creating a world where it seems to be just the two of you.

As the weeks pass, Benny slowly begins to accept that this is his home too, and with your permission, he transforms your father’s garage into his true biker’s haven.

Benny fills the workspace with bike parts. He buys toolboxes and creates a lowered workbench so he can work conveniently alongside his motorcycle. He inherently becomes another mechanic just like Cal, often fixing bikes for members of the Vandals.

The garage becomes a testament to his love for motorcycles, each corner filled with tools and parts that reflect his passion and skill.

When you check on him from time to time, he is always surrounded by the scent of oil and metal, with the low hum of rock and roll softly playing on the radio in the background.

Whenever he sees you, his eyes light up, and that radiant, beautiful smile of his spreads across his face, always expressing his appreciation and gratitude for being able to work in his element. You can tell how much it means to him to have a space that’s truly his own, where he can hone his skills and pursue his passions. It fills your heart with happiness, knowing that you and Benny are creating a home where both of you can fully be yourselves.

One day, feeling sentimental, you finally ask Benny the question you’ve been holding back. You ask if he would like to come with you to pay respects to your parents. Benny readily agrees, throwing on his jacket and riding out with you to the hillside cemetery.

As you stand before the headstones, there’s a moment of quiet reflection, Benny feels a deep ache in his heart for you, imagining what it must be like to have parents who loved and cared so much only to be taken away.

He learns for the first time that your parents passed away in a car crash, the revelation leaves him reeling. As you step forward to place flowers on their graves, he quickly collects you in his arms as you step back, pulling you into his comforting embrace.

He wraps his arms around you with a fierce protectiveness, holding you so close that it’s as though he’s trying to shield you from the pain.

“Your parents ..were …real nice folks,” he says gently,and his hands grip you so tightly it makes you look over at him, seeing him struggle to find his words.

“Benny, it’s alright,” you say, gently patting his hand, noticing the stress etched on his face. You can see him caught between his instinct to protect you and his uncertainty about how to help.

“I’m alright, really Benny” you assure him, squeezing his hand and he breathes a sigh of relief, unsure of how to comfort you.

“My mother and father would’ve loved you, Benny,” you reveal with a warm smile. “Especially you being into repairing your own bike. My dad would’ve enjoyed your company greatly.” You assure him.

Benny, still at a loss for words, offers a light smile as he holds you close, his hand gently stroking your arm in a comforting gesture.

Together, you pay your respects in silence, a shared understanding forming between you two. After everything else in this world the teo of you will only have each other.

Domesticated

One afternoon, during a ride back into town with the Vandals, Benny feels a confidence to invite the crew to his home. The house quickly fills with laughter and the clinking of beer bottles as the group admires Benny’s surprisingly affluent living conditions.

When you arrive home from the grocers and see all the bikes parked haphazardly on the lawn, you blink in disbelief.

As you step inside, balancing the bags of groceries in your arms, the sight of so many unfamiliar faces becomes intimidating.

“Benny?“ you call out warily as the bikers step aside allowing you to reach the kitchen, but it is Johnny who sees you first. Noticing the bags in your hand snaps his fingers and whistles.

Without hesitation the guys the guys jump to action rushing over to help, taking the bags quickly from your arms. They bring all of the groceries inside, not letting you lift a finger, and you step back, smiling at the unexpected show of enthusiasm in your kitchen.

Benny soon joins you, beer in hands. He takes a swig watching as the bikers bustle about, putting away groceries and making themselves useful.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says with a sly grin as he wraps his arm around your waist.

“We all just came from a long ride, and our house was on the way back. We’ve got plenty of beer, and I wanted the guys to see where I live.”he says candidly.

You look up at him, touched by his excitement. “Of course, I don’t mind, Benny. This is your home too,” you reply warmly, resting a hand on his chest.

He wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close looking over with a sense of pride. Johnny walks over to the two of you as the kitchen activity begins to wind down.

“These guys, huh?” he says, jerking his thumb.” All of a sudden they got manners.” he jokes making you and Benny smile.

“I know you two lovebirds are building a nice little nest here, but it’d mean a lot if you both could make it to the rally next week,” Johnny requests, his tone a mix of teasing and genuine invitation.

Benny looks to you, awaiting your response with a hopeful look on his face.

“It’d mean a lot to Betty and the old ladies to see you again,” Johnny adds with a grin seeing your reservation.

You look to Benny and seeing the anticipation in his eyes you readily confirm. “We’ll be there,” placing a reassuring hand on Bennys arm. He smiles, taking a sip of his beer, clearly pleased with your decision.

“Good,” Johnny says, nodding in approval. “It wouldn’t be the same without you,” he says, directing his words more at Benny, with a knowing look.

As the afternoon continues, you start the laundry. The bikers’ rough presence is a stark contrast to your quaint house, and as you walk by the living room carrying the hamper, you notice eight bikers scattered throughout the room, their imposing figures making your home appear even more delicate by comparison..

They drunkenly banter and aggressively play fight, occasionally knocking into a bookshelf or a lamp, their laughter and booming voices filling the space add adding a rowdy energy to your home the unsettled you.

Knowing they must he hungry you head to the kitchen and decide to bake two batches of cornbread as a light snack for them. Once the batch is done, you carefully remove the pan from the oven and brush the golden top with melted butter. You cut the cornbread into generous squares, arranging them neatly on a large serving tray.

With the tray in hand, you walk to the dining room, seeing Benny and Johnny already sitting at the table as you approach. Wahoo picks out one of the teacups from the China cabinet with an exaggerated delicacy, holding it with his pinky finger outstretched as he smirks.

“Look at you, Benny! A real kept man now, huh? Living the high life with these fancy dishes,” Wahoo teases, eliciting a chorus of laughter from the others.

Corky leans in, sniffing dramatically at Benny’s shoulder. “Yep, I can smell it on him—the scent of domestication!” he declares with mock seriousness.

Benny rubs the back of his neck, a bashful grin spreading across his face. “Aw, come on, guys. It’s not like that,” he protests, though there is no denying the blush creeping up his cheeks.

Observing the banter, you enter the room with the tray of freshly baked cornbread, “Are you boys hungry?” you ask, placing the cornbread in front of them with a warm smile.

Cal’s eyes light up as he quick reaches for a piece. “Now, this is what I’m talking about!” he exclaims, taking a big bite. “Benny, you’ve got it too good, my friend,” he says as he chews.

Johnny looks up at you with a grin. “Don’t let these hooligans get to you, Benny. None of them even know what it’s like.”

Corky nods in agreement, his mouth full of cornbread. “Yeah, man, if this is what domestication tastes like, count me in!” he adds, drawing more laughter from the group.

Benny shoots you a grateful look, his embarrassment giving way to appreciation. “Thanks, baby,” he says, reaching out for you. As you take his hand, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close as he sits and his thumb gently caresses your hip. You feel a warm sense of belonging among his friends, who you realize are like Benny’s family. The teasing banter continues, but all in good fun, a testament to the strong bonds that define Benny’s world.

Thrill Ride

During week, Benny decides to take you out to one of his favorite spots in the countryside and make a day of it. You happily agree, getting swept up in his excitement, knowing how enthusiastic he is to share his biker lifestyle with you.

The ride starts off like any other, the sun shining brightly and a gentle breeze cooling your skin as you and Benny head out of town. The roads are familiar, and you relax into the rhythm of the bike beneath you, enjoying the scenery as it flashes by.

As you reach the outskirts of town, Benny turns his head slightly and shouts over his shoulder, “Hang on tight!”

Without hesitation, you squeeze him tightly, your arms wrapped around his waist. Suddenly, Benny accelerates, speeding through a red light, the thrill of the moment taking you by surprise. You hear the blaring of a horn as a car screeches to a halt.

“Benny!” you chastise him, your voice a mix of exasperation and concern as you glance back at the car continuing through the intersection.

He laughs, the sound full of mischief and excitement. “Did you like that?” he asks, his eyes sparkling with adventure.

You can’t help but feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through you. “I don’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified Benny!” you reply, your heart racing from his unexpected actions.

Benny grins, clearly enjoying the excitement . “I like things like that,” he admits, his voice filled with the thrill of pushing boundaries.

“They make me feel alive”

Benny has been waiting to drive the bike as fast as it will go with you, something that sends a thrill through him. He’s been eager to share this experience with you for quite some time, knowing how much you’ve grown to love the freedom of the open road.

Now that you’ve become accustomed to his bike and settled into your role as his riding partner, he feels that his favorite stretch of road is the perfect place to exhilarate you. The countryside opens up before you, a long path that promises excitement and adventure.

As the landscape rushes past, a blur of green fields and blue skies, you can’t help but feel a surge of adrenaline as he pushes the bike faster.

“Do you trust me, baby?” he shouts over the roar of the engine, turning his head slightly so you can hear him.

“Yes, Benny,” you say, the wind catching your voice and carrying it away. His question seems odd, but there’s an underlying seriousness that makes your heart skip a beat.

“With your life?” he asks, and you feel a flutter in your stomach, a momentary pause as the reality of his question sinks in. Still, you nod, your voice firm. “Yes, Benny.”

He reaches back, pulling your hands tighter around his chest. “We’re maxing the bike,” he announces, and you can feel the excitement in his voice. Your heart races with a mix of thrill and light panic as you cling to him.

“Don’t let go of me,” he commands, making sure your hands are securely in place. “You have to promise me,” he says, squeezing your hand reassuringly before returning his to the handlebars.

“I won’t let go, Benny, I promise,” you say, trying to quell the anxiety rising in you.

As Benny accelerates, the bike roars to life, the engine’s growl deepening as you pick up speed. The world around you blurs, the scenery transforming into streaks of color as you surge forward. The wind lashes against your face, tearing at your clothes and hair with an intensity that steals your breath away.

You rest your cheek against his shoulder, but the sensation of speed is still overwhelming. The bike vibrates beneath you with a powerful force. The sound of the engine is deafening, a constant roar that drowns out all other noise, leaving only the rush of adrenaline and the pounding of your heart in your ears.

As you reach an incredible speed, everything changes. The world becomes a tunnel, a narrow corridor of motion and sound. Your grip on Benny tightens, your fingers digging into his sides as you fight against the fear rising within you. The wind is relentless, an invisible wall that presses against your body, threatening to unseat you with every gust.

Your hands grow cold despite the heat of the sun, the chill of fear seeping into your bones. Tears well in your eyes, not from emotion but from the sheer force of the wind, blurring your vision and making it difficult to see.

“Benny!” you call out, frightened, but your voice is inaudible over the roar of the engine. Benny howls with exhilaration, and you can feel his body tense with excitement, a stark contrast to your own tension and fear.

The bike sways slightly, each movement now amplified by your speed, and you cling to him with more desperation, squeezing your eyes shut tight, your entire body rigid with the effort of staying on as your heart pounds in your chest like a drum.

In that moment, caught between fear and trust, you realize the risk and the danger—the sheer recklessness of it all, and it is terrifying. As the speed levels out, the world slowly begins to reassemble itself. The blur sharpens back into fields and sky, and you find yourself breathless but alive, heart pounding with a mix of terror and exhilaration.

The roar of the engine diminishes, replaced by the softer hum of the bike as Benny eases off the throttle. Your breath is ragged, each inhale a struggle as you try to calm your racing heart and steady your trembling hands.

“Oh my God, Benny, I couldn’t breathe,” you gasp, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Your voice is shaky, a mix of exhilaration and fear as you hold onto him, your body still pressed tightly against his.

Benny chuckles, a sound full of thrill and satisfaction. “I love that feeling,” he says, his voice filled with an undeniable passion for the experience.

“How often do you do that?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady. Beneath your curiosity is concern, realizing this wild ride is more than just a one time thrill for him.

“Whenever I can,” he replies casually, the words sending a chill down your spine. His nonchalance worrying, a testament to his love for living life on the edge.

You swallow hard, processing his answer. “Benny, that’s dangerous,” you say, the concern in your voice unmistakable. “The thrill of the ride is exciting , but the risk is something  that you can’t ignore.” You say with concern.

He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. “I know, baby, but it’s what makes me feel alive,” he admits, a hint of vulnerability in his tone. The truth of his words hangs in the air, a reminder of the thrill seeking nature that drew you to him in the first place.

Your heart aches with a mix of love and worry, understanding that this part of him is something you have to accept. It’s a side of Benny that both excites and frightens you, a reflection of the wild, untamed spirit you fell in love with.

As Benny slows the bike to a stop under the shade of a large oak tree, the world seems to exhale with you. The fields around you are a sea of yellow, stretching far and wide, their beauty softened by the afternoon light. Benny dismounts with ease, his movements fluid and confident, while you feel almost frozen in place, still processing the adrenaline and fear from the ride.

Benny grins turning to help you off the bike, his hands gentle and reassuring. You feel weaker than expected, your legs shaky as you dismount. Instead of jumping into action as you usually would, you sink down beneath the tree, resting your back against its sturdy trunk, lost in contemplation.

Benny busies himself with setting up, rolling out a blanket on the grass and arranging a small picnic. He nudges you with a bottle of beer, his expression a mix of concern and playful energy. “Hey, you did great,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.

You take the bottle, grateful for the chance to ground yourself. “That was intense, Benny,” you reply, your voice still catching in your throat.

He sits beside you, stretching out his legs. “One of the best feeling in the world.” He says smiling to himself. You glance at him, your heart torn in frustration.

“Benny It’s too dangerous, I don’t want to lose you to something like that.”

His eyes meet yours, and there’s a flicker of surprise. “I know it’s risky, but that’s part of the thrill, baby,” he tries to explain again.

You sigh, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down. “Benny, I love you so much. I’ve already lost people I care about, and I can’t go through anything like that again,” you reveal your voice cracks slightly, and he fully understands the unspoken truth behind your words. The loss of your parents still echoes in your heart.

Benny’s expression softens, guilt and understanding washing over him. “Come here baby.” he murmurs and holds your waist pulling you into his lap. He wraps his strong arms around you pulling you close, burying his face into your neck. “Im so sorry” he whispers.

The warmth of his touch, the strength of his embrace, calms you and you rest your head onto his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and wind.

“I’ll never leave you,” he whispers, his voice firm and sincere. “I promise. I’ll be more careful next time, okay baby?”

His words, and the reassurance in his tone, calm the storm within and you close your eyes, letting the sound of his heartbeat steady your own. The fear and adrenaline gradually fade, replaced by a profound sense of love and connection as his hands gently stroke your back.

You tilt your head up after a moment of quiet reflection and meet his gaze. “Thank you, Benny,” you say softly and press a kiss to his plush lips.

It’s a kiss full of love and forgiveness, and before you can pull away he deepens it, his hand cradling your jaw holding you in place as his lips move over yours with a tenderness that melts all the remnants of your fear away.

He gently breaks the kiss as he holds your gaze. “I’ll make you forget all about it,” he says, his voice a soothing promise.

His hands wander down your body, gentle and familiar, slipping between your legs with a teasing touch. The intensity of the ride fades into the background as a new thrill takes its place. “Some part of you likes it,” he says with a smirk, his fingers circling your wetness, and you respond by leaning close and biting his lower lip, giving him a playful look that feigns disapproval.

“Maybe just a little bit,” you tease, and he slips your panties aside pushing his fingers deeply within of you. The sudden sensation makes you moan as a jolt of pleasure courses your body and you realize just how aroused you are, the tension melting away as you cup his jaw kissing him deeply, letting your desire take over.

He continues to thrust his fingers within, feeling your walls tighten against them as your breaths become short uneven gasps against his lips.

He savors every moment watching you moan and kiss his lips as he fulfills you with desire

His cock grows harder in his tightening jeans the sensation causing him to palm himself to relieve the tensions.

“You need me baby?” he asks, his voice low and full of desire.

“Yes Benny always ” you breathe, your words a strong admission.

“I need you, too” he says suddenly slowing his fingers inside you.

His gaze is intense as he sits back, ready to give you everything you desire.

“Take me out,” he commands, and as you undo his jeans, he leans forward, kissing you and deeply thrusting his fingers within you at a steady pace.

The sensation makes you moan in his mouths feeling the jolts of pleasure course through your body.

As you finally free his erect cock from its confines, he guides your hand to his hard shaft, letting you feel the warmth and smoothness of his skin. His hand covers yours, urging you to grasp him firmly, and together you begin to stroke his large cock. The sensation of his shaft pulsing and gliding through your palm

Intensifies with every stroke as lose yourselves to the overwhelming desire of pleasuring each other. Your breaths come in quick gasps as you attempt to kiss each other trying to maintain the rhythm drawing both of you closer to the edge. His fingers push against the delicate ridge inside making your hips buck and you stroke him harder, feeling his cock twitch in your hand.

You begin moaning into each others mouths on the verge of release and he pulls back, locking eyes with you, his gaze intense and filled with desire.

“I want you to ride me, baby,” he says, his voice breathless and filled with need. You nod and he slowly, slips his fingers from you, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean.

He grips your hips, guiding you onto your knees as you straddle his lap.

“Ride me hard,” he commands, his voice low and full of intent. His eyes lock onto yours, seeking confirmation as he slips your panties aside.

“I will benny,” you promise your skin flushing with heat as the overwhelming need to feel him inside you takes over.

Your hands grip his shoulders, your nails digging in slightly as you slowly lower yourself onto him. Your wetness allows him to fill you inch by inch until the stretch makes you gasp, your heart racing.

“I’ve got you baby “ Benny’s says taking over. He places his hands firmly around your waist, guiding you down onto his cock and stretching your walls to their limit until he’s fully seated inside you.

A deep moan of pleasure escapes your lips as you settle into his lap, feeling every inch of him. “Benny… you feel so good,” you praise, your voice trembling with desire as the size of his cock makes your walls pulse with anticipation.

Benny groans beneath you, the sound deep and primal, echoing the intensity of your connection. His eyes roam over your body as his hands quickly move to unbutton your sundress.

“I want this off,” he demands, his voice tense with desire as he tugs the fabric “I want to see all of you,” he says, sliding the dress from your shoulders, revealing your soft skin beneath. His eyes wander your body with awe and reverence as he cups your breasts gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

His hands grasp them firmly and he uses them to guide you against him as you a find rhythm that makes both of you moan with pleasure at every push of your hips. Benny looks at you in pure bliss savoring every sensation of you riding him. His eyes never leave yours, filled with a deep, tender love that makes your heart swell.

Each movement of your hips is met with a gentle, encouraging squeeze of your breasts in his hands, guiding you with care as you find your rhythm.

“Faster, baby,” he urges, his voice strained with pleasure.

“Yes, Benny,” you pant, moving your hips in a quicker rhythm, pushing down on him with a newfound intensity. The sound of your bodies moving together, wet and slick, fills the air, with your shared pleasurable moans.

“Harder,” he breathes, his voice a mix of authority and desperate need. His hands tighten on your breasts, guiding you to ride him deeper, until you find the perfect angle that makes you both cry out.

“Just like that,” Benny groans, his voice filled with satisfaction. “You feel so good on my cock“ he praises as you ride him.

The intimacy between you deepens as his hands move to caress your back, his moans loud and desperate vibrating through his chest as he watches you glide up and down on him. His lips are parted and his pupils are blown wide with desire as his hands move up to cradle your face.

His thumbs tenderly brush across your cheeks as he leans in, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His lips move against yours in a rhythm that intensifies with each passing moment, deepening the connection between you.

His hands move to your breasts as he kisses you. His fingers skillfully pinching each nipple, tugging gently as his thumbs sweep across, sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

Your moans grow louder against his mouth as you feel the tension coiling tighter inside of you, drawing you closer to the edge with every thrust of your hips. “Benny, I’m close,” you breathe, your voice trembling with need. “I’m gonna come.”

Benny feels you begin to tighten around him, and he can’t hold back his own desperation. “Come for me, baby,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire. “I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

His words push you beyond our limits and you ride him hard. The force of your movements is so intense it causes your breasts to bounce with each jolt. Benny groans, pulling you tight against him, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as his cock throbs within you. The rhythm between you is relentless, your body grinding down on him with a wild, untamed need the pressure building to an unbearable peak.

Benny’s hand slips between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in time with your hips, pushing taking over the edge.

“Benny, oh god, I’m coming!” you scream, your body tensing with overwhelming pleasure as your orgasm crashes over you.

Benny feels your walls fluttering around him, as a desperate moan escapes his lips. His hips begin bucking against you involuntarily as his cock surges, emptying himself deep inside, filling you with his warm cum. Each pulse of his release intensifies your own pleasure, drawing moans of ecstasy from you.

“Fuck, I love you,” Benny breathes, his voice raw with emotion as he pulls you close, his body trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure. He presses his forehead against yours, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he holds you tightly, grounding himself in the intimacy of the moment.

As your breaths mingle, the closeness brings a sense of calm, your heartbeats gradually slowing as the pulsing and throbbing of your joined bodies begin to subside.

As you try to lift yourself from his lap, Benny’s hands tighten around your waist, holding you in place. “Stay with me,” he whispers, his voice filled with longing as his eyes look onto yours with a deep unspoken need.

His hands move to gently cradle your face, his thumbs tenderly brushing over your cheeks memorizing every curve and detail of your beautiful face.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispers, his voice heavy with emotion as his blue eyes lock onto yours. The weight of his words settles between you, and he draws you into a deeply passionate kiss, pouring all of his love into it. He holds you protectively in his embrace as he kisses you possessively never wanting to let you go.

You and Me Kid

The morning of the rally arrives, and it’s a momentous occasion. You have the honor of riding for the first time in the pack of Vandals with Benny. You ride out from the Vandals’ clubhouse holding tightly to Benny on the back of his Harley. Your heart pounds with excitement as you look around at all the familiar faces you’ve come to know in his club.

Leading the pack is Johnny, with Betty holding onto him tightly. Brusy rides a pace back alongside him, Gail’s arms wrapped securely around his waist. Just behind you is Cal, with Sandy clutching him closely.

Benny rides at the head of the pack alongside Johnny, his presence powerful and commanding. You can feel the pride emanating from him, not just for the Vandals, but for having you there with him in this moment.

As you hold Benny tightly, his hand reaches back to give your thigh a gentle squeeze. The simple gesture sends a thrill racing through you, the blend of excitement and intimacy making your heart race even faster.

The biker group is so large that locals stop to stare as the vast number of riders rumble past. The sound of the bikes creates a symphony of power and freedom, a deep, thunderous roar that vibrates through the air, commanding attention and respect.

The sheer power and presence of the pack creates a spectacle as you finally arrive at the rally. The display of strength and unity from the Vandals commands attention, showcasing their bond and dominance within the community.

Several other biker and car enthusiasts are in attendance, and the edge in the air is amplified as they scowl upon the arrival of the Vandals.

The crew rolls in and parks their rides, kicking down stands and dismounting with practiced ease. Engines cut, and the air is thick with the scent of exhaust and the low rumble of idling machines. The Vandals spread out, claiming their spot for the day, laying out blankets, setting up coolers, and popping the tops off beers.

The usual dogs are sizzling on the grill, the smell of charred meat mixing with the tang of motor oil as the Vandals settle in. Some of the brothers wander off, checking out the iron lined up by the other clubs, nodding in respect at the rides that catch their eye. They swap tales of the road and close calls,the kind of trouble only bikers understand easing the tension in the air.

As the afternoon wears on, the men get sloppily drunk, their laughter echoing through the park rally as they share even wilder stories.

Zipco, the most adventurous Vandal , has everyone entertained with the most captivating stories of all. While the men gather around, hanging on Zipco’s every word, you and Benny sit a short distance away at a picnic table, enjoying a quiet moment together. When Benny finishes his hot dog, you smile at him affectionately and stand to get him another beer.

Just then, Corky, caught up in a wild game of keep away, crashes into you as he snatches Wahoo’s lighter out of the air. The collision makes you fall and clip your chin directly onto the edge of the park bench with a sharp, jarring pain.

The impact renders you senseless, and you fall to the ground in a daze. The laughter and noise around you evaporates into a stunned silence as everyone stares, startled by the sudden turn of events. But no one is more shaken than Benny, who leaps to his feet in a fury. “You didn’t see her?” he yells at Corky, his voice cracking with rage.

Corky stands stunned knowing he’s made a cardinal mistake and Bennys eyes blaze with anger as he shoves him out of the way and rushes to your side.

Panic overtakes Benny as he kneels beside you, watching you struggle to breathe. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice trembling with desperation as he searches your eyes frantically for a sign of reassurance.

“Benny, I’m fine,” you try to reassure him, your voice shaky feeling the disoriention and as you sit up and that’s when he sees the small cut on your chin with a thin line of blood beginning to drip. He clenches his fists in a silent rage, his eyes flashing with such a dark intensity l it startles you.

Without warning Benny gets up approaching Corky and snatching him by the collar, yanking him down to your level. “Look what you did!” Benny yells, his voice seething with fury.

Corky stammers his apologies in vain, his eyes widening in fear as he sees the cut on your chin. “I’m sorry, Benny, I’m so sorry!” he repeats desperately and Benny shoves Corky away feeling despair and anger you were hurt so badly from such a careless mistake

Benny, focused solely on your recovery, remains by your side, pulling his riding rag from his back pocket. He gently wipes the blood from your neck, his hand trembling slightly as he moves up to your chin.

When he reaches the bruise already forming, he bites his lip, his heart sinking as he realizes how deep the cut is, knowing it will leave a permanent scar on your beautiful face.

The thought fills him with a simmering fury, barely contained beneath the surface. By then, most of the Vandals have gathered around, drawn by the commotion, their concerned gazes fixed on you both.

Betty steps in to defuse the situation seeing Benny hovering over you unable to let go.

“Benny, let me see if she’s alright,” she asks gently, trying to calm him. But Benny’s demeanor changes suddenly, his eyes filling with guilt. “It’s all my fault! Fuck!” he curses, his voice breaking as he holds your chin, staring in disbelief at the blood that continues to seep from the cut.

You manage a small smile, trying to comfort him, seeing his worry. “Benny, I’m fine,” you insist, reaching out to touch his wrist. With the dizziness subsiding, you only feel a throbbing pain on the bone of your chin.

“Let the girl breathe, Benny,” Gail says softly, seeing his desperation and takes Benny’s arm pulling him back a little. “Let Betty get her cleaned up. It was just a knock to the chin. She’ll be alright,” she reassures him.

Betty helps you to your feet and guides you away from the crowd to tend to your cut. As she cleans the would Benny watches anxiously as you wince in pain. His guilt is undeniable as he paces back and forth, refusing to leave the area as Gail tries to console him.

You offer Benny a reassuring smile to let him know you’re alright, but there’s an unsettling look in his eyes you haven’t seen before, and it doesn’t fade.

“Good as new,” Betty says once the bleeding stops and she places a bandage carefully over the cut.

“You’re gonna have a really funny story to go with that scar,” she says to lighten the mood but Benny is not amused. As Betty steps aside he rushes in checking your chin.

“How do you feel baby?” He asks softly and you smile at him. “ It hurts now Benny but I’ll feel better later” you answer and his jaw clenches,as his expression remains tense. Betty noticing Bennys unchanged demeanor immediately goes to get Johnny’s attention.

“Come with me” Benny says taking your hand and helping you up from the picnic table. He leads you away from the others without saying another word.

Once you’re out of earshot, Benny pulls out a cigarette, his hands trembling slightly as he tries to light it. His brow furrows in frustration, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he clicks the lighter several times, each attempt ending in failure.

“Fuck!” he yells, his voice strained, his eyes flashing with anger when the flame refuses to catch.

“Benny, it’s alright,” you say softly, trying to soothe his aggravation. But he shakes his head, his frustration boiling over. “It’s not alright… This whole thing…” he mutters, his voice tense with regret. “Bringing you here…”

He bites his lip, his fists clenching as he struggles to keep his emotions in check. “I’m supposed to protect you… I’m supposed to keep you safe…” His voice trails off, and you realize Benny is still battling with the guilt over your injury, unable to shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

“Benny, it’s alright,” you say again softly, trying to soothe him.

“It’s not alright!” he snaps, his voice sharp and trembling with anger. “You’re gonna have a fucking scar because of this shit! I never should’ve brought you here!” he yells, his eyes darkening with rage as the frustration pours out of him.

Benny’s voice carries with intensity, drawing the attention of all the nearby Vandals who exchange knowing looks seeing Benny temper.

“Hey, Benny!” Johnny finally calls out, his voice steady as he arrives with Betty at his side. “Come here kid” he says, gesturing for Benny to join him, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument.

Benny hesitates, his anger still simmering beneath the surface as his eyes flicker between you and Johnny, his protectiveness over you is unrelenting.

Betty slowly steps forward her presence a soothing contrast to Benny’s fiery demeanor and she gently takes your arm “Come with me, sweetheart,” she says softly. Her eyes looking to Benny “I’ll keep her safe. You guys talk,” she says to him with confidence.

Benny’s jaw tightens, his hesitation evident as he watches Betty lead you away. His eyes follow you, brow furrowed with concern, before he finally exhales, forcing himself to let go as he walks over to Johnny.

As you walk away with Betty, she tries to reassure you. “I haven’t seen Benny like that in a very long time,” she confides quietly. “You’ve been the best thing for him, honestly. I think he just needs a moment to cool down.” Her words are meant to put you at ease, but you can sense a hint of worry in her voice

Johnny takes Benny aside, giving him a knowing look. “What’s up, kid?” he asks, pulling out his lighter and offering it to Benny. Benny takes it and finally lights a cigarette. “Nothin,” he says flatly, but Johnny raises his eyebrows, unconvinced.

“Come on, kid, I know that look,” Johnny says, taking a drag from his cigarette. “This isn’t just about today, is it?”

Benny takes a drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling into the air as he exhales slowly. “It’s just… I feel like I’m failing her already,” he admits quietly, the tension in his voice softening. “She shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of shit.”

Johnny nods, understanding the weight of Benny’s words. “You care about her a lot, and that’s good. But accidents happen. You can’t control everything kid” he says, his tone steady and reassuring.

Benny shifts uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the ground as he kicks at the dirt with his boot. “I know, but it’s hard. She deserves to be happy and safe, and, y’know… after a while with me everything just …” His voice trails off.

Johnny takes a final drag from his cigarette, flicking the butt to the ground before putting it out. “She’s happy with you Benny. She’s tough, and she loves you. Give yourself a break,” he says, placing a reassuring hand on Benny’s shoulder, giving it a firm, grounding squeeze. Benny stares at the ground, still unsettled.

“Come on, let’s go listen to one of Zipco’s wild ass stories. That’ll take your mind off everything.” Johnny grins and Benny looks up reluctantly following Johnny over to the group of Vandals still sitting around Zipco.

Johnny hands Benny a beer and they lean against a truck to listen in as Zipco speaks, but Benny’s mind keeps drifting back to you.

The words of the conversation around him fade into the background, his eyes drifting over to you, sitting with the old ladies.

Your usual lively smile is gone, replaced by a distant, hollow expression as you gently touch your chin. The sight of you, subdued and vulnerable, sends a fresh wave of anger and guilt crashing through him. The bruise is already darkening on your skin and the permanent scar that will be left behind, refuels all of Benny’s anger.

He clenches his jaw, the muscles twitching with suppressed rage as he chugs down the last of his beer, consumed by frustration and guilt.

“I’m gonna go take a piss,” Benny angrily mutters, tossing his empty beer bottle, which shatters on the ground. Johnny watches him walk off, sensing the turmoil that’s raging inside of him.

Just as Benny steps away, Cal and Cockroach walk back to the group, followed by an irate set of bikers from another club who are hurling insults. “You scratched my bike shit head !” one of them yells at Cal who vehemently denies it.

“I looked at the piece of shit, and I guarantee I couldn’t do any more damage.” Cal says with sarcasm.

Hearing Cals insult the biker Without warning, he shoves Cal hard, the force of the push sending him back a step. “The fuck you say?” he says stepping up.

“You wanna get salty, motherfucker? I’ll get salty,” Cal snaps back, his voice dripping with venom as he squares up to the biker, his fists clenched and ready for a fight.

The other Vandals, noticing the commotion, start to stand up one by one, their expressions darkening as they prepare to back Cal up. The bikers from the rival gang respond in kind, their own members stepping forward, ready to throw down.

Zipco and the others circle around, the atmosphere thick with tension, as both groups face off, a powder keg ready to explode at any moment.

Just as things seem about to boil over, Johnny steps in, pushing Cal back with a firm hand. “Nah, nah, nah, none of this,” Johnny says, his voice calm but authoritative as he places himself between the two groups.

He turns to the other biker, trying to diffuse the situation. “Where you from?” he asks, his tone steady as he looks the biker in the eye.

“Gary,” the biker responds, his voice still edged with anger, but the directness of Johnny’s approach seems to catch him off guard.

Johnny nods, his expression softening just a fraction. “You know a guy around there named Shitty Pete?” he asks, a hint of familiarity in his voice.

The biker blinks, the tension in his stance easing slightly. “Everyone knows Shitty Pete,” he replies, some of the aggression fading as recognition flickers in his eyes.

“What’s your crew called?” Johnny continues, keeping the conversation going, his voice steady as he works to keep things from escalating.

“The Gary Rouges,” the biker answers, his voice losing some of its earlier hostility.

As Johnny and the leader of the other gang begin to bond, Benny returns with a fresh beer, immediately noticing the way everyone is facing off sensing a fight about to ensue.

Gail, observing the tension, chuckles near him, trying to lighten the mood. “You leave for one second, and your boyfriend’s getting in trouble,” she quips. But her words have the opposite effect on Benny, intensifying the rage that’s been building inside him all day. Without hesitation, Benny, fueled by his unrelenting anger, immediately darts to the confrontation.

Jonny and the leader of the Gary Rouges continue to talk out, almost calming things to be cordial.

“How many are in your crew?” Johnny asks with a hint of recruiting curiosity. But before the conversation can go any further, Benny rushes in and socks the Gary Rouges biker directly in the jaw dropping him instantly to the ground fueled by unchecked rage.

“Guess not enough,” Johnny chuckles, and an all out brawl erupts between the biker clubs.

Benny unleashes all of his aggression, fighting with a ferocity that even two bikers struggle to contain. He barrels through them, his fists flying with brutal precision. As one biker throws a punch, Benny deflects it with a sharp twist, slamming his own fist into the man’s jaw, sending him crashing into a parked truck. The impact reverberates through the air, but Benny doesn’t stop.

He grabs the second biker by the collar, slamming him against the truck’s door with a force that dents the metal. Without hesitation, Benny begins to pummel the man’s chest and gut with relentless blows, each punch landing with a sickening thud. The biker’s eyes widen in terror as he realizes Benny’s intent. Desperation kicks in, and he barely dodges as Benny aims a devastating punch at his face.

The force of Benny’s missed punch shatters the driver’s side window, sending shards of glass scattering. The crash of glass is so loud and jarring that even the other bikers, still locked in their own fights, pause in shock.

Benny doesn’t flinch instead he pulls his fist back, now dripping with blood his knuckles pierced through with a large shard of glass. With adrenaline surging through his veins, Benny yanks the glass from his knuckles without a second thought, his eyes locked on the opposing biker.

The man’s fear is undeniable and Benny’s rage is all consuming. Benny rushes forward, tackling the biker to the ground with a slam, his bloodied fist delivering blow after bone crushing blow. The intensity in Benny’s eyes leaves no doubt, he’s a man possessed, unwilling to stop until he’s unleashed every ounce of his fury.

You watch the fight unfold in horror with the old ladies, frozen at first, then suddenly standing from the picnic bench, your face a picture of shock as you witness Benny’s brutal assault.

Instinctively, you begin to rush toward him, desperate to stop the violence, but Betty and Sandy grab you, holding you back with firm grips.

“Oh no you don’t,” Sandy says urgently, struggling to keep you in place.

“He’s hurt! I have to help him” you cry out, your voice trembling with fear and desperation.

“They’re men!” Betty tells you, her voice a mix of urgency and concern. “They’ll handle it. You’re the one whose gonna get hurt ”

But Benny doesn’t stop. His fist continues to beating the biker’s face in, each punch snapping the man’s head back with a sickening force. The man’s gurgles turn into silence as he goes limp, but Benny lost in his fury, is oblivious to everything except the need to keep striking.

The sight makes you feel sick to your stomach, dread pooling in your chest as the only sound left is the sickening snap of Benny’s fist against the man’s bloodied face.

The blood splattered across Benny’s own face makes him look deranged, as his features express his uncontrollable rage.

Seeing Benny about to commit murder Johnny springs into action. He tackles Benny off the biker, wrestling him to the ground holding him back with all his strength. But even held down, Benny doesn’t stop. His legs kick out wildly, his arms thrashing, attempting to break free from Johnny’s grip. His eyes, are wild and unseeing completely lost in the rage that consumes him.

As you get closer, Johnny looks up at you, his voice sharp and commanding. “Get back!” he yells, his tone sharp and hostile. You feel a terrible wrench in your gut, seeing Benny so out of control.

“Betty!” Johnny shouts, seeing you unable to snap you out of your shock and she rushes in, pulling you away as tears of frustration and fear well up in your eyes.

Betty and Sandy hold you tightly, guiding you away from the chaos, while Johnny struggles to keep Benny restrained.

As they take you back, you catch one last glimpse of Benny, just as Johnny finally manages to calm him, releasing his grip and patting him on the chest in a gesture of reassurance.

Your heart breaks for the man you love, seeing the raw pain and turmoil etched in his features. You know that beneath the anger and violence, he’s hurting, grappling with something far deeper.

The sight of him like this, so lost and vulnerable, leaves you feeling helpless, knowing there’s nothing you can do to ease his suffering in this moment.

The fight ends as quickly as it began, with the Vandals and the Gary Rouges’s pulling back, settling down to tend to their wounds. Despite the chaos, a sense of friendship begins to form between the two groups, their shared ordeal forging an unexpected bond.

As the adrenaline fades, Johnny pulls Benny aside from the club and they sit a distance away on the grass feeling the soreness from the fight settling in. Without a word, they light up their cigarettes, taking a moment to breathe as the smoke curls into the evening air.

Johnnys expression is curious yet concerned as he hands Benny a bandage for his bloodied knuckles. “What were you thinking back there, kid?” He asks, his voice carrying a hint of reprimand.

Benny takes the bandage, wrapping it around his hand in frustration. “Nothin. I saw you squaring off with those guys—what more was there to think about?” he mutters.

Johnny shakes his head offering Benny a bottle of whiskey. “You and me both, kid,” he chuckles.

Johnnys eyes remain sharp on Benny studying him as he nods and takes a swig from the bottle before handing it back.

“What about the Mrs.?” Johnny asks, his tone firmer. “You think she needed to see that?” he gestures before taking a swig of the whiskey.

Benny’s jaw tightens, and he looks away feeling the weight of Johnny’s words sinking in. “I didn’t think,” Benny admits, his voice quieter.

Johnny places a firm hand on Benny’s shoulder. “I get it, kid, but you gotta remember, you’ve got more than just the club to think about now. You’ve got her, and she needs you whole, not broken. You gotta learn to keep it together, for her sake.”

Benny nods, the weight of Johnny’s words pressing down on him. “I can’t let anything happen to her… but I’m scared I’m gonna lose her.” His voice tightens as he picks at the bandage on his injured hand. “It’s like there’s this fire inside me, and I can’t control it. I know I’m just gonna wreck it all.” His voice cracks, the admission cutting deeper than he expected.

Johnny gives Benny a knowing look. “That fire’s part of who you are, kid. But you’ve got to learn to channel it, not let it control you.”

As Benny and Johnny sit together, sharing whiskey and cigarettes, you watch from a distance as Johnny’s experienced understanding of Benny is evident in every gesture, every knowing nod.

You suddenly feel like an outsider in your relationship with Benny and the bitterness of that realization stirs deep emotions within you. There’s a fracture in the bond between you and Benny, a hidden weakness you can no longer ignore.

You are rested back against the picnic table as you watch them, arms crossed over your chest, legs crossed tightly with one foot tapping impatiently betraying the weight of your emotions pressing down on you.

Betty noticing your discomfort approaches with a reassuring smile. “They’re just being men,” she says, trying to ease your mind as she offers you a beer. “They always find a way to handle it.” She says. But you shake your head, declining the drink and her words.

“I’m just going to wait for Benny,” you reply, your voice flat and she nods understandingly leaving you to your thoughts.

Several minutes pass, each one dragging longer than the last, until finally, Benny walks toward you. His posture is tense, his eyes refusing to meet yours. Without a word, he drops down next to you at the picnic table, his gaze fixed on some distant point, his expression unreadable.

You take a deep breath, your heart heavy with a mix of concern and confusion. “Benny… what was that?” you ask, your voice tight with emotion, struggling to understand the intensity of what just happened.

Benny wipes his hand under his nose with a sniff, the bandage on his knuckles already beginning to seep with blood. “I don’t know, I just… lost it,” he mutters, his gaze fixed on the distance, unable to meet your eyes.

“Lost it?” you repeat, trying to keep your voice steady. “Benny, you nearly killed that guy! I… I’ve never seen anything like that in my life! What if something worse had happened?” You panic the fear of losing him to something so reckless tightening your chest.

Benny finally turns to look at you, his eyes filled with guilt and frustration. “I wasn’t thinking… I saw Johnny in trouble and… I just reacted. I know I messed up,” he says, his voice laced with regret.

“Messed up?” you repeat, your voice rising with anger and hurt. “Do you even know how much that scared me, Benny? Seeing you lose control like that? Do you even care how that made me feel?”

“Of course I care!” Benny shouts, his frustration boiling over. “I hate that you had to see that, that you had to worry. But I’m not perfect. I can’t just flip a switch and make this all go away!” he yells, his voice echoing with the tension between you

By now, all of the surrounding Vandals and their old ladies are invested in your argument, unable to avoid the intensity of your voices and you can feel the weight of their stares.

“That’s right, you’re not perfect Benny !” you snap back, the sting of your words evident as you see the pain flicker in his eyes.

“But you don’t have to be perfect…because …I want you just the way you are Benny” you say your voice lowering as your heart aches with the depth of your feelings.

“I’m the one supposed to be by your side, the one helping and caring for you, not watching from the sidelines.” You say in frustration and sadness.

Benny looks at you, his eyes filled with regret and guilt, the weight of your words hitting him hard.

“You shut me out Benny,” you confirm crossing your arms as you look to the ground in silence unable to hide the hurt that’s tearing you apart

Benny looks to the ground feeling the weight of your words and understanding . “I…I didn’t mean to shut you out,” he admits, his voice lower and filled with regret . “I just never wanted you to see me like that,” he says, looking away in shame. “It was ugly…”

“I don’t care about ugly, Benny,” you reply, your voice filled with concern. “I only care about you, and I want you to know that you trust me, that you can let me in even when things get mess—” Your words trail off as your eyes catch sight of the blood slowly dripping down his wrist.

“Benny, your hand!” you exclaim, noticing the bandage completely soaked through.

Benny glances down noticing the blood and a look of sorrow washes over his face “Yea it was a pretty deep cut” he admits.

Your eyes widen in concern as you carefully unwrap the crimson soaked bandage. The sight of the large gash in his knuckle, still leaking blood, sends a wave of shock through you.

“Oh my god, Benny,” you gasp your voice filled worry, and soon the old ladies of the club gather around, their faces mirroring your concern.

Betty takes a quick look at his hand, tilting it gently to examine the wound. “Benny, it’ll heal but you’ll have one ugly scar,” she confirms.

Benny starts wrapping his hand back up, trying to diminish everyone’s worry. “It’ll heal up in a few weeks,I’ll keep it bandaged til then” he says with certainty, having survived his fair share of injuries.

You stare at him in disbelief, unable to understand how he can be so dismissive about something so serious.

“A few weeks? Benny Cross! We’re going to the hospital right now. That cut is so deep, you’ll need stitches!” You say with rising concern.

“It’ll heal,” he says with a slight aggravation in his tone, his anger simmering beneath the surface unable to understand why you’re making such a fuss.

He knows you’ve probably never dealt with anything more than a paper cut, and it grates on him to no end.

“It’ll heal?” you repeat your voice rising sharply. “Benny, you’ll probably get an infection and never be able to use your hand again if you don’t treat it!” You say in frustration as you stand up.

“Get up Benny we’re going to the hospital right now!” you command him.

For a moment, it seems like Benny might respond, but the words die on his lips, and he remains silent. The reality of the situation sinks in and the heaviness in your chest becomes almost unbearable. The distance between you and Benny growing like a void.

“Get up, Benny,” you repeat more forcefully, and this time he reluctantly stands, but there’s a coldness in his eyes, a resentment building.

All eyes are on you as you assert your authority over Benny, and he can’t help but feel a sting of humiliation realizing everyone in the club is witnessing this moment. The Vandals watch in silence, sensing the drastic change that has suddenly taken hold.

Without a word Benny turns and walks to his bike his expression hardening. He kick-starts it up, the engine roaring to life as he waits for you. When you approach, it’s the first time he doesn’t offer you his hand, and you try to hide the hurt in your eyes as you climb on behind him but the tension between you two is undeniable.

As you both ride away, Johnny, Betty, and the rest of the Vandals watch with concern on their faces. They all sense the significant shift between you and Benny, the tension hanging heavy in the air as you disappear from view.

In a Bad Way

Benny drives to the hospital at a jarring speed, the engine roaring beneath you as he accelerates. The highway becomes a blur, the lights and traffic blending into a chaotic stream of color as he weaves dangerously between cars. The sheer speed of the bike makes your breath catch, the risk and adrenaline mingling with your anger, momentarily overpowering it.

Instinctively, your arms tighten around his waist, clinging to him for dear life as the wind bites at your skin, each subtle movement of the motorcycle making your heart leap into your throat.

As you approach the exit for the hospital, Benny speeds right past it, ignoring the turn. Panic rises in your chest, and you shout over the roaring wind, “Benny, where are you going?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just accelerates faster, the lights blurring past as he weaves through the traffic at a dangerous speed. “I’m taking you home,” he finally replies, his voice cold and distant, filled with a quiet, simmering anger.

You speed through town, the city lights streaking past in a dizzying blur as Benny pushes the bike harder. The rhythmic thrum of the engine vibrates through your body, each twist of the throttle sending you hurtling forward with relentless momentum. Your surroundings become a chaotic whirl of color and noise, the familiar streets of the town fading into a disorienting haze.

As you approach your neighborhood, the world begins to slow, the frantic pace easing as the bike glides through quieter, more familiar streets. The comforting sight of your treelined avenue with warmly lit homes contrasts sharply with the turmoil churning between you and Benny.

Finally he pulls in front of your house, stopping the bike abruptly, the sudden halt almost throwing you off balance.

You slide from his bike, your legs shaky, your emotions in turmoil. Benny doesn’t even look at you, his jaw is clenched and his expression hard as he dismounts and heads inside without saying a word.

You anxiously follow him inside, your heart racing with the hope of talking things through, of mending whatever just broke between you. But as you step into the house, you see Benny heading straight upstairs.

You assume he needs to shower and cool down after the day you’ve had and you head upstairs to do the same.

As you push open the bedroom door and walk inside, the sight of him packing his rucksack determined and tense, shocks you to your core.

“Benny…what are you doing?” you ask, your voice trembling with worry, but he doesn’t respond. He continues stuffing his clothing and personal items into the bag, his silence speaking louder than words ever could.

Finally, he slings the rucksack over his shoulder and turns to leave, his eyes filled with a cold determination that sends a chill through you. “You’re better off without me,” he says flatly, his voice devoid of the warmth you’re used to.

Without even glancing back, he walks past you, heading downstairs and out the door, leaving you standing stunned silence.

You gather your thoughts and quickly rush outside to try and catch him, your heart racing as you process what’s happening. Benny throws his rucksack onto the bike and kick-starts it with a loud roar. The sound of the engine drowns out everything else as he rides off leaving you standing in the street, stunned and utterly alone.

As the roar of his motorcycle fades into the distance the emptiness he left behind feels overwhelming.

Your head spins, a dizzying mix of shock and confusion, as you try to comprehend why he left so abruptly and why he said everything with such severity.

Then, the sudden realization that Benny is actually gone hits you like a ton of bricks, the weight of it crushing your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You immediately run back into the house, your heart pounding as you grab the phone and dial a number with trembling fingers. The ringing seems to stretch on forever until, finally, a voice comes through.

“Johnny,” you say frantically, your voice cracking with desperation, “Please, tell me if you see Benny.”

There’s a pause on the other end as Johnny understands your concern. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll have everyone keep an eye out.” He says with a somber reassurance.

“Please,” you beg, your voice trembling as you fight back tears, “Please don’t tell him I asked about him.” You can’t even finish the call as you quickly hang before the dam breaks. You begin to sob, feeling the overwhelming confusion and guilt setting in.

You quickly wipe back your tears feeling vulnerable and unsure of what to do. Ultimately thinking you both over reacted and that he will return, that he has to return. The silence of the house amplifies your despair, the absence of Benny leaves a gaping void within your heart.

You quickly decide to cook supper trying to put on a brave face knowing that when he does return he will be hungry, and maybe after you’ve both eaten he’ll realize it was a mistake made in the heat of the moment.

You take your time carefully preparing a meal adding each ingredient with the hope that Benny will walk through the door at minute. You bake a casserole and set the dish on the kitchen counter, waiting for him to arrive. But as the casserole cools, the realization that he’s not coming behind to sinks in.

You are unable to eat feeling the overwhelming absence of the person you made it for and quietly put the meal away in the refrigerator.

Hours later, the phone rings, shattering the oppressive silence. You stumble into the living room, snatching the receiver from the hook with trembling hands. “Hello?” you say, your voice raw with emotion.

“Hey…” Johnny’s voice comes through, hesitant and heavy. Your nerves rise instantly, dread knotting in your stomach.

“Have you seen him? Have you seen Benny?” you ask frantically, the fear clawing at your chest.

“I, um, I’m sorry to have to say this,”Johnny begins, his voice filled with undeniable remorse, “Benny was beaten near to death, he’s in a real bad way, they got him hospitalized over in Midtown—”

The words hit you like a freight train. You slam the phone down, the sound echoing in the empty room.

A scream rips from your throat as you collapse to the floor, hyperventilating overwhelmed by a mix of fear and shock.

For a moment, you’re paralyzed, the weight of the news crushing you. But then, through sheer will, you force yourself to get up, knowing you need to be there for Benny.

You grab a jacket and your keys, your movements frantic and disjointed as you rush out the door.

Moments of Benny flash through your mind each one more painful than the last. His radiant smile, the way his intense blue eyes lock onto yours, the look on his face as you walked down the aisle, the warmth of his voice, the gentleness of his kiss that made you feel like the center of his entire world.

Each memory stabs at your heart, reminding you of what you had, and what you fear you might lose forever.

The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over as you drive, your vision blurring with an overwhelming flood of emotions.

Your only focus is getting to Benny, knowing deep down that you need him and that he needs you and you’ll forgive him, care for him, and love him for as long as you live.

🏍️ To Be Continued 🏍️

Chapter 5 Broken Promises

When Benny is beaten to near death you tend and care for him night and day. The confident and strong man you once knew now seems lost forever in the unsure and frail Benny leaving you to put all the pieces back together.

With every thing stripped from Benny he begins to understand what he really wants out of life and after a fateful turn of events putting your safety at risk his decision is finalized changing both of your lives forever.

🔗 Masters List

🏍️ Benny Cross Tag List 🏍️

@finley-08 @ashleybutler-26 @ifuckindontknow @landlockedmermaid77 @jvanilly @oceanablue @12joeywheelerfangirl @autumnleaves1991-blog @presley1992 @rose-deathman @sillylittlethrowaway @lillypink @faephoria @butdaddyilovehim99 @nostalgichoya @ausssbutlershortstories

🏷️ Always Tags Me List 💌

@lindszeppelin @abswifey @magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @jessica987 @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @unicoreads @lovereadingfanfic @elvismylove04 @denised916 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader73 @jkdaddy01 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @majestyjade

[bruhnze]

Quiero un beso,

But there's an ocean of distance between us.

ONA BATLLE x LUCY BRONZE

For the Brasil anon! i love these songs, great idea. This is soft, but maybe not exactly what you meant.. hope u still like it.

Below are my favourite lines from both of the songs :)

"Beso" by Rosalia: Estar lejos de ti e' el Infierno (Being away from you is hell) Tar cerca de ti e' mi paz (Being close to you is my peace)

"Ocean" by Karol G: Y aunque lo intentara no podría sin ti (And even if I tried I couldn't without you) Toda mi felicidad es gracias a ti (All my happiness is thanks to you)

Warnings: bit of angst, bit of fluff, idk i was in my feels, teeny tiny bit suggetive things so still 18+ only pls. Hurt/comfort.

Wordcount: 3k

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Ona last kissed her girlfriend. She realized this as she scrolled through her calendar app on her iPhone. Another stretch of days where they hadn't touched, laughed face-to-face, or shared the simplest of intimacies.

Tonight, like every night, they’d see each other on FaceTime again, an anchor in the storm of their long-distance relationship. They had already spoken twice today. First thing in the morning and again this afternoon. Ona chuckled to herself, recalling how this morning’s call had begun. They’d fallen asleep on the phone. Her alarm had woken Lucy, eventhough Lucy had another hour before she had to get up.

Lucy hadn’t minded, but Ona had kept apologizing until Lucy, with a cheeky grin, had suggested she’d ‘make it up’ with a front-row view of her shower.

Ona had laughed. Lately, Lucy had become more and more...needy. Not that Ona minded, in fact, she found it cute that Lucy missed every part of her. Lucy had even asked for a risqué picture the other day, a first since moving back to England two months ago. It was endearing how Lucy missed her in that way, but for Ona, it wasn’t just about that. It was the physical closeness she missed, the warmth.

She missed waking up beside Lucy. Every morning she woke up cuddling the pillow that was still holding the faintest trace of Lucy’s scent. During the day she’d randomly pull Coco onto her lap just for some form of comfort. But her dog wasn’t quite the same as her girlfriend. Sometimes in the shower, Ona would close her eyes, letting the warmth of the water surround her, but it could never replace the feeling of Lucy’s touch.

Suddenly, the familiar tone of an incoming FaceTime call broke her thoughts.

"Hi babyyyyy!" Lucy’s voice chimed through, full of energy and excitement the moment Ona’s face appeared on screen.

Ona chuckled softly, amused by Lucy’s bubbly tone. "Hey, babe."

"I love you," Lucy said with a beaming smile, her eyes crinkling at the edges. "One more week and two days, and we’ll have a few days together again." She was counting down, as she did on every call.

Ona nodded, her throat tightening as the familiar wave of longing washed over her. "I miss you," she whispered, her voice more fragile than she intended.

Lucy’s bright expression shifted. Concern filled her eyes as she leaned closer to the screen, sensing the sadness in Ona’s voice. Normally, they tried to keep things light, both agreeing that these two years apart would pass quicker if they kept their focus forward, holding their chins up.

"Are you okay?" Lucy asked softly, trying to filter the worry out of her tone but failing.

"No," Ona admitted, her pout deepening. "I haven’t kissed you in so long, I don’t even remember what you taste like."

She fell back onto the couch, the iPad slipping slightly as she disappeared out of the frame.

"Ona?" Lucy’s voice was gentle.

Ona whimpered softly. "Your pillow doesn’t smell like you anymore," she said, almost accusingly, as if it was somehow Lucy’s fault that her scent had faded.

"Baby," Lucy whispered, biting her lip, her eyes filled with sorrow. She wanted nothing more than to pull Ona into her arms and hold her tight. "Can you show me your face again?"

Ona wiped at her teary eyes and sat up, facing the screen once more.

Lucy gave her a sad, knowing smile, taking in the sight of Ona’s messy hair and red, puffy eyes. "What did you have for dinner?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood, knowing full well that no amount of casual conversation could replace what they both needed.

"I’m not playing tomorrow," Ona blurted out, ignoring Lucy’s question. "I’m going to book a flight."

Lucy’s heart twisted. She knew that feeling all to well herself, the urge to throw everything aside and run to the one she loved. But Ona couldn’t abandon her commitments, not like this. It would affect her career, Lucy couldn’t let that happen, no matter how much she wanted to be with her.

"I’ll come,"

A flicker of hope flashed in Ona’s eyes, but it faded just as quickly. "You can’t, Luce," Ona replied, her gaze drifting to Coco, who was busy tearing apart a tennis ball. "You’ve got a game too."

"I’ll come," Lucy repeated, her voice more determined now. She’d play her morning match and then fly straight to Ona, no matter what. Her knee could hurt, her body could ache - it didn’t matter. For Ona, she’d do it.

"You’ve got a game," Ona insisted, "and I have a game in the evening. We won’t even have time to call."

"I’ll play," Lucy said, more firmly this time. "Then I’ll come home and wait for you."

Ona let out a small laugh, though tears were still brimming in her eyes. "And recovery?"

"I’ll wear those stupid tights under my jeans," Lucy replied, rolling her eyes with a smile.

That got a genuine chuckle out of Ona. "You know that’s not the same as a proper recovery, right?"

"I know," Lucy said softly. "But I want to see you. I think you need a hug."

"I need a kiss," Ona corrected, her voice trembling as tears began to well up again. "And bring me one of your pillows. You can take mine."

Lucy chuckled. "Okay, I’ll do that baby. Anything else?"

"Tell me about your day," Ona murmured, laying back down on the couch and pulling the iPad onto her chest.

Lucy laughed, shaking her head. "I already told you everything this afternoon, and nothing’s happened since. I was just at home, walking Narla, cooking food, you know, laid in bed for a bit."

"In bed? Why? Are you getting sick?" Ona asked, suddenly concerned. Lucy rarely stayed in bed, especially without Ona there beside her.

"No," Lucy chuckled. "I was... I was missing you. I just looked at some photos of you."

Ona’s brow lifted in amusement, finally catching on to what Lucy meant. "Ohhh, I see.’’ She shook her head, ‘’We really are so different," she teased, laughing lightly. "You do that every day, don’t you?"

Lucy blushed. "Yeah... I just miss you so much."

"Sí, but for me, it’s different," Ona admitted. "I haven’t... well, you know."

"Really?" Lucy asked, genuinely surprised. "Nothing?"

Ona chuckled, shaking her head again. "No, not really. I’m just not in the mood. I miss you too much."

Lucy’s voice softened, a bit seductive. "What if I’m there tomorrow?"

Ona’s smiled. "Then I want kisses and cuddles. Muchos besos."

Lucy smirked. "Mhm, you’ll get all the kisses and cuddles you want."

"And maybe more," Ona teased, her voice dropping just a little.

Lucy chuckled, trying to sound casual. "We’ll see."

Ona playfully rolled her eyes. "Now you’re acting like you’re not dying for it."

"I want to do whatever you want to do," Lucy replied.

Ona let out a dramatic sigh. "Sometimes you’re so sweet that it actually annoys me."

Lucy’s brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"It’s like a form of cuteness aggression," Ona explained like she was giving a lecture. "But like, sweetness agitation."

Lucy burst into laughter, shaking her head in disbelief. "You are something else."

"Is that why you love me?" Ona asked smiling mischievously, she loved asking Lucy this question because she always got an answer.

Lucy chuckled, her voice full of affection. "Mhm, I love you because of how your brain works, I love everything about you."

..

Ona hurried off the field, skipping the post-match rituals entirely. She tossed everything into her bag in a rush, taking just enough time to swap her boots for her regular shoes. Jogging to her car and driving off.

Her parking job was more crooked than usual, but she couldn’t have cared less. It was all worth it as she spotted Lucy’s shoes when she opened the front door.

Kicking her own shoes off hastily, Ona dropped her bag in the hallway and darted inside. The moment she saw Lucy lounging casually on the couch, the flood of emotion overwhelmed her. Sobbing, she threw herself into Lucy’s arms.

"Heyy," Lucy murmured softly, immediately wrapping her arms around Ona’s trembling frame. "It’s okay, bub. I’m right here."

Ona’s small body shook as she buried her tear-streaked face into the crook of Lucy’s neck. Her tears soaked Lucy’s skin, but Lucy didn’t mind. She gently rubbed Ona’s back, whispering comfort.

"Shh... it’s okay, honey. We’re together now."

Ona took a few deep breaths, inhaling the familiar scent she had missed so deeply. Her lips pressed a soft, tearful kiss to Lucy’s neck, lingering there for a moment. Lucy’s hold tightened around her, cradling her closer as she carefully sat them both up.

"You’re home early," Lucy chuckled lightly, pulling a few damp strands of hair from Ona’s flushed face. "Didn’t even shower at the club?"

Ona shook her head, not lifting her face from Lucy’s neck. She shifted, wrapping her legs around Lucy and clinging even tighter, as if afraid to let go. Lucy’s brow furrowed slightly in concern, this was different. She hadn’t seen Ona like this before. Ona had always been the positive one, encouraging Lucy, insisting she take the opportunity with Chelsea while she still could.

Lucy’s voice softened as she slipped her hands beneath Ona’s game-worn, sweat-soaked shirt. "I love you," she whispered, her touch gentle and reassuring. "How about we go for a shower, huh?"

Ona shook her head again, pressing herself further into Lucy’s embrace.

"I can join you," Lucy offered with a small, playful smile, hoping to lift Ona’s mood.

But Ona shook her head once more, her silent refusal a testament to how overwhelmed she was. Lucy’s heart clenched at the vulnerability in her usually strong, cheerful girlfriend.

"Can you even still talk?" Lucy teased softly, poking at Ona’s sides in an attempt to draw out even the smallest response.

"No," came a small, muffled voice, barely audible against Lucy’s skin.

Lucy turned her head slightly, pressing gentle kisses to the side of Ona’s head. One kiss, then another, until finally Ona lifted her tearful face to look at Lucy.

Lucy smiled tenderly, brushing her thumb across Ona’s cheek, her eyes filled with understanding. "I know, baby," Lucy whispered.

Ona sighed deeply, her hands finding their way to Lucy’s face. She traced her thumb along Lucy’s lips, as if memorizing the touch she had missed so much. Then, slowly, she leaned in, her lips softly capturing Lucy’s in a kiss. It was gentle, unhurried, filled with the longing of weeks apart, savoring the taste of the person she had craved for so long.

Lucy responded to the kiss with the same gentle, measured pace as Ona, their lips moving softly, carefully, like they were discovering each other all over again. It was almost like a first kiss. Though their actual first kiss had been anything but slow and delicate.

But this moment wasn’t about passion. It was about something deeper, something more intimate. Right now, Ona needed this. Maybe they both did. It was a chance to reconnect, to ground themselves in each other’s presence, to imprint the familiar taste and feel of one another into their minds, knowing it had to last until the next time they could be together again.

Lucy’s hand moved to cradle the back of Ona’s head, her thumb lightly tracing the curve of her neck. She kissed her as though this moment could mend all the days and nights they’d spent apart, hoping that somehow, it could.

As their lips parted, Ona rested her forehead against Lucy’s. Her breath a little uneven. The tension slowly ebbing away. Lucy kept her arms around her, brushing a stray tear from Ona’s cheek.

"You feel a little better now?" Lucy asked softly.

Ona nodded. "A little," she whispered.

Lucy kissed her forehead gently, then shifted slightly beneath her. "I think we both need a shower, though," she said with a small chuckle, the warmth of her touch still lingering on Ona’s skin.

Ona groaned, her head dropping onto Lucy’s shoulder as if just the thought of moving was already too much. "Nooo," she mumbled, her voice muffled against Lucy’s neck. "Don’t wanna move."

"Come on, baby," Lucy chuckled, her tone light and teasing. "You skipped your shower after the game and I’ve been traveling. We’re both a bit… stinky." She said, secretly more so revering to Ona.

Ona pouted, finally lifting her head to meet Lucy’s gaze. "But I just got you back."

Lucy smiled lovingly and brushed her fingers through Ona’s hair. "I’m not going anywhere, promise. We can shower together, okay?"

Ona hesitated, then reluctantly loosened her grip around Lucy. "Okay," she muttered, her lips forming into a reluctant smile.

Lucy kissed her again, brief but tender, before gently pulling her thighter against her so she could go stand. "Let’s go wash you off then, you dirty girl" she teased, holding Ona as she walked her towards the bathroom.

As they entered the bathroom, Lucy stood her girldfriend back on the ground. She reached into the shower and turned on the water, letting it heat up. Ona clung to Lucy’s side, still not ready to let go. Lucy smiled at her girlfriend’s neediness.

"Come here," Lucy said softly, pulling Ona into her arms. She kissed the top of her head, holding her close. "Let’s get you cleaned up, baby."

Ona let out a soft hum, her fingers lazily tracing circles on Lucy’s back. She felt safe here, in Lucy’s arms.

Slowly, Lucy reached for the hem of Ona’s shirt, gently tugging it upwards. She didn’t rush, didn’t push. Just a quiet, unspoken understanding between them as Ona let her pull the sweat-soaked fabric over her head before tossing it aside.

Ona sighed, her body relaxing as Lucy’s hands moved over her bare skin, the cool air of the bathroom a contrast to the warmth that lingered between them.

"Better?" Lucy asked, her voice low and soothing, as she kissed Ona’s shoulder, her fingers brushing the waistband of her shorts.

Ona nodded, leaning into the touch. Her hands found Lucy’s shirt, and with the same quiet reverence, she helped Lucy lift it over her head, revealing the toned muscles that had become so familiar to her. Lucy shivered slightly as Ona’s fingers brushed her skin, her lips curving into a smile.

"Your turn," Ona whispered, her voice barely audible, her eyes flicking up to meet Lucy’s.

Lucy grinned, helping Ona take off the sportsbra. She knew Ona always dreaded to take the tight fabric off of her, especially when it was drained with sweat and annoyingly stuck to her skin.

As each layer of clothing fell away, Ona got more and more peacefull. An unspoken barrier breaking down with every touch, every glance they shared.

When they were both down to nothing but skin, Lucy took Ona’s hand and gently guided her into the shower, the hot water cascading over them. The warmth surounded them both, and Lucy smiled as Ona stepped back into her arms.

"You good?" Lucy asked, her voice soft as she kissed the top of Ona’s head.

"Mhm," Ona hummed, her body finally relaxing into Lucy’s. ''Better''.

They stood there for a while, letting the water wash away the sweat, the tears and the time spent apart. There was no rush.

Lucy moved slowly, tenderly, as she had taken some soap on her hands, her fingers tracing over Ona’s skin with even more care then she usually already had.

"Missed this," Ona murmured, her eyes closing as Lucy’s hands moved across her back.

"Me too," Lucy whispered back, her voice thick with emotion.

For a while, they said nothing, the only sounds filling the room were the steady stream of water and their quiet breaths. Lucy gently washed Ona’s body, her hands moving slowly, deliberately, like she wanted to memorize every inch of her all over again.

When it was Ona’s turn, she took just as much care, her fingers trailing softly over Lucy’s arms, her shoulders, her chest. There was something sacred about this moment. Like they were rebuilding something that distance had tried to take away.

After what felt like an eternity standing together beneath the stream of warm water, their bodies still entwined, Lucy leaned down, her lips brushing against Ona’s forehead in a soft, tender kiss.

Her movements were unhurried as she let her lips linger before trailing down to place a small peck on the tip of Ona’s nose. Ona smiled at the gentle touch, her eyes fluttering closed, surrendering to the intimacy. Lucy continued her slow, affectionate journey, planting soft kisses around Ona’s face.

Finally, Lucy’s lips hovered millimeters away from Ona’s, the space between them so small it felt electric. She paused, her breath mixing with Ona’s as she whispered, "I love you."

Then, softly, she closed the gap, capturing Ona’s lips in a kiss.

"You feel better now?" Lucy asked breaking away from their kiss after a few moments, brushing a strand of wet hair out of Ona’s face.

"Yeah," Ona whispered, her voice barely audible, but smiling genuinly. "Much better."

---

Thanks to @pinkygirl28 :) she helped me with the ending

[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x oc (part x)

a/n: I'm bawling on today's last official episode of Stark-fluff. legit bawling as I type this. you spoiled shits are getting babies and so much love. I love these two so much, here is their much-deserved happy ending :)

The dawn stretched thin fingers across Winterfell’s courtyard, filtering through the smoky haze that lingered from battle. Survival hung in the air—fierce, unbreakable, and filling the early light with a kind of stubborn hope.

Claere paused just outside the doorway, her hand hovering against the wood. She let the silence settle over her, breathing in the mingling scents of herbs, iron, and smoke that still clung to the walls. Relief settled in first, grounding her, but it was quickly edged with something unexpected—an almost reverent pride. She’d heard the soldiers talk of Cregan’s perseverance in the fight, how he had defended Winterfell like he’d been forged for it, and now, here he was, alone in their chamber, mending himself as if he’d done it a thousand times.

Her heart swelled as she took in the scene. He sat half-lit by the dim morning light, his shoulders tensed as he worked the needle and thread, pulling a gash closed with painstaking focus. Bruises darkened his skin, raw reminders of the battle, while the wound stretched and tugged with each attempt. The basin of water at his feet and the bloodied rag tossed aside told her he’d even dismissed the maester. Typical.

As though sensing her, he looked up, catching her watching from the doorway. The frustration melted from his face, replaced by that familiar glint of warmth in his eyes.

“Come to check on the fool who stitches himself, have you?” he murmured, setting the needle aside with a wince as his hands reached for her, his gaze softening as it fell on her bare, bruised wrists.

“I didn’t want them fussing over me like a babe,” he muttered, his thumb brushing over the marks left by Luna’s reins, handling her injuries as if they mattered more than the blood drying on his own skin.

“What was the damage?” she asked, her voice soft as his fingers hovered over her wrists.

“A few Norrey men. Closest to the fire,” he replied, still focused on her hands.

She met his gaze, lifting a brow. “I meant you.”

His mouth tugged into a rueful smirk. “A scratch or two,” he replied, though the tension around his eyes betrayed him. He chucked her chin lightly. “Only you’re allowed to coddle me.”

With a gentle hold, he lifted her hand, his thumb tracing the bruises on her wrist. For a moment, the battle’s toll fell away, leaving just the two of them, here, safe.

“You held those reins like a vice,” he muttered.

“And you,” she countered, “should be tending to your own wounds, not mine.”

She allowed him to keep hold of her hand, taking in the bruises and scrapes, and feeling a swell of gratitude as he continued his inspection despite his obvious pain.

With a quiet chuckle, he flinched as it jarred his ribs, then shook his head. “Can’t have you bruised for the whole of Winterfell to see, can I?”

She took in every scrape and bruise, tracing the mottled shades of blue and red with her gaze before gesturing to the chair behind him. “Sit. Let me help before you stitch yourself to ribbons.”

Though he grumbled, he did as she asked, sinking back into the chair with a sigh. Claere knelt by his legs, gently taking his arm to examine the wound he’d been trying to stitch. The axe had cut him clean, the edges already darkening around the gash.

“It’ll scar,” she said softly.

“Good,” he replied with a glint of pride. “When anyone asks, I’ll tell them it was from fighting for my lady.”

A faint smile crossed her lips as she dipped her fingers into the balm. With practised ease, she settled onto his thigh, feeling him tense as her hands pressed over the raw flesh of his ribs, tracing the edges of the wound with delicate care.

Cregan stiffened beneath her, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the wince the movement sent through him.

“Steady now, my lady,” he murmured, capturing her wrist. “You sit this close while I’m in this state… we may soon find ourselves in a different sort of position.”

She lifted a cool, unimpressed brow, gently freeing her wrist from his grasp as she leaned in and continued her work, dabbing balm with the same cool precision. His words fell away, met with her customary indifference. She didn’t even spare him a glance, though his smirk grew as her fingers worked down his bruised arms with her unfailing calm.

Unfazed, he tilted forward, brushing his battered lips against her cheek, trailing a line down to her neck, his roughened breath warm against her skin. She allowed the light pressure of his lips on her jawline, not so much as flinching as he pressed a lingering kiss there. Her focus stayed on his bruised forearms, ignoring the warmth he radiated as if her heart hadn’t leapt a little at his touch. Her hands kept on, gently covering each bruise, each scrape—unmoved by his insistence.

But suddenly, her hands paused. Her gaze drifted down to his calloused hands, her fingers stilling over his. “I’ve granted the wildlings a place on our land,” she said, her tone even, the words carrying a weight they both felt.

Cregan pulled back slightly, meeting her eyes with a mix of surprise and pride. He didn’t hesitate, though—just nodded with calm conviction. “Alright.”

Claere blinked, studying his face, taken aback by his immediate acceptance. “Alright?” she echoed.

His mouth softened into a smile, one so warm and knowing it reached his eyes, and he brushed a stray wisp of her hair back. “Aye, my love. You’ve spoken as Winterfell’s lady, as the shield and keeper of its walls. If this is your will, then it’s thought through, and it’s wise.”

There was pride in his gaze, as unshakable as the stone of Winterfell’s walls. Her breath caught, seeing herself reflected in his eyes not as a Targaryen but as a woman who held the North’s fate in her hands, and it struck her to the core. His approval wasn’t mere agreement; it was reverence, the kind a lord offers his queen.

Cregan’s fingers trailed slowly up her back, and he drew her close, resting his forehead against hers. “You know,” he murmured, his voice dipping low, “I think I’m a little in awe of you.”

“You're the first.”

A soft huff of laughter escaped her, though her gaze softened as Cregan’s fingers brushed slowly up her back, his touch warm and steady even as his voice took on a more serious edge.

“What if I hadn’t come back?” he asked quietly, words heavy in the space between them. “If Sylas had struck true, had plunged his axe into my throat… what then, Claere?”

She stilled, meeting his gaze, but he didn’t look away, didn’t let the question rest unanswered. “Would you go back south? Mourn alone?” he pressed, his voice soft and deadly serious. “There’d be no more Starks here, no other bonds tying you to Winterfell.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the crackle of the distant hearth, and the faint hum of the waking castle outside. Then Claere’s voice slipped through the silence, quiet and resolute.

“Then I would rule in your name.” She held his gaze with power as tireless as his own. “I'd live out my days as a Stark til my end, no matter what your people say.”

X

The crypts of Winterfell were cloaked in shadow, their familiar chill hanging heavy in the air. Tyrion’s torchlight flickered against the ancient stone, casting wavering shadows over rows of solemn, worn statues—the Stark dead, silent witnesses in the depths.

They paused before a statue near the end of the line, where Cregan Stark stood in sombre effigy, a likeness of power and steely will carved in the weathered stone. At his side, in an uncustomary break from Stark tradition, was another statue—a woman whose regal features were captured with remarkable care: Claere Stark. Or perhaps more fittingly, Claere Velaryon. Though she had not been of the North, her statue rested beside Cregan’s as if by some ancient right.

Tyrion’s gaze lingered on Claere’s statue, marvelling how the sculptor had chiselled his devotion for her, as though she held a silent mystery even in stone. There she stood, not just beside Cregan, but as if guarding him in death as fiercely as she had in life. It struck him that Claere wasn’t even a Stark by birth, yet here she was, given the rarest honour.

"The fire of Old Valyria and the Winter's Queen,” Tyrion murmured, almost to himself, a small, wry smile tugging at his lips.

The stories of her life unfurled in his mind. He’d read about her and pored over accounts that painted her as a legend—a woman of fire and ice, Targaryen and yet something new. And her mighty dragon, the White Dread—Luna. The beast with scales like frost and flame, so fearsome in its majesty that even Northerners had spoken of it in whispers. Claere had been the first rider to take her dragon beyond the Wall, to ride over that barren, haunted wilderness with nothing but Luna’s wings carrying her, blazing trails through skies no other dragon had ever dared to reach.

"Have you heard of her, Lord Tyrion?”

Tyrion steadied himself, recovering from Sansa’s unexpected question with a small laugh, his eyes drifting back to Claere’s statue.

“Claere Stark,” he said, “I'd be a fool not to know her tale.”

X

The hall at Winterfell brimmed with the scent of roasted game and the crackling warmth of hearthfires. Spiced wine flowed as freely as water, and clashing tankards rose in steady cadence to songs sung in the old Northern tongue. The tables were heavy with bread, venison, and thick stews, a reminder that victory lay upon death. Meat fat glistened on plates as Cregan’s men devoured their food, their laughter spilling over one another’s voices. Wildling bodies were still burning in the woods beyond the walls, but here, their voices rose in songs for their Lord and Lady, even as the night grew late.

But Cregan's smile was worn thin, forced. The seat beside him remained empty, the absence of Claere more palpable than any wound he bore.

Oh, howl for the wolf, howl strong and bold!

His fangs to guard the keep!

“They celebrate the deaths by my hand,” she had told him when he had invited her to join the feast in the hall. “That is no celebration at all.”

They hailed Cregan, lifting their tankards to the “King in the North.” Then, with fervour, they cheered for the “Winter’s Queen,” their voices rising in earnest. She, who had taken to the skies with fire in her veins, commanded their respect now. All around him, he heard fragments of praise murmured to Claere, a reverence that they had been slow to bestow on her Targaryen blood.

“She was born to this,” a stout lord from the Barrowlands muttered to his neighbour. “She held her own like the Starks before her.”

Cregan took a slow drink of his ale, his eyes darkening as he listened. Now they speak of her as though she is their kin, he thought. Only days before, these same men had muttered of Claere’s “Southron blood,” questioning her loyalty, her fire. Now that they had witnessed her force, they bent their knee as if her worth had suddenly doubled. It was as though they’d forgotten their suspicion, bowing as if she had been born among them as if she was a Stark of old. Hypocrites, he thought with a simmering, silent disdain.

With another courteous grimace, he pushed back from the table. He’d had enough of these men’s fleeting gratitude. Let them toast and sing all they wished; he had no patience for it.

As Cregan limped toward his bedchambers, he barely registered the ache of his broken ribs or the gash that had opened anew beneath his shirt. He only wanted to be away from the empty revelry, the shallow praise ringing out for a battle that had nearly cost them dearly.

Footsteps pattered behind him, quick and hesitant. A young Norrey squire—a lad scarcely sixteen, bruises still smeared across his cheeks like war paint—caught up to him, eyes wide with worry. In his trembling hands was a sealed parchment, its edges marked by the red emblem.

“My lord, this—” the boy hesitated, glancing at the missive. “A letter, from King’s Landing. For Lady Stark.”

Cregan took it, his fingers brushing over the mark of the three-headed dragon, one that he recognized instantly.

The boy watched him expectantly, lingering for any acknowledgement, any glimpse of what lay within. Cregan met his eyes, his tone low. “Get yourself back to the hall, lad. Take a drink or three. You’ve earned it tonight.”

The squire opened his mouth as if to protest, his curiosity plainly written on his face, but one look from Cregan silenced him. The boy nodded, then darted back down the corridor, leaving Cregan alone with the sealed letter and his doubts.

Once the boy’s footsteps faded, he turned the letter over, studying the heavy wax. He knew he shouldn’t, knew it wasn’t meant for his eyes—yet the words of her mother, the queen, were not something he could ignore.

His fingers found the seal, and with a sharp snap, he broke it, unfolding the parchment to reveal the message inside. His eyes scanned the words, tightening with each line.

My dearest Claere,

I wish to speak plainly to you, daughter—I miss you. I admit that, though our time together has felt like an echo from the past, we have not shared sentiments often. I ask not for forgiveness, but for some more time. The hours drift heavily here, and your absence weighs more than I’d like to confess. Not a day goes by without Joff wishing to fly North to see you. Luke yearns to hear your harp when sleep evades him. These rumours of northern threats beyond the Wall trouble me deeply; I pray you are well-shielded. I trust in your lord husband's prowess and familiarity in dealing with such a crisis. Be that as it may, the White Dread was chosen for my little girl, and I expect Luna to guard you as fiercely as I would. If only I could be there. If only you were here. If only you would return... King's Landing is silent without your music. Be safe, always. Please come home when you can.

All my love, Mummy.

Cregan scanned the short letter, his brow knitting at the unfamiliar, graceful hand, and then he saw the name at the end: Mummy. It was a simple word, yet it carried the weight of something far larger—a reminder that Claere, fierce and untouchable as she seemed, belonged to more than Winterfell, that her blood tied her to a family who loved her and feared for her in ways he could never fully understand.

The words were plain, unadorned by politics or courtly flourishes. A mother missed her daughter deeply, openly. It was a rare, raw honesty—one that cut through the cold air and slipped like a dagger into his own misgivings. They would always want her back, wouldn’t they?

Cregan’s mouth softened into a quiet smile, one not often seen on him, as the unguarded sentiment of the letter eased something unspoken within him. He could see her, the Queen, imagining Claere’s presence in King’s Landing as though it were sunlight that could return to warm her halls.

And then, wordlessly, Cregan folded the letter back over itself, his fingers lingering on the delicate, foreign script. He looked into the flame of the nearest candle, watching it flicker and dance with a steady hunger.

He brought the letter closer, not out of spite, nor from any possessiveness. She was his wife, the Lady of Winterfell now. She belonged here, to the people of this North they’d pledged to protect together. No one, not even the Queen, could call her back south as though she were some visiting sparrow, blown north on the wind.

Without another thought, he fed the letter to the flame, watching the edges curl and blacken until the words vanished in the embers. The sentiment would remain, but it needn’t haunt her. If Claere wished to write to her mother, she would. But he would see to it that no one willed her away from her place here.

X

As the North endured its second endless winter, Claere had become a constant warmth within Winterfell’s ancient stone walls. Under her touch, even the frosty Glass Gardens thrived, their flowers and hardy herbs reaching toward the faintest glimmers of sunlight that pierced through the thick, grey clouds. Those who had once eyed her “Valyrian witch-ness” now found themselves drawn to the quiet strength that seemed to emanate from her, as enduring as the snows. It wasn’t just her presence that had transformed Winterfell—it was the way she softened its cold edges, threading warmth and peace through a place of ancient, unyielding stone.

On this particular morning, a group of young women and children gathered around her as she knelt beside a plot of hardy winter herbs. They were bundled in thick wool and furs, their cheeks ruddy from the cold that lingered in the air despite the shelter. Her hands worked deftly, and with a few murmured instructions, the ladies and children followed suit, gingerly reaching to touch the silvery-green leaves and rich soil beneath.

“Careful with that one,” Claere murmured, glancing up at a wide-eyed girl who had eagerly plucked too hard at a sprig of sage. “It bruises easy. Think of it like… well, like a kitten,” she said, her expression gentle. “You don’t hold a kitten like a sword, do you?”

The girl giggled, her hands softening at once, and a ripple of laughter ran through the group.

One of the older women—a stout, spirited lady from Wintertown—leaned closer, her eyes twinkling. “And here I thought you only knew how to keep dragons,” she teased, holding up a plucked stem with exaggerated delicacy. “I don’t suppose there’s a dragon-sized watering can hidden here, is there?”

Claere’s lips quirked, a faint smile breaking through her usual composed expression. “A dragon can be a bit impatient for that,” she said, glancing out toward the sky as if she could glimpse Luna hovering above. “I think the herbs would have much to fear if Luna were here to tend to them.”

Her joke, dry as it was, sparked laughter around the little circle, and the ladies exchanged knowing glances. They hadn’t seen this side of her often—a hint of playfulness, a softening of her typically solemn gaze. That was carefully tucked away for her husband. It was as though Winterfell had unlocked something within her, a part of her that even she hadn’t known could flourish here in the frozen North.

One of the children tugged at her sleeve, peering up at her with wide eyes. “Lady Claere, does Luna like sage too?” he asked, half-believing that her dragon might sneak into the gardens for a nibble.

Claere looked down, arching a delicate brow as if pondering the question with great seriousness.

“Oh, she does,” she said at last, with a solemn nod. “But only on special occasions. Perhaps if you listen very closely next time, you’ll hear her roaring approval.”

The children’s laughter rang out as they exchanged delighted glances, enchanted by the thought. “Luna the Herb Dragon!”

Winter might reign outside, bitter and endless, but within these walls, Claere had brought a touch of spring. As she returned to her work, she noticed how the women and children moved around her with gentleness and reverence, as though something sacred lived within the soil of these gardens.

Yet, as much as Winterfell had warmed to her, Claere remained just a little apart from the world around her. Hiding in plain sight. Her rhythms were her own; she moved in the night, a lone figure tracing the silent halls or slipping through the gardens as though she communed with the very roots of the castle. Her soft, unearthly songs drifted through the corridors like a balm, weaving into the silence, and at times it felt as though the stones themselves listened, her voice soothing the ancient shadows within them. At first, her night wanderings had unsettled the Northmen—they had seen her as strange, perhaps even touched by some kind of magic. But in time, her strangeness became familiar, her presence like an old, comforting tale whispered through Winterfell.

Cregan knew her better than anyone. He lay awake on those nights, waiting for the familiar sound of her steps, the soft murmur of her voice drifting through the dark. Her habits delighted him now, even as they stirred a strange, gentle ache in his heart. To him, she was always a marvel, something fragile and fierce, woven from both ice and flame. When he heard her moving through their chambers one winter’s night, he felt the faintest tug of worry—she wasn’t sleeping again, even on a night as bone-deep cold as this.

Rising from bed, he watched her for a moment, noting the faraway look in her eyes as she slipped toward the door, muttering faintly about the cold. It was as if some part of her was still dreaming, lost in a place only she could see.

He reached out, catching her gently by the arm. “Where are you going, love, hm?”

She blinked, looking up at him with hazy, half-lidded eyes, but said nothing, only murmured something soft, half to herself. “They're waiting in the Godswood. They're waiting for him.”

“Well, you can't be late,” he played along.

A sleepy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth; she was barely aware of him. He could have insisted she go back to bed and pulled her close, but he knew her too well. This was Claere—the woman who found solace in the moonlight and sang lullabies to the night itself.

He knelt before her, his hands steady as he reached for her bare feet. The chill in her skin made his brows knit, a fleeting twinge of worry threading through his affection. Still, he said nothing, only holding her ankle as he slipped on one of her shoes, then the other, his touch lingering a moment too long, feeling the frailness of her bones beneath his fingers.

“There. Now you can wander all you want,” he murmured, his voice soft with tenderness, a faint smile breaking through his concern. He brushed a thumb against her ankle, gently, as if to tether her to him before he let her go.

He rose to his feet, letting his hand linger on her shoulder as she drifted past him, her gaze already turning away. He stayed by the door, watching her until her figure melted into the shadows, her voice carrying through the silence, low and unhurried.

“Dreamy girl,” he muttered.

His heart swelled with a fierce, helpless love that no words could ever name. Claere—who was more like a dream than anyone he had ever known. Claere, who had brought him laughter, warmth, and mystery in equal measure.

As he returned to bed, he laughed quietly to himself. Settling back under the furs, he closed his eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips. This winter might be full of long, dark nights, but Claere’s warmth, her fire, was his own light in the cold.

What Cregan had not anticipated was how the stillness would settle over him that second winter. Two years. Nearly two years, and still, Claere’s belly remained unchanged, her slender form untouched by the promise of new life, her beauty as unmarred as the fresh snows in Winterfell’s courtyard each dawn.

Every night he held her, careful and considerate, as if she were made of something rare and breakable. But no amount of care or reverence had yielded the result he craved. His mind circled back on itself, questioning, doubting. Had he not proven himself worthy of her? Was he lacking in some way? He kept her well-fed, saw to her health, and watched as she grew stronger, more radiant—but that was not enough. Could it be him?

Swallowing his pride, he had sought counsel from the maester. The old man, wise and accustomed to all manner of concerns, had looked at him with a wry glint in his eye, perhaps a touch amused by Cregan’s uncharacteristic hesitancy.

“Take heart, my lord,” Maester Kennet had said, adjusting the weight of his maester’s chain. “There are herbs—strong ones, mind you. Wild roots from the Neck, saffron to be steeped in strongwine for three days. I’ve known it to aid many an anxious lord.”

The maester cleared his throat and went on, raising an eyebrow with an air of scholarly detachment. “And, if I may suggest… there are other... techniques, shall we say? Old wisdom passed down amongst the Southerners. Positioning makes a difference, particularly if the woman lies with her legs raised afterwards. It is believed to… encourage the seed to settle.”

Cregan pinched the bridge of his nose, torn between horror and bemusement. “You’re telling me to stand the poor girl on her head?”

The maester’s mouth quirked in the faintest smile. “Then it is also said that lavender oil rubbed on the skin under a new moon has coaxed many a reluctant heir into the world.”

“Lavender oil,” Cregan had muttered with a dour smile, caught between laughing at the absurdity of it all and throwing the list of remedies to the fire. “I’d wager Claere has plenty lying about. Have you noticed?”

The maester gave him a bemused look, raising a brow. “My lord?”

“Her scent—” Cregan paused, feeling strangely self-conscious but pressing on, his tone gruff. “Nothing like it grows in the Seven Kingdoms.”

The maester’s eyes twinkled with a faint, knowing smile. “Ah,” he said, “that would be spiceflower. A rare herb from the shores of Essos. Few use it; fewer still wear it. Quite the exotic choice.”

Cregan frowned, leaning back as he took this in. “Spiceflower…” he echoed, before shaking his head with a reticent chuckle. “And here I am, a lusty fool—yet still lacking in heirs.”

The maester chuckled, not unkindly. “Indeed, my lord. It’s a wonder you and Lady Stark had such trouble, considering. But, if I may say so, love often demands patience of the heart, even from those who burn like wildfire. Give it time. Try a few of the, ah… suggestions. And rest assured, the gods often surprise us in their timing.”

“Patience,” Cregan grumbled, scratching his jaw. “I’ll add that to the list, then.”

But the remedies had only deepened his frustration, leaving him feeling like a man grasping at shadows. None had yielded anything but silence, each attempt an echo lost to the biting chill of Winterfell. He wanted to give Claere this gift, this proof of their love—a legacy to carry forth into a new generation. Yet each passing month left him feeling more hollow, his hope thinning like frost in the morning sun, only to harden again when the day grew cold.

That night, as he lay beneath the furs, his hopes and fears pressed down upon him unrelentingly. Each failed attempt played through his mind like a song, one that had grown weary and out of tune. He had taken every herb, every supposed cure, had prayed to every god he could think of, but the same aching quiet remained.

Beside him, Claere lay in her own peaceful silence, her head resting on his chest, her fair hair spilling over his skin like silken snow. Her eyes, a deep, unwavering violet, watched him with a gentleness that felt almost mystical, and at that moment, he felt his turmoil ebb, if only for a heartbeat. She seemed so serene, untouched by the storm that raged within him. He envied her calm, even as he knew she might not share the same fierce desire for an heir that he did.

But her presence was a balm all its own. His hand came up almost absently to stroke her hair, his fingers tangling in those soft, pale locks as he held her to him, drawing comfort from her touch. Yet even that could not dispel the worry that gnawed at him—a worry that, unspoken, loomed between them like the darkness that lay just beyond the hearth’s glow.

“What troubles you?” she murmured, her voice breaking through the quiet like a peaceful thaw.

He exhaled, reluctant to confess the depth of his worries, but knowing that they’d continue to haunt him if he kept silent. “It’s been nearly two years, Claere,” he said, voice hushed and tinged with sorrow. “Even summer draws close, yet still…”

She raised her brow, her expression puzzled. “Still…?”

He paused, his fingers brushing absently through her hair. “Some might think our marriage has… gone cold. They may say that I’ve been unable to…” He trailed off, cursing his own pride for the thousandth time.

Her eyes softened as if she didn’t fully understand the meaning his words bore. But then she asked, in that quiet way of hers, “How many do you want, then?”

Her question caught him off guard, and he let out a short, surprised laugh. “How many?”

“Yes,” she replied with a small smile, tilting her head. “How many babes?”

He sighed, gazing up at the ceiling as he thought. “Five,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “Maybe… six?”

She gasped, eyes wide in mock horror, laughter hidden in their depths. “Six! If you want six, Cregan, you’ll be carrying some of them yourself.”

He laughed, the sound rough and warm, as some of his tension dissolved. “Aye. I wish I could, I'd carry them all,” he admitted, a smile tugging at his lips. “You and I—we’d make fine parents. I’m certain of it.”

She watched him, her gaze as steady as ever. “Then perhaps I should speak to Maester Kennet tomorrow,” she said as if it were the simplest solution in the world.

He shook his head, chuckling softly. “I already have. He gave me more herbs than I know what to do with. And more ideas than any man could rightly attempt in a lifetime. Saffron, lavender oil, wild roots… I fear I may a grow a Glass Garden within my skin.”

A small laugh escaped her, easing her features and stirring a wildness within him. “And what other… techniques did he mention, hm?”

He rolled her over with a sudden, playful surge of energy, a breathless gasp slipping from her as he moved above her, his mouth brushing her neck, his voice low and teasing.

“Oh, there were a few obscene ones, my love. Even I flushed at some,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “And I intend to try every last one of them, with your leave.”

She laughed, her rare and sweet sound filling the dark room, and his heart pounded as he held her close. He pushed a soft trail of kisses down her neck, the length of her collarbone, between her breasts, all the way to the curve of her navel. Her back arched off the bed, eyes rolling back into her head, a moan filling the silence.

“Ah,” he hummed into the seam of her legs, hefting them over his shoulder, “they're working already.”

For a time, the weight of his worries faded, leaving only her laughter and warmth, and the shared comfort of their embrace.

X

Claere sat alone by the low fire in Winterfell’s solar, her fingers drifting absently over the curve of her belly. Her gaze fell softly to the flame, her eyes half-lidded as though seeing something—or someone—beyond the walls of the castle, beyond the falling snow, stretching out all the way to Dragonstone.

In the flickering warmth, she began to murmur, her words barely above a whisper, yet steady, each one filled with quiet conviction. She’d imagined this conversation many times in her heart, but tonight it felt real, as if the distance between her and her mother, Rhaenyra, had fallen away, leaving only the intimacy of a daughter’s voice.

"Mother,” she began, a wistful smile playing on her lips, “I write this at a time when your presence is much missed here. I know you’d ask me of Winterfell, of life so far from what I was raised to know. And you’d wonder if I feel lost here if this place could ever be called home.” The words hung in the air, half question, half answer.

She took a deep breath, her hand resting gently on the small swell of her belly. “There’s a peace here, a rootedness,” she said, her gaze softening. "I have found love here—no less fierce than what I saw you hold for my brothers, what you taught us to dream of. Cregan is not a man who bends easily to others, nor would he take kindly to this North being called ‘strange’ or ‘harsh,’ for he loves it as truly as any man loves a woman. And through him, I have learned to love it too. To find warmth in these stones and shelter in the cold air."

The fire crackled, sending a flicker of shadow over her face, and her hand lingered on her belly with a tenderness that almost surprised her. She felt the life within her stir, a promise she hadn’t realized she’d waited her whole life to fulfil.

“I am with child, Mummy,” she murmured as if confessing to a dream. "And I know it in my very bones—she is a girl. A bright, wild soul, even now. She has your courage, your spirit, I feel it already."

Her gaze lifted, as though her mother could see her from across the ages.

“She is to be named Rhaenyra, to carry your legacy in this faraway land. She will be raised a Stark, she'll be who her father was, and have all the strength you gave me.”

Her voice softened, almost breaking. “I am so happy here. I am so far from you, and yet so close in my heart.”

As the fire’s light dimmed and the night grew quiet, Claere closed her eyes, feeling a warmth settle in her chest. She leaned back in her chair, as though her mother was present in the room with her, holding her in an unbreakable embrace across the many miles and years.

X

Sansa’s voice softened, echoing faintly off the stone walls of the crypts. She kept her gaze steady on the statues of Cregan and Claere, her eyes tracing the faint details carved into the faces that seemed so solemn, so eternal.

“Did you know, Tyrion,” she began, her voice low and measured, “they lost their firstborn? A daughter.”

Tyrion’s surprise flickered across his face. He’d thought he knew every corner of their story, but this was new—a shadow hidden even from the pages of history. “A daughter?” he murmured, almost to himself.

Sansa’s gaze didn’t shift, fixed on the cold, unyielding faces of the statues. “Claere had her labours too soon,” she continued, each word an echo of some deeper grief as if she could feel the loss herself. “They say she came in the sixth moon. Cregan had been away to the Wall then. The midwives refused to speak of her to him, and those who did wished they hadn’t.”

Tyrion tilted his head, watching Sansa as if trying to read some forgotten history from her expression. “Why?” he asked, voice hushed, as if afraid to disturb the old shadows around them.

“They said she was a beast—unlike anything seen in these lands,” Sansa replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Old Nan told Bran once, that babe had scales as a dragon might, a hole where the heart was, but there was a wildness too—fur at her ears, horns at her brow.” Her hand drifted unconsciously to her own temple. “She was a creature of fire and ice.”

Tyrion’s face was hard to read, the curiosity in his eyes mixed with sorrow. “What happened to the baby?”

Sansa’s lips parted, the sadness settling deeper into her voice. “The White Dread cremated her.” She paused, her eyes on the statue of Claere, whose gaze seemed cast into some unseen distance. “They say her flames burned hotter than any fire the North had ever known until nothing remained of the child but ash in the wind.”

The silence that followed was thick, weighted with memories that did not belong to them. Tyrion stared at the statues, feeling the chill of the crypt press into his skin.

“Said it was a curse,” Sansa continued, her voice as steady as the stones surrounding them. “Some called it retribution for Claere’s dragon blood mingling with that of the wolf's. Others believed it was Winterfell’s vengeance for the foreign blood she brought to this house.”

“Curses… superstitions. Idiocy,” Tyrion muttered, though the words felt hollow in his mouth. He searched the statues’ faces as though they might offer some defiance, some challenge to the grim fate that had haunted them.

Sansa nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving Cregan and Claere’s statues. “Oh, how wrong they all were.”

X

The grief preyed on Cregan like a huntsman, aimed and unrelenting. He hadn’t been there when his daughter took her first—and only—breath. He hadn’t seen her small, twisted form, hadn’t held her lifeless body, hadn’t even seen the ash left in the pyre after Luna’s flames claimed her. All he had were the fractured whispers, the midwives' hushed tales of scales and horns, monstrous whispers that haunted him as he lay awake. They told him the babe was a creature—a child neither fully beast nor fully human, a twisted relic of a bloodline cursed.

And Claere… she had flown, disappeared across the bleak Northern sky on the back of her dragon. It had been a week of silence, of endless, hollow waiting. Every day he’d woken with a sliver of hope that she’d return, that she hadn’t simply left him behind to grieve alone. But each night she didn’t return felt like losing her all over again, as though the world had claimed not one but both of his girls. Perhaps she had gone back to her kin, her Targaryen blood too thick to weather Winterfell’s shadows. He was simply too removed into his head to send word.

When she did return, landing under the cold light of dawn, Cregan could scarcely face her. He felt his eyes torch in his head when he saw her, haggard and dirtied, travelling gods know where.

What could he say? How could he look into those fierce violet eyes, knowing she had borne their grief alone, toiling for two days to bring their daughter into a world that had torn her away before she’d even lived? He could feel the shame curling in his stomach like a sickness—he had left her to the darkest of agonies.

But Claere approached him with a stillness he hadn’t expected, a haunted calm in her eyes as she knelt at his feet, hands on her knees, her head bowing low.

“Forgive me, Cregan,” she said, her voice a hollow murmur, barely more than a breath against the cold. She kept her gaze lowered, refusing to meet his eyes. “The cost has been paid. For the lives I claimed, this was… the price. I've always known. I knew it would come. This burden should only be mine to bear.”

He looked down, stunned into silence. Her words echoed in the room, colder than the stone walls around them, more cutting than any blade. He could feel a sharp ache twisting in his chest as he understood her meaning—understood that in her mind, the world had claimed their child as retribution for the men she’d burned, for the blood she had spilt.

“And for that,” she continued, her voice steady but edged with sorrow, “I am yours to punish, in any way you see fit. If you’d have me return to my brother, I’ll leave. If you’d have my life… it’s yours to take.”

Cregan’s gaze snapped to her, raw anger surging up from the depths of his grief. He wanted to scream, to rage, to tear down the walls around them in his fury. But the sight of her—so proud, yet kneeling before him with her shoulders bent under the weight of guilt—left him hollow. He watched her as she knelt, holding back tears with an unyielding resolve, the faintest tremor betraying the walls she had raised around herself. For once, her impassive mask was cracking, and he could see the sorrow underneath, the grief she had borne alone in silence.

He reached out, his rough fingers brushing her chin as he tilted her face upward, meeting her eyes at last. Tears brimmed there, held back with stubborn defiance, but as she looked at him, something within her broke. Her features twisted, and in a raw, heart-wrenching sob, she let her grief fall free.

“I deserve this. I did this,” she whimpered.

It devastated him. Every ounce of anger he had felt, every bitter thought and word he’d held onto, melted away as he pulled her into his arms. Held her close until her breaths became his.

“No,” he said roughly, “please don't, Claere.”

She sobbed against his chest, her tears soaking into the rough fabric of his tunic, her frame trembling with each wrenching gasp. And as he held her, he, too, felt their shared sorrow, a grief so deep it felt like the cold itself had seeped into his bones.

Cregan let out a shattered sob, pressing his face into her hair, his hand running along her back in a desperate attempt to soothe her.

“I love you,” he promised, his rough voice broken with feeling. “And I would kill another thousand men before you blame yourself for this tragedy.”

“Forgive me,” she wept softly.

“No, hush, love. I have you, I don't want anyone else.”

They clung to each other, their sorrow woven together, a single thread in a tapestry of loss and love. And as the dawn light began to creep into the chamber, illuminating the room with a pale, ghostly glow, they mourned not just for the daughter they had lost, but for the life they had dreamed of—a life now gone, scattered like ashes in the wind.

X

Tyrion turned to Sansa, brow creased in confusion as he took in the significant words of her story. "They had children, did they not? Of their own?"

Sansa’s lips curved into a gentle smile, a glimmer of pride and sorrow mingling in her eyes. "They did," she replied, her voice quiet, almost reverent, as though speaking of something sacred.

“Four pups," she said. "Their eldest, they called the White Wolf."

Her gaze drifted to a tall statue a little ways from where Cregan and Claere’s likenesses stood. “That’s him, Brandon Stark," she explained. "Even in stone, you can see it in him. Brandon didn't get to rule until his twenty-ninth nameday.”

Tyrion's brow furrowed again, curiosity mingling with amusement. "And did Brandon have a dragon, then?" he mused. "Strange that I don’t recall any Stark children riding one."

Sansa gave a small, enigmatic shrug. “None of their cradle eggs hatched," she replied, her voice touched by a hint of irony. "Maybe our blood is too rooted in the ground, too determined for such Valyrian magic.”

Her words hung in the cold air, and for a moment, neither spoke. Tyrion could almost picture it—a line of Northern children, each with an unhatched egg at their bedside, bound by tradition and yet untouched by it. The eggs must have been exquisite: shimmering, dormant things, packed into chests or set aside in the Godswood. And there they lay, silent reminders of a legacy Claere had hoped to pass on but that Winterfell had quietly refused.

He looked over at Sansa, who was gazing at her ancestors with a rare softness. “Perhaps it’s for the best,” she murmured, almost to herself. “They needed no fire when they had the North.”

X

Claere stood behind Cregan, a faint smirk pulling at her lips as she tugged at a single strand of white hair stubbornly sprouting from his crown. Cregan winced, catching her gaze in the mirror with a halfhearted glare, though a small smile betrayed him. She leaned closer, brushing a lock of her own silver hair over her shoulder, its colour unchanged despite the years.

He turned to look up at her, taking in the gentle pride in her eyes, the warmth that had softened the cool distance she’d carried with her from King’s Landing. She had become the heart of Winterfell as surely as he was its spine; they had grown into each other, their love deepening with each new season. And now, they shared a life that seemed less of battle and duty, and more of small, cherished moments like this one.

"Careful," she teased, her fingers gently releasing the strand. "You’ve finally been touched by winter itself. White hair suits you, Lord Stark."

He gave a huff, rolling his eyes as he rubbed at his scalp where she’d tugged. “A Targaryen would think so. Means something different here in the North.”

“I think you look rather handsome,” she murmured.

Cregan raised an eyebrow, catching her gaze in the mirror. “Is that so?”

Claere smiled softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting it linger. “That is so.”

He was about to pull her in by her waist when, soon enough, Brandon’s mop of silver curls and wide grey eyes peeked over the door, and he strolled straight over and hauled himself up to sit on the dresser, swinging his legs and looking for all the world like he’d earned his spot.

The Stark children of Winterfell were a sight to behold, each one as distinct as the seasons that marked the North, yet bound together by the fierce blood that ran in their veins. Brandon Stark, the eldest, was born to an inheritance of heavy expectation and watchful eyes, his white hair gleaming starkly against the dark winters of his home. His labour marked the end of Claere and Cregan's grieving for their daughter, a silver lining that shone so bright after a two-year dark night. Though he bore his father’s strong frame and presence, his colouring made him seem almost unnatural, a blend of Stark and Targaryen that whispered of magic and legend. Brandon wore his status quietly, already showing a sombre diligence that mirrored his father’s. He was a boy who thought twice before speaking and thrice before acting—much to the exasperation of his younger siblings.

"Where’s your sister?” Cregan asked, quirking an eyebrow as he studied his eleven-year-old son, who’d already snuck his hands around the hilt of the longsword that leaned against the dresser.

Brandon grinned, mischief dancing in his eyes. “With Ed and Rickon. They said they’re going to try and mount Luna again.”

Cregan sighed, feeling the weight of fatherhood settle on him as solidly as the cloak over his shoulders. “I ought to tie all their feet together and hang them from that damned beast. I told you, Claere, to not feed the children with this madness.”

Claere chuckled, her fingers deftly weaving a section of his hair as if considering another silver culprit. “Luna wouldn't hurt what is mine. She's harmless.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed, but before he could retort, Claere gave another tug at a hidden strand, and he winced, swatting her hand away with a grumble.

“Have mercy, my love.”

Brandon’s eyes narrowed, fixing on his mother’s hand as she toyed with the strand, and he frowned. “Why are you doing that to Father?”

Claere’s smile softened as she looked from her husband to her son. “Because your father needs reminding now and then,” she murmured, her fingers finding his shoulders, “that even the strongest oak grows older with time.” She paused, ruffling Brandon’s hair with a gentle hand. “But don’t you worry. Your father is just as fierce as he was before.”

“She secretly loves it,” Cregan stage-whispered to his son, winking.

Brandon tilted his head thoughtfully, then gave a firm nod. “Father’s the strongest, even with grey hair.”

Cregan smirked, giving his son a warm, prideful glance. “Is that so? And what would you know about it, hm?”

Brandon shrugged, his small fingers still dancing around the hilt of Cregan’s sword. “Just… know it,” he said, nodding to himself as if his future strength were already assured. His gaze never left the blade, drawn to the legacy it carried. “One day, I’ll be as strong as you. I'll hold up Ice with a single fist.”

Cregan’s hand settled over his son’s, a gentle, knowing grasp that made Brandon look up, wide-eyed. “Strength’s more than what you hold in your hands, little wolf. It’s in here.” He tapped a finger against Brandon’s chest. “And in here.” A finger to his forehead. “Takes both to be worthy of a sword.”

Brandon looked between them, his brow furrowing slightly as if contemplating a great secret he wasn’t yet old enough to understand. He nodded solemnly, absorbing his father’s words with the gravity only a boy on the brink of his first ambitions could muster.

But before Cregan could say more, the door burst open, slamming into the wall, sending a gust of laughter and hurried footsteps echoing through the room. Rickon came barreling in, his face flushed with a wild grin, with Edric hot on his heels, a look of determined fury in his eyes. Rickon glanced back, cackling in delight, his feet carrying him just out of his younger brother’s reach.

Rickon, only seven, was a restless fire. He was the second-born son, wild and spirited, already proving to be as headstrong as he was loyal. He bore no outward trace of his mother’s Valyrian heritage—no silver in his hair, no unnatural glint to his grey eyes. Rickon was a Stark, through and through, with a fierce heart that sometimes got him into trouble. He had none of Brandon’s careful restraint; instead, he charged into life with the boundless energy of a wolf pup, bringing both chaos and laughter to Winterfell’s quiet halls. And he was adored for it, a boy who could lighten the darkest day with his mischief.

“Tell him, Bran! Tell our baby brother he's a big bonehead!” Rickon called, flashing a triumphant smirk over his shoulder.

“You're dead, Rickon!” Edric, face red and eyes alight with indignation, launched himself forward, intent on tackling Rickon.

The twins, Eddric and Luce, were only five but already made their mark. Eddric, the quietest of the brood, had a stillness about him that spoke of an inner strength. People said he was his father’s mirror in his younger years, with a steady gaze and a quietness that hid the steady turn of thought. He followed Brandon with a silent loyalty, never complaining, always watching. Although, his second brother always loved to keep him on his toes.

Brandon, ever the mediator, hopped off the vanity, stepping in front of his brothers, raising his small hands in a peaceable gesture that was years beyond his age.

Behind them, little Lucelle slipped quietly into the room, trailing her brothers with a gentler, watchful presence. Without a word, she gravitated toward her mother, slipping her small hand into Claere’s skirt folds, her delicate fingers clutching fabric as though it held all the comfort of the world. Claere smiled down at her daughter, brushing a gentle hand over Luce’s pale braid and planting a light kiss on her head.

Luce, by contrast to her brothers, was as loud as she was small, a tempest wrapped in a child’s form. Though she bore her father’s colouring, she had her mother’s violet eyes—bright, sharp, and entirely too knowing. Even at five, she held herself with fierce pride and a pearl of uncanny wisdom, and when she spoke, she did so with the quiet authority of someone far older.

“How was Luna today?” Claere asked her softly.

Luce leaned into her mother’s touch, her thumb idly rubbing the soft fabric, an unspoken bond of safety. “We barely even got to her before Ed and Rick started fighting. Idiots.”

“You cannot call your brothers that,” Claere hushed her, muffling the smile that cracked into her stern voice.

“Bran calls them that,” she opposed.

“Rickon told me I’m the spare!” Edric’s voice broke through the laughter, his hurt undeniable, despite the fire in his glare as he fixed it on Rickon. “He told me Mum only wanted Luce, and I was extra!”

Brandon sighed, glancing at Rickon with a slight shake of his head. “Rick…”

Rickon crossed his arms, his smirk deepening. “He is. It’s not like Mum has a choice with you.”

With a fierce growl, Edric launched himself at his older brother again, fists ready, but before he could strike, a strong arm reached down, lifting him clean off the ground. Cregan held him firmly, his son’s small body squirming in his grasp, and Edric’s indignation filled the room like thunderclouds gathering.

“Let me go, Da! I’ll pound him to dust!” Edric howled, kicking his legs in protest, though Cregan’s arms held fast.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Cregan said, his tone dry, though there was a glimmer of warmth in his eyes as he held Edric up at arm’s length. “And what will that solve, lad? Leave a wily little fox like you to guard Winterfell alone? The walls themselves would flee.”

Edric scowled, struggling a bit as he dangled, though a faint smirk touched his lips. “I'm a wolf like you, Da,” he grumbled, still glaring at Rickon. “One day, I’ll be older, and I’ll pin him to the wall myself.”

Rickon, with a shrug and a careless smirk, crossed his arms. “When pigs fly, little brother,” he teased, the mischief in his voice unshakable.

Brandon, standing nearby with his arms folded, smacked the back of Rickon’s head lightly. “Why can't you pick on someone your own size?”

Rickon grinned at his older brother, shrugging off the swat as though it were nothing. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Cregan finally set Edric down, though his hand lingered on the boy’s shoulder to steady him. “Enough, all of you,” he said, his tone slipping into the low authority of a lord. “If you waste your energy fighting each other, we’re no better than hounds snarling over scraps.”

Edric pouted, but a look of consideration passed over his face. He mumbled under his breath, glancing at Rickon. “One day, though, I will be stronger.”

Rickon rolled his eyes, though a grin tugged at his lips as he tousled Edric’s hair. “And I’ll still be faster, so good luck with that.”

Brandon sighed, sounding far older than his ten years, and levelled a stern look at his younger brothers. “Don't make me knock your heads together.”

Edric scowled, scratching his jaw—his father's habit—glancing down before muttering, “I won't punch you, Rickon… I guess.”

Rickon, ever the little rogue, didn’t miss a beat. With a quick, sidelong glance at his younger brother, he gave his little brother's bottom a playful smack.

“There—apology accepted,” he laughed, darting out of reach.

Edric’s eyes went wide, and without another word, he took off after his brother, his face red again. “I’m going to kill you, you rat!”

Rickon only laughed harder, his steps light and quick as he ducked between the furniture and made for the door. The sound of their laughter and footsteps filled the room, echoing off the stone walls with a warmth that could thaw even Winterfell’s chill.

Claere looked back to Cregan, the glint of amusement unmistakable in her gaze. She rested a hand on his shoulder, her voice low but carrying a hint of shared mischief.

“Maybe we ought to tie all of their feet together,” she mused, a spark dancing in her eye.

Cregan chuckled, shaking his head as he watched the boys tumble after each other. He kissed the top of her head. “No need, love. They’re bound already.”

Claere’s smile muffled as Cregan’s gaze drifted to their daughter, his expression melting into one of pure adoration. He opened his arms, and Luce scurried over and nestled into him with a giggle. He swept her up, dirty skirts and all, cuddling her to his chest.

"C’mere, Luce. My little queen. Sweetling. Sunshine." he murmured, punctuating every endearment with a kiss. He pressed a flurry of kisses to her cheeks, each one met with a small, shy smile as she clung to his tunic, basking in his affection.

“Oh, your brothers are a handful, but I’ve got you, haven’t I?” he murmured into her hair, his voice a low, affectionate rumble.

Luce nodded, her tiny fingers curling around his collar as if to hold him close. “I'll tie them onto Luna for you, Da,” she said, her voice just loud enough for him to hear.

Cregan laughed, glancing up at Claere, who watched them, almost in pride. “She’ll keep this family in line,” he joked, his eyes dancing as he gave Claere a knowing look. “Someone’s got to.”

Claere smirked, brushing a stray lock of Luce’s hair back with a gentle hand. “It seems she’s the only one who can keep even you in line.”

Just then, a thump and a crash from the hallway sent a ripple of laughter through them as Rickon, Bran, and Edric clattered into view, wrestling in an entangled heap of elbows, snarls and shouts.

Cregan shook his head, still holding Luce close. “I’ll give them ten minutes before they’re back, claiming mortal wounds over a scraped knee or bruised pride.”

Claere laughed, her fingers trailing over Luce’s shoulder as she murmured, “So long as they keep coming back… let them bruise as they will.”

For the people of Winterfell, the Stark children were a fascinating sight. They were a blend of old and new, Northern ice and dragon fire, and their presence seemed to promise something powerful and strange. The household had watched them grow with almost reverent awe, and whispers ran through the kitchens and courtyards, soft as the snow: They are of both wolf and dragon, and who knows what their futures hold?

Claere and Cregan raised their children as both wolves and dragons, with love as fierce as winter and discipline as sharp as steel. Each child bore the marks of their parents' contrasting worlds, shaped by the ice of the North and the fire of Claere’s bloodline. Claere had come to Winterfell as a stranger, her Targaryen heritage making her an enigma to the Northern folk, but she carved out her place there with quiet strength. In her children, she found a bridge between past and future, each one a blend of her Valyrian roots and Cregan’s Stark blood.

She mothered them with a firm hand, fiercely protective yet unwilling to shelter them from the hard truths of their world. With Brandon, her eldest, she stoked a sense of duty and honour, guiding him to read the land and the people, to notice what others missed, and to understand that strength was often quiet. He was the heir, the White Wolf, and she reminded him that he held both fire and ice within him. Rickon, wild and reckless as a storm, needed her balance to hold his nature in check. Eddric, the watchful one, often content to linger at the edge, was Cregan's shadow. She knew his quiet was more than shyness; it was the start of wisdom, a Stark-born stillness that watched and weighed.

Cregan, in turn, forged his children in the Northern way, teaching them to endure hardship, to feel the weight of a sword and the pull of a bow, to know that their lives were tied to the land, as old as the wolves carved into the walls of Winterfell. All his boys learned the ways of a leader and his army—the honour in command and the weight of responsibility. Cregan had him stand watch on the battlements, and learn the lay of the North as if it was etched into his veins.

But it was with Luce that both Cregan and Claere softened. She had her father’s face, all Stark and strong-boned, but her mother’s spirit—a quiet ferocity, a softness she wore like armour. Cregan was gentler with her, the daughter who clung to his arm and had him wrapped around her small finger. She was her father’s pride, her mother’s wisdom, and though he would never say it aloud, Cregan often looked at her with the same bemused wonder he’d had for Claere since the day she entered his life.

And so, Winterfell saw the children grow under their parents' steady hand. They were loved fiercely, disciplined with purpose, and shaped by the ancient pillars and endless snow.

One night, Claere sat alone in the dim, quiet room, absently stroking Luce’s hair as she slept on her lap, singing lowly under her breath. It had been a long day, and she found herself missing Cregan’s company with an ache she hadn’t expected. Since the loss of their firstborn, he’d been reluctant to leave her side, especially when his duties called him to the Wall, yet he’d had no choice. The distance unsettled her more than she would admit, and she wondered if he, too, felt the hollow space she sensed at her back.

The soft creak of the door brought her from her thoughts, Claere looked up, her gaze softening as she saw Brandon standing there, silhouetted by the hallway’s faint light. He looked as though he’d come by mistake, and was ready to turn back—but Claere beckoned him with a gentle smile, patting the bed beside her.

So sleep, dear starling, the night is long, with fire in heart and ice in song...

"Come," she whispered.

Brandon’s shoulders relaxed as he slipped into the room, padding quietly across the floor before climbing onto the bed. He settled beside her, leaning his head against her shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of herbs and warmth that always seemed to cling to her. It reminded him of home, of safety—of the softness he didn’t find anywhere else. Claere’s hand continued to pat Luce’s back, but her arm extended to draw him close, letting him sink into her side.

For a while, they sat in silence, Luce’s breathing a lull in the quiet. Then Brandon shifted, and in a low, begrudging whisper, he said, “Why must I share a room with those two?” His tone was layered with exasperation, that distinct note of long-suffering only a brother of younger siblings could manage.

“What have they done now?” Claere’s voice held a hint of amusement.

Brandon sighed as if forced to recount a tale of unending woe. “They broke each other’s noses. Again.”

Claere let out a quiet laugh, and Brandon felt the warmth of it in the vibration of her shoulder against his cheek. “And now, does Rickon still hug Ed in his sleep?” she asked a glimmer of humour in her voice.

Brandon rolled his eyes. “Like I said—idiots,” he muttered, but the faintest of smiles tugged at his lips.

Luce stirred and whined in her sleep, and Claere’s hand returned to gently patting her back, sending her back to slumber with a soft hum.

Brandon’s gaze lingered on his sister, feeling a pang in his chest that he couldn’t name. It was something knotted, tight, a jealousy that tasted bitter at the edges. He wanted to be held like this, to be smiled at so fondly, to be the one looked at so softly, so protectively. He wanted to be more than the heir, the firstborn whose hands were always busy with swords and lessons. He wanted to be his mother’s little one, just as Luce seemed to be.

“Why does she get to sleep here?” he asked, unable to keep the envy from his voice.

Claere paused, her hand stilling on Luce’s back. She looked down at Brandon, and her gaze held an understanding, a sadness that he didn’t entirely comprehend. Her fingers traced a gentle line along his cheek, brushing back a stray lock of his pale hair.

"Because, my son," she said softly, “she is my last child, my small light in the dark. But you…” She cupped his face, turning him to meet her eyes fully, grey and fierce. “You are my first. You taught me what it is to be a mother. The babe I dreamed of long before I ever saw you. I see myself in Luce, but I see my heart in you.”

Brandon’s throat tightened, but he swallowed, the words sinking deep.

She held his gaze, her expression turning serious, almost solemn. “You must promise to protect her, Bran. All of them. You are my strength in this world.”

Brandon nodded, his jaw set, the weight of her words settling on his small shoulders with a sense of duty he was still growing into. His mother’s fierce love, and her gentle guidance—these were the things that built him, a silent armour he wore just as much as his father’s teachings.

Settling his cheek back on her shoulder, he murmured, “Why did my egg never hatch?”

Claere paused, then hummed thoughtfully, her fingers stroking down his arm in a soothing rhythm. “Perhaps,” she replied with a faint smile, “you’re more like your father than me. All of you are, in different ways.”

Her hand came to rest on his head, patting it with an absent fondness. Brandon looked up at her, his young face etched with curiosity. “Could I claim Luna, then?”

“If she’ll have you,” she answered, a hint of amusement coloring her voice. “Though you’ll need more than will to ride her.”

Brandon fell silent, mulling over her words, before he ventured again, his tone almost timid. “Ma?”

Claere hummed, giving him her full attention.

“Could I squire in the South? At Dragonstone. With Uncle Jacaerys?” He looked at her, eyes wide, a trace of longing lingering in his expression.

Claere snickered softly. “Lord Stark will have some thoughts about this. And they won’t be gentle ones.”

“But I know nothing about Targaryen customs, about our family’s ways,” he insisted, his voice carrying an earnest edge. “The things they say—the language, the dreams, Aegon the Conqueror…”

Claere’s gaze softened, and she reached to smooth a lock of Brandon’s silver hair from his face, her fingers lingering in the unruly curls that were so much like her own. She knew the pull he felt, that ache to connect with the other half of himself—the part that carried the blood of dragons, with all its legends and haunted promises. But she also knew Cregan’s thoughts on the matter, thoughts forged not from prejudice but from a bone-deep protectiveness and the history they’d both lived through.

"Your father…” Claere began, choosing her words carefully, “… would rather see you grow as a Stark than a Targaryen.” She smiled softly, though there was a sadness there. “To him, your family—our family—holds too many ghosts.”

Brandon frowned, his young mind wrestling with something he couldn’t fully grasp. “Why does he hate them?” he whispered. “Hate us?”

Claere shook her head. “No, he does not hate you or me. But he’s seen the way Targaryens turn on each other, even on those they love.” Her voice grew quieter, shadows darkening her eyes as memories surfaced, painful ones. “He’s seen the scars they leave behind. He would never want that for you.”

Brandon opened his mouth to protest, but Claere held up a hand, a glimmer of her resolve flashing through. “When I left King’s Landing, I was traded away for powerplay. The heir to the Iron Throne, the daughter who left the dragons behind, the sister who stood apart. To your father, they failed me because they never tried to understand me.” She held his gaze, and there was a spark of fierceness. “Your father gave me what they never could—home, love, belonging. He would never let you go somewhere that could take that from you.”

Brandon looked away, the longing still clear in his face. “But how am I supposed to be both?” he asked, frustration leaking into his voice.

“You don’t have to be both,” Claere said, gently turning his chin so he’d meet her eyes again. “You’re a Stark. Winterfell is your home, and it’s more than enough.” She leaned in, lowering her voice. “And if you ever want to know what the dragons were, or what dreams they carry, you have me.”

She saw the hint of a question on his lips, and she met it with a steady gaze, letting him see the truth, the warmth, the strength she’d carried. "I will tell you all you need to know,” she whispered, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “Of the dreams, the language, the stories of old Valyria. Those are yours to know here, by my side.”

Brandon seemed to consider this, his expression softening, though the flicker of desire still lingered in his eyes. He gave her a slow, uncertain nod as if coming to terms with the truth he didn’t fully understand. He shifted closer to Claere, his gaze drifting to his sleeping sister. With a quiet sigh, his hand rested on Luce’s hair, fingers threading gently through the soft strands, his gaze fixed and calm as he watched his sister sleep. In that small, quiet moment, Claere saw her children—each bound to Winterfell, bound to one another, and bound to her, the blood and heart of her life here in the North.

She leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to both their heads, the warmth of her touch settling over them like a shield. In them, she had forged a legacy as strong as stone, something beyond the name and blood that marked them. Her children would not walk the lonely paths of dreams and ancient fire; they would walk the halls of Winterfell, as Starks and Targaryens both, together, woven in the stark threads of love and loyalty.

“Rest now, my heart,” she whispered to Brandon, her voice soft as snowfall. “All that you are—one day, you’ll understand.”

As Brandon finally closed his eyes, nestled beside his sister, Claere let herself linger, watching over them. The shadows in the room softened, a quiet peace settling in with the deep, Northern night, and in that stillness, it felt as though Winterfell itself held its breath, honouring a family forged from ice and fire.

X

Tyrion lingered before the statues, his fingers tracing an idle path over the stone as he mused, “So, Claere went first.” He shook his head, voice touched with a faint, almost reluctant admiration. “And Cregan… he didn’t last much longer, did he?”

Sansa’s gaze softened, a distant, wistful look in her eyes. “No. It was as if losing her carved him hollow.” She let out a small, sombre breath. “They say he couldn’t bear the thought of life without her. Even his children offered him no solace. His strength faded quickly, and he let it.” Her lips curled with a faint, sad smile. “In the end, he had her bones laid to rest beside him. He’d rather share the crypts than a world without her.”

Tyrion tilted his head, smirking with a dry irony. “Northern sentimentality… burying your wife in your own tomb. Poetic, if a bit possessive.”

Sansa laughed, the sound a soft note in the stillness of the crypt. “It’s the Stark way—blunt and stubborn. But we’re loyal to the end, even in death.”

She let her gaze drift to the statues, her eyes clouding over as the distant sounds of the battle above seeped into the silence, chilling the air around them.

A moment passed before Tyrion’s voice lowered, a touch of dark humour edging his words. “Do you suppose she saw him when she flew past the Wall? The Night King? Did she foresee this—Jon, Daenerys, the dead—all of it?”

Sansa’s lips turned in a grim smile. “Maybe he’ll raise her tonight, and you can ask her yourself.”

Tyrion chuckled, though a touch of unease crept into his voice. “I’d be honoured—though I’d rather she stay silent in their tomb.”

As the rumbling above grew louder, Sansa reached within her cloak and drew out a single winter rose, its pale petals stark against the shadows. She stepped forward, resting it on Claere’s carved hands, nestled within the etched garland of roses across her stone form.

Tyrion watched as Sansa drew back, her gaze never leaving the rose. “A Stark gesture if I’ve ever seen one,” he muttered.

She turned to him, a ghost of a smile lingering. “Some things deserve to be remembered.”

X

The night was a vast, velvet black stretched over Winterfell, the stars scattered in dazzling points of light above them. Claere and Cregan lay side by side on the old, stone battlements, watching the sky. A soft, cool wind rustled her hair, silver in the moonlight, and she felt Cregan’s warmth beside her, steady and familiar, like the rhythm of her own heartbeat.

They had aged together, the sharp lines of youth softened, but neither seemed diminished. If anything, Cregan thought he had never loved her more. They had grown together—each trial they faced only drew them closer. He saw it in her laughter, lighter now, and the ease with which she leaned against him. He turned his gaze to her, taking in the curve of her cheek, and the glint of her eyes as they wandered the heavens above. They’d come so far together—crossing the years like an open field, hand in hand, step by step.

Suddenly, she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “I just saw a star fall!” Her eyes were wide with wonder, her face alight as she nudged him with her elbow.

“A what?” he replied, more amused than astonished, though her excitement tugged a smile from him.

“Look!” she whispered, pointing upwards, her voice laced with awe. “There’s another one.”

In a flash, a streak of silver split the night, fierce and blazing, trailing a tail of white fire that lingered before it vanished. The comet seemed to sweep across the heavens as though chasing some hidden destiny, filling the sky with a brief, impossible brightness.

For a moment, they were both silent, entranced by the spectacle. Cregan watched her as she looked up, her face soft in wonderment, captivated by something he could barely see. And then, with a slow smile, he rolled onto his shoulder, propping himself over her, so he could see the sky reflected in her eyes.

Claere shifted closer, tucking her head under his chin, and he wrapped an arm around her. He could feel her heartbeat, steady and strong against his chest, and he knew there was no place on earth he’d rather be.

Cregan’s gaze swept over her in the dim starlight, a quiet smile tugging at his mouth. “It’s a strange thing,” he murmured, eyes lingering on her, “to think how you looked that first night. Like some ghostly princess… Thought you might drift away before I could reach you.”

Claere tilted her head, a faint, amused smile gracing her lips. “And I thought you might send me back to King’s Landing on the next wheelhouse,” she replied, her tone dry.

Cregan chuckled, his voice soft with something deeper. “I think I’d have moved mountains to make you stay.”

She studied him, her eyes softening with an implicit fondness, one finger tracing the lines of his shoulder. “You always believed I’d fit here, even when I didn’t.” Her voice was almost a whisper, the words slipping out like a confession.

He turned, leaning in closer. “Guess I saw more than a stranger under all that Targaryen pride.” He smirked, kissing her nose. “Stubborn as a Stark, with a Northern heart.”

Claere gave a faint laugh, but her gaze lingered on him, her eyes reflecting the starlight. “You say that now,” she murmured, “but sometimes I still feel like I’ve brought winter itself to your door.”

His voice softened as he drew her nearer. “What about it?”

They fell silent, lost in each other’s eyes. Then, she gasped softly, her hand pressing to his chest as she looked up at the night.

“There it goes again!”

A streak of light tore across the sky, leaving a fiery trail as if some ancient power were tracing its path over the heavens. Her face lit up with childlike wonder, her smile reaching her eyes as she watched the comet blaze overhead.

Cregan chuckled, rolling to his side to get a better view of her expression. “A falling star,” he said, half to himself, “or some sign from the gods.” He leaned in closer, his gaze unwavering. “Doesn’t much matter to me, though. Because the way I see it, you’re all the gift I’ll ever need.”

Her smile softened, her hand finding his, their fingers intertwining as naturally as if they’d always fit that way. “Then make a wish,” she whispered, her voice barely audible against the wind.

“Already have, love,” he replied, brushing his lips against her brow. “And it came true.”

They lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, as the comet burned on, lighting the sky above them. And though the years had weathered them, though battles had come and gone, in that quiet moment on Winterfell’s ancient stones, they knew that their love had endured all things, burning bright long after they were gone.

X

that marks the end of this series! thank you all so much for following along with Cregan and Claere, I am so proud of what I've accomplished in these past few weeks :D I am going to be opening my inbox to requests, and I'm going to post bonus scenes and one-shots of these two if anyone's ever interested!

[ taglist: @pearldaisy , @thatkindofgurl , @theadharablack , @cherryheairt , @beingalive1 , @oxymakestheworldgoround , @tigolebittiez , @cosmosnkaz , @lv7867 , @piper570 , @danikasthings , @acsc8 , @justdazzling ] -> thank you for your endless support everyone!

[jdeclerc]

happy birthday, shadowsinger

pairing: azriel x reader

summary: it's the night before azriel's birthday and he can't help but want you all to himself, politeness and decorum be damned

author's note: i'm a self-proclaimed cassian girlie but az does something to me, i wanted my first fic featuring him to be a happy one...enjoy :)

warnings: smut

word count: 5,728

“Even you can’t slip out unnoticed during your own party, Azriel.”

Azriel can hear the smile in your voice from where he stands facing the kitchen window overlooking the ocean. He wordlessly sends his shadows away, commanding them to ensure the two of you are left alone.

“Who’s to say my plan was to go unnoticed?”

He turns, drinking in your form from where you stand in the kitchen’s doorway.

He had almost been brought to his knees when you exited your shared dressing room hours earlier. Azriel had gone with you too many times not to recognize the pieces you wear as being custom-made by your favourite designer in the rainbow.

The top is made of the most beautiful lace Azriel has every seen, a band of black underneath is the only solid piece. The neckline raises high enough to circle your throat, he had found himself picturing his hand replacing that particular part more times that he cares to admit.

The high-waisted black pants flow down your form like water over rock, two slits running up both sides until they stop near the tops of your thighs. Throughout the night his hands had used every opportunity to slip themselves beneath the fabric, your skin against his own being a feeling he will chase for eternity.

But it is the vision of you now that has him thinking himself the luckiest male in all of Prythian.

You had removed your shoes at some point throughout the night, the intricate style of your hair had been replaced by a beautifully messy knot at the top of your head, and your jewellery had been abandoned in various places, the only piece remaining being the band he had placed on your finger two centuries ago.

You embody everything he deems to mean home, to mean comfort and safety.

“What if my plan was this? To have you all to myself?”

The kitchen is empty save for the two of you, the only noise being the music filtering in from the sitting room.

“You have me Azriel…any way you wish, any time you desire, I am yours.”

He can’t help his smile as he extends his right hand out toward you, a silent invitation for you to approach.

“Dance with me?”

Your eyes don’t stray from his as you close the distance, your left hand meeting his right. He takes your right hand and places both around his neck. His arms come to circle your waist, drawing you in as close as he is able. His wings follow suit, framing the two of you where you stand.

Azriel begins slow movements as he rests his head atop where yours is tucked under his jaw, brushing his lips across your forehead. A song he recognizes as one from your mating ceremony begins playing in the other room. After a moment he begins singing for only you to hear.

Azriel has let only those in his immediate family hear him sing, them being the only fae in existence aware that the ‘singer’ portion of his title rings true. He has only sung for them a handful of times, usually only doing so when faerie wine has gotten the best of him.

It was the expression on your face after the first time you heard him sing that erased any fear he held about your reaction. From that moment he never once denied your requests to hear him sing. You know him too well to ask in front of the other members of the Inner Circle, asking him only in the sacred space of your shared home. He will never get used to the waves of love and adoration you send down the bond when he sings for you.

As the song ends, Azriel begins quietly humming along with the one that follows, pulling both of you further into a moment meant only for the two of you. Neither of you dare to break the cocoon of quiet that surrounds you, moments such as these happening not nearly often enough.

Azriel isn’t sure how much time passes before you break the silence.

“I’m sorry if the party is too much, Cas and Rhys insisted on a night of revelry and debauchery…a gathering, at our house, with just our family, was the best I could get them down to.”

Your voice comes out hushed, like speaking at a regular volume would break the spell of the moment.

“I’m not even sure I want to know what it took to change their minds.” Amusement laces Azriel’s response. “And for it to be on the night before my birthday rather than the day of? You must be a sorceress.”

“It wasn’t quite that dramatic…I simply began telling them how I plan for the two of us to not leave our bed on your birthday, and of all the things we would be getting up to. That seemed to lessen their resolve.”

You can feel Azriel’s hands tighten where they rest on your waist, his head lowering until you feel the brush if his lips against your ear.

“I imagine it would…care to let me in on the details of what you told them?”

“I only got to tell them that I would be too sore for training the following day and that my voice would be strained from screaming your name before they feigned retching and begged me to stop.”

Azriel’s laugh is impossibly deep, the tone causing an involuntary wave of desire to shoot from your end of the bond. The air almost instantly changes, the scents of your respective arousals twisting and twining in the air around you as your gazes lock.

Azriel’s hands move to the backs of your thighs, lifting you into his arms and wrapping your legs around his waist. He moves forward until he can set you down on the closest counter, positioning himself between you and the doorway leading out of the kitchen. His look is nothing short of predatory as he stares down at you.

His right hand comes to rest on your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. His left moves from your waist and begins toying with the base of your top, the small, black buttons being the only thing that stands between him and your bare skin beneath his hands.

Your hands tighten their grip on either side of his neck as you bring your lips against the base of his ear.

“Damage even one button and I will cut you down…the Night Court will be in need of a new spymaster.”

Azriel leans far enough back to meet your eye and gives you a scandalized look in return. Despite his look his hands retreat to either side of your waist, his thumbs brushing beneath the hem of your top.

“So very violent…I would never dare to do such a thing, my love. Do you think so little of me?”

You respond with a raised eyebrow, both of you knowing his accounts list numerous trips throughout Velaris to replace the articles of clothing he had been too impatient to remove without ripping them.

“Shall I start counting how many pairs of undergarments I’ve lost to your impatience?” You stare up at him through your lashes, choosing your next words knowing exactly what they would do to your mate.

“Or is there something else you’d prefer my mouth to be doing?”

“Fuck me.” He says it so low that you know he’s saying it more to himself then you. His hunger is evident in the way he searches your eyes.

Azriel’s grip tightens around your waist. He moves forward spreading your thighs further to accommodate his form towering over your own.

Wordlessly you begin undoing the buttons of his shirt, reaching halfway before running your hands over his chest. You trace his tattoos, taking in and appreciating the beauty of your mate. You can feel him tense under your touch as your hands move under the collar of his shirt, stopping at the base of his neck to toy with the hair that had grown longer than normal after his last mission.

You look up at him through your lashes and it’s as though his world stops.

Nothing exists outside of this moment for Azriel as his lips meet yours. His right hand moves to the base of your neck, tightening his grip to tilt your head back, allowing him the angle he needs to devour you.

The kiss is the exact opposite of his outward, quiet demeanor. It’s demanding, he is a male with a singular focus, a hunger that only you can satiate. His hands move to your thighs, holding them with a bruising grip as he pulls them higher and tighter around his waist. Every part of him meeting every part of you.

It’s when you reach and beginning running your hand along the length of him over his pants that he pulls back, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth as he does. He rests his forehead against yours, both of your breaths laboured.

“Here or our bedroom?”

“Wha –”

“I plan to be inside you before the clock strikes midnight Y/N.” Azriel’s tone is severe, determination lacing every word. “It can be here, with our family in the next room, or I can spread you out beneath me as you grip the satin of our sheets…tell me where and tell me quickly.”

A mischievous grin spreads across your lips before you respond, and it takes everything in Azriel not to capture your lips with his once more. Your words come out as a whisper.

“Your birthday, your choice.”

Azriel emits a low groan at your words. With a practised ease he lifts you from the counter, keeping your body tucked close to his. He turns and carries you through the doorway of the kitchen, toward the stairs leading to the second floor of your shared home.

Only Amren notices the two of you as you pass by the sitting room. She gives Azriel a knowing smile and it’s the slight bow of her head that tells him she won’t alert the rest of the Inner Circle to your joined absence.

As he reaches the second floor, he carries you through the double doors that sit directly opposite the stairs. He removes a single hand from you only long enough to close both doors, sealing the two of you away from the world once more.

It takes you no more than a moment to know where your mate has taken you.

“The library? Interesting choice.” Amusement is mixed into your loving tone.

“My birthday, my choice, remember?” He moves forward, your back meeting the closest bookshelf. “I bolted these shelves to the floor for a reason, my love.”

Your eyes widen, your mate having left that particular piece of information out when explaining to you how he planned to make changes to the library when the two of you had moved in.

“Azriel…you did not!”

“Oh, but I did, my dear. Do you not remember what happened the first day we moved into this house?”

You both can’t help laughing at the memory. What started as a simple kiss ended with the two of you surrounded by a broken shelf and books scattered every which way. It had been your favourite room in the house ever since.

The library holds such peace and tranquility for both of you. Your respective offices both have doors leading into the room. Azriel can’t count how many nights you both have fallen asleep in front of the fireplace, still holding your books. He also can’t count the number of heated moments that passed between you within the walls of this room, your books, in particular, being the starting point to more than a few of those moments.

Azriel lowers you to the floor and takes your hips in his hands, turning you around. He moves both your hands to rest on the shelf just above your head.

“Keep them there.” His tone leaves no room for discussion or argument.

His hands move to either side your neck, his thumbs brushing the base of your jaw before moving to the first of the buttons that rest there. He undoes each one with painful precision, your arousal growing with each that comes loose.

It seems as though an eternity has passed before the last button comes free. He lowers your hands and pushes the top past your shoulders and down your arms. He sets the top on the empty portion of shelf behind him. As he turns back to face you, he moves your hands to rest on the shelf once more.

He presses a kiss to your left shoulder, leaving a path of searing skin in his wake as he settles his lips at the base of your ear. His fingertips brush across your skin from your hips until both hands come to rest beneath your breasts.

The tightening of your grip where it rests and the shiver that runs through you as he brushes his scarred thumbs across your nipples doesn’t go unnoticed by the spymaster. The cool air of the empty room has formed them into sensitive peaks, and he relishes in the stuttering breaths you let out as he continues the movements of his thumbs.

Azriel’s right hand comes to rest between your breasts as his left moves down your stomach, stopping just short of where he knows you want his hands most.

“Az…”

Your words come out weak, pleading.

His hand undoes the buttons of your pants with expert precision. You can’t help the whimper that escapes as both of his hands leave your body to slide the garment down your legs. He repeats his earlier actions, your pants now resting with your top.

Azriel’s hands find their place once more as he presses your bare form into his fully clothed one, the friction causing another shiver to rake over your body.

His left hand continues its previous path downward until his fingers brush against the most sensitive part of you. It’s his turn to let out an involuntary groan at what his hand is met with.

“So wet for me already Y/N. I’ve barely touched you…are you that desperate for me?”

Rather than give him a response, your body does its best to grind against his hand, searching for some form of friction. His right hand tightens where it rests on your sternum, halting your movements.

“You’ll have to do better than that Y/N. Use your words…tell me exactly what you need.”

His lips are pressed to your ear, his voice so deep it is the accelerant to the fire raging within you.

It takes a moment for you to respond, your words coming out broken.

“I need you…I need you inside me, Az. Now.”

Your words pull him from the haze of his arousal. Very rarely do the two of you move forward without some form of preparation to make the experience more enjoyable for you. Azriel isn’t ignorant to his size, he is acutely aware of the discomfort he has unintentionally caused you in the past. Very rarely does your need outweigh the pain you feel as you adjust to him.

“Be sure Y/N. Please.” His words are desperate, the need to have your intention clear necessary for him to move forward.

You turn in his grip, bringing your hands to rest on his chest as you meet his eye. Your left hand raises to rest against his jaw, your next words giving him the reassurance you know he needs.

“I’m sure Az…I want every inch you have to give me.”

Your hands become desperate, reaching to undo the buttons beneath each of his wings. Azriel can’t help but let out a low laugh as you struggle to pull his shirt from his body. He grasps your wrists and places them on his waist before reaching overhead and pulling the garment off himself. He tosses it to the side, all the care he showed your clothes has been thrown into the Sidra.

He looks down and watches as you pull his zipper down, his breath hitching as you sink to your knees before him, the sight never failing to bring out his base desires. He steps out of his pants when they reach his ankles. His hands move to cover yours where they grip at his thighs when they start to move.

“You’re not the only one that needs me inside you, Y/N.” His voice is gravel, almost pained as he pulls you to stand once more. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth in the beginning of a pout.

“It’s your birthday Az, this is about you.”

His hands encase either side of your neck with a firm grip, ensuring you hear every word he has to say.

“If it’s about me then it’s about you.” His voice goes impossibly deep with his next words. “You should know by now that nothing gets me off quite like the sounds you make as you cum around my cock.”

He says nothing more before he captures your lips with his own and lifts you into his arms. He parts from you just long enough to brush his cock through your folds, lining himself up. You both let out a low groan as he pushes into you, your head falling back against the bookshelf and his coming to rest against your chest.

Azriel doesn’t dare move, savouring the moment. Your hands brush back the hair that has fallen over his forehead, tilting his face up to meet yours. You both refuse to break the eye contact as he draws his hips back and moves them forward once more, working himself deeper.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, and he can see your eyes begin to water as he bottoms out inside you. His heart breaks at the sight, but you don’t give him a single second to fall into self-deprecation as you pull his lips to meet yours.

The kiss is different than the last, it’s fueled by care and adoration. A love so deep neither of you can quite comprehend it most days.

Azriel tucks his head against your neck as you tighten your arms around his shoulders, his lips paying special attention to the spot just beneath your ear that has you clutching him, your nails surely leaving marks.

His first movements are slow, measured. He plays you like a song that he has practiced his entire life, knowing just what you need. It’s when you bring your forehead to rest against his that he knows you need more, knows you want him to give you everything he can.

His pace becomes burning, pulling sounds from you that would have him offering up whatever he needed in order to hear them just one more time.

“That’s it Y/N/N.” He pulls out to the tip before beginning to push back in, painfully slow. His pace quickening again as he snaps his hips into yours. “I want to hear you take every inch like the good girl that you are.”

It’s his words that send you barreling into an orgasm that has you seeing stars. His right hand moves to circle your clit, causing you to cry out as he carries you through your release. Your left hand grips his forearm, attempting and failing to halt his movements.

“Az, please…”

Your words are more desperate than he knows you wish them to be. Azriel gradually slows his movements, and he can feel your body coming back from the over-stimulation. He doesn’t give you time to fully recover as he moves to lay you down on the couch that is centred in front of the dormant fireplace.

Azriel takes a moment to admire the sinful beauty of you beneath him, it’s a sight that he commits to memory each time he is graced by it.

Your hands grip his biceps as he lowers himself to hover above you, his arms resting on either side of your head. His lips meet yours in a kiss that is nothing short of devastating. He pushes every bit of need he has for you down the bond, ensuring you know he is worshipping before his chosen altar.

He hooks his left arm under your knee, raising your leg and pushing himself even deeper inside you. He relishes in the expression that passes over your features at the new angle. Your body is pliant under his, ready to take whatever he gives you.

Azriel doesn’t have many words to say but he wishes he could give every last one to you in this moment.  Wishes he could find the words to properly describe the effect you have on him, his feelings so consuming it terrifies him.

A squeeze on his forearm pulls him from his thoughts, he glances up to meet your questioning expression.

“Care to tell me what has that beautiful mind of yours thinking so hard?” Your words are gentle, barely coming out above a whisper.

Azriel brushes his thumb along your jaw.

“Nothing you don’t already know.” He smiles to himself. “Just that I am hopelessly, endlessly, devastatingly in love with you.”

“Keep talking like that, Shadowsinger and I won’t even need you to move. Your voice is all I need.”

“Then maybe I shouldn’t be doing this.” He pulls out to the tip and pushes back in, hitting every last spot that has you clenching around him and arching your chest into his. “Or this.” He leans down, closing his mouth on your pulse point, leaving his mark on you. “And I really shouldn’t be doing this either.” His mouth resumes its position, and his fingers start moving over your clit in the way only he knows how.

“But we both know it doesn’t matter what I do when I’m the only that can have you like this, the only one that can give you what we both know you’d beg for.” His fingers stop their movements, leaving you to clench around him, wordlessly begging for him to do something, anything. The sound that comes from you at the loss is nothing short of primal, so involuntary Azriel can’t stop the pride that washes over him.  

He starts moving again, varying his pace until he finds the one that has your head falling back onto the couch and the nails of your left hand digging into his back, just below where his wing meets his skin. Azriel can’t help the moan that leaves him, the scrape of your nails only heightening the euphoria beginning to consume him.

Your right hand blindly grabs for the hand he has anchored next to your head. He interlaces his fingers with your own, your knuckles turning white with the force of your grip, desperate to maintain your hold on him.

“Fuck, Az…don’t stop.” He can barely hear the words as you choke them out, each sounding more strained than the last. “Plea...please.”

You’re close; he can hear it in your breathing and feels it in the way your body tenses, as though you’re a rope about to snap.

He doesn’t let up in his pace, even though he can feel himself barreling toward his own release. Azriel is determined to hold out long enough for you to fall over the edge first.

“Such good manners.” Azriel grips the back of you neck with his right hand, forcing your eyes to open and meet his. The expression across his face has you letting out a whimper, the fire in his eyes unmistakeable. “But what did I say about telling me exactly what you want Y/N? Use your words.”

He can see you struggle to form the words, so lost in your pleasure it takes more than one try for them to cross your lips.

“Please, Az, I want to…need to cum on your cock.”

Your words break the last of his resolve. His hand moves from your neck to resume its movements on your clit, moving against it slowly, in such stark contrast to the burning pace set by his hips.

The dual sensations have you crying out and Azriel responds in turn, with a needy groan falling from his own lips.

He leans down and places his lips against your ear, his voice sinful as he whispers the exact words you need.

“Then do that for me, love…cum for me.” His fingers quickening their pace only slightly.

That all it takes for your vision to flash white, your orgasm ripping through you with such delicious ferocity. You can’t help the trembling of your thighs as Azriel’s pace doesn’t slow, drawing sounds from you that only he’s ever been able to do.

His release quickly follows your own as he bites down on your neck, pushing his hips harshly into yours as he cums. You can feel him tremble under your touch as you cling to him, the reaction a direct contrast to the deep moans coming from him.

Azriel’s thrusts slow, anchoring you both as you come down from your respective highs. The sound of your combined releases nearly sending you into a third orgasm.

Azriel isn’t sure how long it takes for your respective breaths to even out. All he knows as he stares down at the look of pure bliss on your face is that he will never get used to this, will never stop wanting to be the one that gets to see you like this.

He waits a few more moments before slowly pulling out of you, a small gasp leaving your lips at the loss. Azriel rests his head on your chest, giving himself a moment to truly come down from his high.

Your hand brushes the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, a truly contented smile forming as he lifts his head and closes his eyes with the movement of your hand.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence for a few moments before the clock that sits on the fireplace mantel gives out an almost silent chime.

“It’s midnight…Happy Birthday Azriel.” You whisper the words, sending every bit of love you can down the bond. “Hopefully you’re not disappointed with how your day is beginning.”

He leans down to kiss you rather than respond, exploring your mouth with slow precision. When he breaks it his forehead rests against your own.

“When I say this is better than anything I could dream, please believe every word. I thank the cauldron every day for gifting me with you as a mate.” You can tell his next words are said to himself as his eyes search your face. “I will never deserve you.”

“You wish for me to believe your words…believe mine in return.” Your hands grasp either side of his face. “You deserve everything you have, my love. The life you have built, your family, me, all of it.”

He lets out a low hum of acknowledgment, leaning down to kiss you. It’s slow, patient – allowing the both of you to bask in the feeling of each other.

You break from the kiss suddenly, unable to stifle the yawn you let out.

“You’re tired Y/N.”

“No, I’m here, I’m –” Another yawn interrupts your words.

Azriel lets out a low chuckle, shifting so he rests on his side facing you. His wings relax over the edge of the couch, and he allows them to brush the ground rather than devote the concentration to keeping them raised. He reaches over you and pulls the blanket folded over the back of the couch to cover your entwined bodies.

He wraps his arms around your waist and rests your head against his chest.

“Sleep Y/N, you’ll need rest if you’d like us to live out the day you scarred Rhys and Cas with as you described it.”

You smile and let out an amused hum as your eyes begin to close.

“It would be a perfect day, Cas and Rhys be damned.” The words come out in a whisper, and it doesn’t take long for Azriel to hear your breathing leveling out.

He waits long enough to ensure you’re truly asleep before gently untangling himself from you. He looks down as he stands and finds his shadows have returned. They skirt around the bottom of the couch, holding true to their need to keep you safe at every turn.

He silently thanks them, only now realizing just how long your shared family had gone without interrupting the two of you.

Azriel crosses the short space to the bookshelves, retrieving his pants and pulling them on, not bothering to button them as he knows they’ll be on his bedroom floor in a matter of minutes.

He faces the couch once more and pulls the blanket tighter around your form before lifting you into his arms. Even in sleep, you burrow further into his hold, tucking your head tight to his chest.

Azriel can’t help the smile plastered to his lips as he exits the library, vowing to himself that the two of you would be back in this room later in the day, continuing this evening’s activities.

---------

“Where did they go Rhysie?”

Rhysand can hear the pout in Cassian’s voice as he asks the question.

“They didn’t leave the house so I’m sure they haven’t gone far Cas. Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”

He tightens his grip on Cassian’s arm as his massive form sways during their ascent up the stairs.

“We better, they’re too important to me to lose.” His eyes are taking on a glossy glint as he continues. “What if something terrible’s happened?! I’ll kill anyone who dares lay a hand on them!”

It’s in that moment that Rhysand thanks the Mother he insisted they all come unarmed tonight. A drunk Cassian is one matter…an armed drunk Cassian could end in catastrophe.

Rhysand can hear a slight shift from down the hall as they finally reach the top of the stairs. He looks ahead and spots two of the few fae who permanently reside within his heart.

Cassian moves before Rhysand can pull him back. His massive form taking the most ungraceful of steps to reach his friends.

“Thank the gods you’re okay!” Azriel quickly hushes the General, his tone having crossed from its previous whisper to the beginning of his normally boisterous, energetic tone. “I was so afraid something terrible had happened when neither of you came back!”

Azriel eyes dart to Rhysand’s, his eyebrows raising in question. Rhysand shrugs in response, slipping into Azriel’s mind after he lowers his shields.

“He refused to leave until he laid eyes on the two of you, his concern so great he turned down every reassurance I tried to give him.”

“Just how much did he drink?” Azriel’s amusement is evident, no anger imposes on his tone.

“Please don’t make me answer that, he winnowed to the wine cellar before I could stop him. Feyre’s in similar shape but Amren was able to get her home, I clearly haven’t had such luck.”

Azriel nods at his High Lord in understanding and turns his attention to Cas once more.

The stretch of silence has given the General an opportunity to move even closer to the two, his eyebrows furrowed in worry as he looks down at Y/N.

“She’s not hurt Cas, she simply sleeps. You wouldn’t want to wake her, would you?”

Cassian shakes his head.

“Can you do me a favour, brother?” Cassian nods in response.

Rhysand can see from where he stands that the expression Cassian gives Azriel is nothing short of one filled with utter love.

“Y/N had a headache earlier today and she misplaced the tonic Majda gave her in the House of Wind after our meeting. Can I trust you to find it for her? It would make her so happy to have it back.”

“For Y/N? Consider it done, brother.” Cassian’s tone is as serious as it is when he walks into battle. The two of you had been close since the moment you met, the General declaring himself your protector.

He stares at Azriel for a moment longer before taking his face in his hands and kissing both of his cheeks. And it’s as he leans down to give Y/N the same treatment that Rhysand finally takes in the scene before him.

He observes Azriel’s half-clothed state and his quick adjustment to the blanket covering you, pulling your body in closer to his own.

Rhys realizes just what he and Cassian have interrupted and curses his less than sober state for not realizing earlier the most obvious reason two mates would slip away at one of their respective birthday celebrations.

“Cas, let’s go find that tonic. We wouldn’t want Y/N to wait any longer than she has to.” Rhysand crosses the short distance and moves to turn Cassina away from the mated pair.

Azriel shoots him a grateful look, his thanks clearly evident.

Cassian allows Rhys to lead him away but abruptly turns back just as they move to descend the stairs.

“Azriel?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Tell Y/N Happy Birthday from me when she wakes up, I want to be the first one to say it.” His smile is beaming at the thought.

“The second she wakes, she will know.” Azriel’s words are filled with amusement, letting out a low laugh at the General’s words.

Cassian gives him a triumphant smile, turning back toward the stairs without another word.

Rhysand gives Azriel one last apologetic look before leading the General down the stairs and past the wards that guard the home.

“Y/N must’ve gotten hot before she fell asleep.”

Cassian’s words have Rhysand pausing.

“What makes you say that, Cas?”

The General’s words fall to a whisper, as though somebody may be listening.

“She didn’t have any clothes on under that blanket. She was in front of a fire and got too warm, Azriel didn’t want us to see so he put the blanket on her, I’m certain of it.”

He speaks like he’s privy to confidential information and has finally chosen to let Rhysand in on it.

Rhysand grips his brother’s arm, giving him an endearing smile as he begins to winnow them to the House of Wind. Cassian’s face conveying unending pride at Rhys' reply.

“You must be right Cas…there’s absolutely no other possible explanation.”

[nixiefics]

Possess - Part 2

Pairing: Robb Stark X Reader

Warnings: Smut, posessive Robb, p in v sex, oral (female receiving), rough sex, dominant Robb,

You awaken slowly, the warmth of the fur blankets cocooning you in their luxurious softness. The richness of the various pelts - wolf, bear, and fox - creates a patchwork of textures and hues, a testament to the King's power and the harsh beauty of the North. You shift slightly, feeling the gentle rise and fall of the man beside you. His presence, a source of both comfort and desire, has become a familiar anchor in your life.

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you take in the soft glow of dawn filtering through the canvas of the tent. The air is cool, but the thick furs ward off the chill, keeping you nestled in warmth. You turn your head to look at him. Even in sleep, his features are strong, etched with a fierceness that speaks of battles won and enemies vanquished. Yet, there is a softness there, a vulnerability that only you are privileged to witness.

The King in the North stirs, his arm instinctively wrapping around you, pulling you closer. His eyes flutter open, and for a moment, the stern ruler is replaced by the man who has shared your bed and heart for over two months. His smile is rare, but you’ve grown accustomed to the way his eyes soften when they meet yours.

“Good morning, my healer,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep but tender.

“Good morning, my King” you reply, your fingers tracing the lines of his face.

You sit up slowly, careful not to disturb the peace that lingers in the tent. The responsibilities of the day loom ahead, but for now, you allow yourself a moment of tranquillity. Robb's eyes follow you as you move, a silent appreciation in his gaze. The cool air brushes against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the furs.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” he says, his voice low. It’s a sentiment he’s expressed many times, but always with an understanding of your duty.

"You made a promise," you kiss his lips slowly. "I could heal if Grey Wind was with me - and he is always with me."

Robb's expression softens further, a mixture of admiration and reluctance in his eyes. He reaches out, his hand warm against your cool skin. “I know,” he says quietly, “and I respect that. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

You smile, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “And I appreciate it,” you reply. “But duty calls.”

With a sigh, Robb releases you, and you rise from the bed, the furs slipping away to reveal the cool air of the tent. You wrap yourself in your robe, its familiar weight and texture grounding you as you move towards the small basin of water to wash. The briskness of the water against your face is invigorating, helping to chase away the last remnants of sleep.

You can feel Robb’s gaze on you as you prepare for the day, a silent presence that brings both comfort and a twinge of sadness. The bond you share is deep, forged in the crucible of war and the shared solace of your nights together.

As you finish your morning routine, you turn back to Robb, who is now sitting up, the fur blankets pooled around his waist. His eyes are serious, but there’s a warmth there that reassures you. “Be safe today,” he says, a command and a plea intertwined in his words.

“I always am,” you reply, your voice steady. You cross the tent to where he sits, placing a hand on his cheek. “And you, my King, must do the same.”

He nods, capturing your hand in his and pressing a kiss to your palm. “I will,” he promises. “For you.”

With a final, lingering look, you step out of the tent and into the camp. The crisp morning air greets you, carrying the sounds of activity and the faint tang of smoke from the nearby fires. The camp is already bustling, soldiers preparing for the day, the hum of conversation and the clang of metal creating a familiar symphony.

You make your way to the healer’s tent, a sense of purpose settling over you. The wounded need you, and in your role, you find a different kind of fulfilment. The demands are constant, the wounds severe, but your skill and compassion are unwavering. You tend to each soldier with care, knowing that every life you save is a victory in its own right.

As the day progresses, your thoughts occasionally drift back to Robb. His strength, his vulnerability, the way he looks at you as if you are his anchor in this turbulent world. You find solace in those memories, drawing strength from them as you work.

By the time the sun begins to set, you are exhausted but content. You’ve done your duty, fulfilled your promise. As you make your way back to the tent you share with Robb, a sense of anticipation builds within you. The days are long, but the nights—those precious hours in his arms—make it all worthwhile.

Entering the tent, you find it empty. Robb has not yet returned from his duties. The space feels larger, quieter without him, but you know he will be back soon. Deciding to prepare for his return, you call for a bath to be brought. The attendants are quick, and soon a large wooden tub is set up in the corner of the tent.

You instruct them to fill it with hot water and add healing oils - lavender for relaxation, eucalyptus for its invigorating scent, and a touch of chamomile to soothe. The steam rises, carrying the fragrant mix of oils, creating a calming atmosphere that envelops the tent. You test the water with your hand, ensuring it’s the perfect temperature.

As you wait for Robb, you take a moment to change out of your healer’s robes, slipping into a simple but elegant nightgown. The soft fabric is a welcome change from the utilitarian garments you’ve worn throughout the day. You let your hair down, running a comb through it to ease the tangles, the simple act grounding you after a long day.

The bath is ready, the water shimmering invitingly. You light a few candles, their warm glow casting gentle shadows on the tent walls. The scent of the oils mingles with the earthy aroma of the furs, creating a cocoon of warmth and tranquillity.

Finally, you hear the faint sounds of footsteps outside the tent. Robb enters, looking weary but pleased to see you. His eyes light up at the sight of the prepared bath, and a grateful smile spreads across his face. “You always know exactly what I need,” he says, his voice filled with affection.

“I thought you might appreciate a bit of relaxation after today,” you reply, stepping towards him. You reach up, your hands moving to unfasten the clasps of his cloak and armour. He stands still, allowing you to help him out of the heavy layers, his eyes never leaving yours.

As Robb steps into the bath, you can’t help but admire his form. His body is a testament to the life he leads - a life of battle and leadership. Broad shoulders taper down to a powerful, muscular chest. Scars, mementos of past battles, mark his skin, each one telling a story of bravery and survival. His arms are strong, corded with muscle from wielding a sword and shield, yet there’s a gentleness in his touch that belies his warrior exterior.

His abdomen is defined, the result of countless hours of training and fighting. The taut muscles ripple as he moves, a display of raw strength and vitality. His legs are equally powerful, supporting his commanding presence both on and off the battlefield.

Your thoughts become heated as you take in every detail - the way the water clings to his skin, the way the healing oils create a sheen that catches the light. His hair, damp with sweat and now water, falls in dark waves around his face, framing his striking features. His eyes, intense yet tender, lock onto yours as you tend to him, and you see in them a depth of feeling that transcends words.

You love the sight of his naked body, the way it exudes strength and masculinity. Memories of how that body pleases you flood your mind - the way his muscles flex as he holds you close, the heat of his skin against yours, the undeniable passion that ignites between you whenever he touches you. A flush rises to your cheeks as you recall the nights spent wrapped in his arms, his body a source of both pleasure and comfort.

Robb’s body is a warrior’s body, sculpted by conflict and honed by duty. Yet, in this moment, as he relaxes into the warmth of the bath you’ve prepared, he is simply a man - your man - seeking solace and comfort in your presence. And as you care for him, washing away the weariness of the day, you are reminded of the bond you share, a bond that goes beyond the physical, rooted in love and mutual respect. The anticipation of feeling his embrace again, of losing yourself in the passion you share, sends a shiver of desire through you.

His voice breaks the silence, pulling you from your reverie. “Thank you,” he says quietly, reaching for your hand. “For everything.”

“Always,” you reply, your voice soft and filled with affection. "I am yours, Robb."

His eyes darken and you sense the shift in him immediately. Robb loves hearing you say the words - it always awakened a primal part of him.

"That's right, my darling." He grins, wide enough to show the sharp incisors he loves to nibble at you with, and leans forward to cup your chin. "All mine."

Robb stands, pulling you up with him effortlessly. The water cascades off his body, and he steps out of the tub, each movement powerful and purposeful. He is a glorious sight - dripping wet, muscles glistening in the candlelight, and every inch of him exuding a raw, feral intensity that makes your pulse race.

Robb’s other hand grips your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the strength of his need in the way his fingers dig into your skin. Your hands find his shoulders, clutching at his damp skin as you try to anchor yourself. The kiss is heated, spine-tingling, and utterly consuming. His lips move against yours with a fervour that leaves you panting, your mind a whirlwind of sensation.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue parting your lips, exploring with a hunger that sends waves of heat through your body. The taste of him is intoxicating, a blend of warmth and passion that you can’t get enough of. You respond eagerly, matching his intensity, the kiss turning sloppy and heated as the world outside the tent fades away.

His hand moves from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you against him, the heat of his body searing through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You can feel the hard planes of his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat matching your own frantic pace. Every nerve ending is alight with sensation, your body arching into his touch as his kiss leaves you breathless and wanting more.

Robb breaks the kiss for a moment, his breath ragged and his eyes dark with desire. “I need you,” he murmurs against your lips, the desperation in his voice echoing your own feelings.

“Then take me,” you whisper back, your voice trembling with anticipation and need.

With a growl of approval, he captures your lips again, the kiss even more urgent, more demanding than before. His dominance is clear in every touch, every movement, as he claims you with a passion that leaves you reeling.

Your eyes trail down his form, taking in the way the water clings to his skin, accentuating every ridge and contour of his chiselled physique. His hair, wet and tousled, frames his face, giving him an almost wild look. The sight of him like this - dominant, commanding, and so achingly beautiful - sends a thrill of desire through you.

He pulls you close, the heat of his body contrasting sharply with the cool air of the tent. The sensation of his damp skin against yours is electrifying, and you can’t help but shiver. His lips find yours again, the kiss deep and consuming, his hands roaming over your back, pulling you even closer.

Robb’s need is palpable, his desperation mirrored in the way he devours your mouth, each kiss more fervent than the last. You can feel the hard planes of his body pressed against you, the strength in his grip as he holds you as if he might never let go.

Your hands explore his body, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the powerful beat of his heart beneath your palm. His skin is hot, the water droplets cooling quickly, and you marvel at the sheer physicality of him - so strong, so alive.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” you breathe against his lips, your voice a mix of awe and desire.

He responds with a low growl, his eyes burning with intensity as he looks at you. “You drive me wild,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need.

Robb’s hands move to your hips, lifting you effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, and he carries you towards the bed of furs. Every step he takes, every movement, is filled with a primal urgency that sets your skin aflame.

As he lowers you onto the furs, his body covering yours, you feel a rush of anticipation. His kisses trail down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and you arch into his touch, wanting, needing more. The world outside the tent is forgotten, and in this moment, there is only the two of you, lost in a sea of desire and passion that threatens to consume you both.

"Such a needy little thing, aren't you?" Robb's mouth trails over your shoulder, pushing the nightgown away with his nose. "So fucking needy for me."

"Yes," you pant, head lolling to the side as his tongue traces an invisible line down your shoulder and swirling around your exposed nipple. "Gods, yes. All for you."

It's like a switch flips and Robb rights himself slightly, one hand taking both of yours. "Keep them there."

His voice sends a bolt of pleasure to your core, and you swallow thickly, watching his hands dip to your thighs and push the fabric of your nightshift up to your hips.

You jump slightly as Robb's hands cup your thighs roughly, parting them and bringing his lips to the sensitive skin on the inside, trailing them up slowly, teasingly, to place an open-mouthed kiss to your soaked core.

"My pretty little Queen has the most beautiful cunt in the world - and it's mine." he growls against you as his tongue swipes through your slick folds and he groans low at the taste which sends a deep thrum of want through your core. It's all too much and yet so little at the same time.

"Fuck, darling…"

You can feel your thighs shaking against his grip as he keeps them parted for him. It halts every thought in your mind, back arching off the bed as he delves deeper, his tongue parting your folds to fuck you with the wet muscle repeatedly. It feels like he's trying to discover places inside you that you never knew existed. The angle has your lips parted with hurried breaths, head thrown back against the bed, struggling to keep still with the way his nose moves side to side against your aching clit.

"Robb…" you whine loudly, forcing yourself to grab the furs below you to keep your hands where he told you to. It feels like as soon as the pressure begins to build in your belly, he comes away, his lips glistening with your slick, causing your face to heat up in embarrassment. His eyes gleam with mischief.

"What's wrong, darling, hm?" he's massaging the flesh of your thighs, watching your core clench around nothing. "Am I not a giving King? Would you like more, my sweet pet?"

Before you can even open your mouth to respond, he plunges two fingers knuckle-deep inside you, instantly curled up trying to find that sweet spot inside. Your thighs shut around his hand, trapping him there as a slew of desperate moans fill the silence in the tent, as well as the wet smack of his hand as he fucks you with his fingers.

"Oh Robb!" you're sure that the entire camp can hear you now but you do not care. "Robb, please, fuck!"

He grins and another finger joins the first two, pounding in and out of you with such lewd sounds, it makes the prudish part of your soul cringe. No doubt, you have truly given up the faith now.

He finds that toe-curling spot with infuriating accuracy, aided by the thickness and length of his fingers, stretching your pussy as he watches them disappear, covered in your arousal.

Your back arches impossibly, thighs squeezed tight. And he smirks in victory. "There it is…"

All logic, reality, everything that makes up the known world disappears. All you're able to focus on is Robb. The pleasure he is giving you. His words. It's all just too much.

The coil in your belly threatens to snap at any moment, the pads of his fingers connecting with your pleasure spot mercilessly. So much you can feel your slick soak his hand and the insides of your thighs.

And just like that.

It's gone.

You scream in frustration and whip your head to look at him, as he kneels between your legs, outright moaning as he swipes his digits through his lips into his mouth. Tasting you.

Your clit throbs at the action, as well as the fact he's enjoying it so much. Feeling your face flushed and heat bathing your skin.

"You look so fucking perfect, darling." he says, hand coming to stroke himself to full hardness. The motion has you captivated, and inadvertently makes your thighs press together.

Robb is large and curved slightly to the left, and as he strokes himself, his thumb swiping whatever precum comes out his weeping pink tip all over his cockhead, sighing softly at the relief of it. It's the thickness that you enjoy most, filling you so well that you can't remember your own name.

"Fuck me." You challenge, "Fuck me like I'll never be anyone else's again."

He smirks again, laughing lowly. "You won’t, pet. Not while I have strength in my bones - I would smite anyone who even had a thought of taking you from me."

He leans down, his tongue darting out to tease the skin around your nipple, tongue swirling against it. Robb pays special attention, lapping at it like a man starved, humming and pleased at the reaction he gets when he grazes his teeth over it. He pulls off with a gentle pop, kissing the valley of your breasts, his cock hanging heavily against your thigh. So close, and yet it still feels so far away.

"Say you're mine." he says, tapping his cockhead against your clit a few times sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. "I'd like the whole of Westeros to know who you belong to. Understood?"

You nod, dizzy from just how much he's teasing you.

"Yes, my King." you pant, cupping your own breast in desperation. "I am yours. Yours, always yours!"

He laughs through his nose and your mouth drops open when he pushes into you, splitting you open on his thick cock, slowly working his way inside before he bottoms out, stilling for a moment for you to adjust but also for him to catch his breath. He shudders against your neck, his stomach flexing and fists tightened either side of your head.

"Fuck, pet, you're so tight… can… feel you squeezing me…" he moans softly against your ear, pushing himself as far inside you as he can possibly go. It has your eyes fluttering shut as his length tucks against that sweet spot, filling you so perfectly, the walls of your pussy stretching deliciously to take him.

"Robb," you mewl as he shallowly fucks himself into you a few times, craving friction, craving what glimpse you saw of him earlier, "Robb… please… more, I need more."

Resting on his forearms, one hand ventures to your thigh to spread you further apart as he pulls almost all the way out.

"Seeing as you asked so nicely."

All air seems to be stolen out of your lungs and replaced with warming bliss as Robb slams back into you, his hips immediately pressing with a loud smack against you as he thrusts ceaselessly, holding both of your thighs in his palms.

With every harsh push inside, a soft, moan-like breath slips from your lips. Gods, you love it. Every time with Robb feels like the first time and the last time and it's so fucking perfect. Robb's thumb begins to deftly gather your arousal and circle around your clit, setting every nerve alight.

"Louder," He punctuates his demand with a particularly harsh thrust, your arousal sounding off the tent walls in an echo. "I want all my men to know to keep away from my little pet."

Whether you want to or not, your lips part more to let your sounds of pleasure fill the room, the ceaseless sounds of your fucking alongside it. Your hands fist the bedsheets and Robb growls appreciatively watching your breasts and body move with every motion.

He rewards you by increasing the speed of his motions, practically fucking you into the furs. His smug, cocksure smirk drops, and his jaw slackens, his eyes hooded to look down at you with reverence.

"Fuck- darling, I can feel you, you're going to cum for me aren't you-" he moans, his hips never letting up their pace, "fuck-feels… so good."

"Robb-" you moan softly, turning your head, closing your eyes, feeling all exposed to him when he looks at you like that. The pressure in your gut is absolutely set to explode, and you feel that coil tighten impossibly.

Your throat tightens as Robb leans down, his hips hitting the flesh of your thighs as he continues to piston his cock inside you, the chain around his neck dangling above you.

You feel him grab your face roughly, turning you to face him, your eyes slightly hooded with pleasure but looking right at him. It's so intimate, it makes your skin feel like it's on fire. His expression is serious. "Look at me when I make you cum."

Your hand clamps around his wrist, guiding him to your neck, and his jaw slackens again when he realises what you want. His fingers wrap around your neck, palm against your windpipe, and he just holds you there, feeling your pulse fluttering against his touch.

All you're able to utter before falling off the edge of your pleasure is a small, "Fuck-"

Blinding white pleasure courses through your veins, your heart hammering in your chest, feeling every single thing Robb is doing but ten times more sensitive. Being put on edge twice before certainly didn't help. Every thrust inside, brushing against your sweet spot, the way his thumb continues to press circles against your bud, has your orgasm extended in a long drawn-out shattered moan.

Robb buries his head into your neck, his arms enveloped around you, letting your bud finally have a reprieve. Your thighs begin to shake as Robb fucks you through it, overstimulation rocking through your entire body with the incessant push of his length against your sweet spot.

"It's alright, darling, I've got you. I'm here." he whispers, his own tone strained. You can't help but sigh fondly at his words.

Robb feels you tighten impossibly around him one last time before he stills, hot ropes of his cum painting your walls and leaving an unmistakable warmth at the deepest parts of your core. He says nothing, but moans helplessly against your neck and you feel his whole body shudder through your hold on his shoulders.

He fucks you shallowly, aching for the last moments of friction just as your orgasm subsides, replaced with a manageable dull thrum, practically able to feel your own heartbeat, and his with his presence inside you. The drag of his cock through your sensitive walls has breathless pants spilling from your mouth.

The silence stretches as Robb stills, his cock softening within you.

You don't have time to consider what he's thinking, as he presses a chaste kiss to your jaw. "All mine."

You whimper and tuck your face into the scruff in his neck. "Yes, my King, all yours."

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 14

Part 1 Part 13

Even with rationing, it doesn’t seem to take long for the water to start running dry. Days, maybe, but it’s hard to say without a clock. The red of the sky never fluctuates. It’s red. Red, red, read. Steve’s starting to hate the color.

They’ve slept three times, but Steve suspects the boredom of rotting in the Munson’s trailer might be getting to them. There’s only so many games of truth or dare you can play until you start to drift.

So, water’s been getting low. The crease between Eddie’s brows has grown deeper each time he takes a furtive swig. 

“We should go get water,” he says.

Steve doesn’t want to go out there. His shoulder still aches, sharp agony turned dull. It’s black around the edges, flesh turning necrotic. He hasn’t let Eddie see it since that first day; doesn’t want to needlessly frighten him.

“Steve?” 

Steve heaves a sigh before heading to the door where he left his sneakers. “Maybe grab a few shirts to filter that shit again?”

Eddie follows him, plopping down to tug his boots on while Steve shimmies his own shoes on leaning against the door, one foot at a time. 

“I was thinking we’d just take it back here and filter it in the bathroom,” Eddie says, yanking his laces tight. “Seems safer to do it with a locked door between us and anything trying to eat us.”

Steve thinks of his own house and the monster that got inside. Remembers the way the lock clicked on the door to the back porch. Had they locked the front? Did it matter, when that thing had knocked down his front door like it was made of tissue paper? He keeps his mouth shut.

“Good thinking.”

They go. It’s not a long trip, except how all trips feel long when there’s ash falling from the sky, and a shotgun clutched tightly enough to make your fingers numb, and Eddie Munson biting his lip to keep quiet at your side.

Steve feels woozy, like he used to during his brief stint in middle school wrestling. Coach would tell him to drop a certain weight and he would, counting calories at lunch with Carol, both ignoring Tommy’s snide comments. He’d only lasted a year. Didn’t like the uniforms, or the weight limits, or the violence. 

He feels just the same now, only worse. He knows you’re supposed to eat sugar after you donate at the blood drive. Steve donated a lot of his own blood to that thing’s claws and hasn’t eaten anything at all.

The quarry looks just as the same as last time – bloody. They form an efficient assembly line – Steve plucking lids of bottles and passing them to Eddie where he’s standing with his toes in the water. Eddie fills them as Steve prepares the next bottle, taking the filled one back and replacing the lid before doing it all over again. It moves quicker without the need to sift.

It still feels like too long by the time they’ve packed all the bottles away.

It’s quiet on the way up the incline. Quiet through town. It’s quiet all the way up until they hear the sound of pounding feet. 

Steve hears it first. He reaches out, snagging Eddie’s elbow, as the sound of steps move closer. 

“Wha–” Eddie starts.

“Shut up,” Steve hisses.

They’re on the path heading toward the trailer park, just before the pavement turns to gravel and the trailers come into view. The forest looms on their right. That’s where the sound is coming from.

It sounds like a person. It can’t be that thing – it had moved silently except the vocalizations from its mouth. But, what if it’s a trick? What if it’s a trap? What if he and Eddie have both cracked and there’s nothing there at all?

He shoves Eddie a step behind him, the other boy stays alarmingly quiet as Steve raises his shotgun and puts his finger on the trigger, scope trained on the noise coming toward them through the woods, ignores the way his hands are shaking.

What bursts through the trees isn’t what they could have ever expected. It’s a kid with a tragic bowl cut. He’s got a dirty flannel with a garish red and yellow vest thrown over it. The knees of his ratty jeans are covered in dirt, his palms scraped, like his foot had caught on a few roots in his mad dash away from something Steve doesn’t even want to think about.

His pupils are pinpricks, the whites of his eyes almost glowing as he looks from Eddie to Steve, who still has his finger on the trigger. Pointing at a kid. He drops his grip on the trigger, slowly lowering the shotgun even though all he wants to do is drop it, kick it as far away as possible, and hold up his empty hands as a show of how dangerous he’s not.

It's a fucking kid. He can’t be older than thirteen.

“It was behind me,” the kid says.

Eddie sucks in a harsh breath behind Steve, and he knows they’re both thinking of the same thing. Bloody claws, and petaled mouths that open to display rows of teeth in gleaming, concentric circles.

“Shit,” Steve says, “Go go go!” He turns to jog down the path, picking up his pace when he hears two sets of footsteps following in his wake.

He reaches the door first, and yanks it open just as he hears it – an inhuman shriek. It’s indescribable. And unmistakable.

When he turns back, Eddie and the kid have just come into view. He gestures them wildly to speed up, to get through the door, to fucking run.

It unfolds in front of him like a dream: the way Eddie’s dragging the kid by his arm, feet moving fast enough to blur even as it feels like they’re not making any headway at all. The way the shriek grows louder.

When they finally make it to the Munson trailer, they fall through the threshold, tripping over the rug at the entryway. Steve closing the tissue paper door behind them. He stands, braced for impact, gun raised and pointing at the closed front door.

The shriek grows louder, and louder, and louder, until it peters off. Fades away. Like the thing had found new prey to terrorize. It takes long minutes of tense silence for Steve to lower the shotgun, turn to the other two huddled behind him.

Eddie has his arms up, as if he can shield the kid from that thing should it huff and puff its way through the matchstick front door. Hell, maybe he can. But, at Steve’s lowered gun, he drops heavily to the couch, slamming his forehead to his hands, fingers gripped into his hair hard enough that it has to hurt.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Steve asks, looking at the kid. It comes out harsher than he means it to. The kid flinches, takes a startled step back toward Eddie.

“What Harrington means,” Eddie says, raising his head just enough to glare at Steve, “is are you okay?”

The kid sniffles, turning toward Eddie. His fists are balled at his sides even as he nods. “I’m fine,” the kid says, voice shaking enough to give his lie away.

“And what’s your name?” Eddie asks.

“Will,” he says, fingers loosening, shoulders falling. “Will Byers.”

Eddie gasps theatrically. “Not any relation to the great Jonathan Byers?”

For the first time, the kid smiles. It makes him look even younger. Steve’s stomach churns. “He’s my brother,” Will says, smiling shyly down at Eddie.

Steve has a hazy memory of a boy with an equally tragic bowl cut, disappearing into the hallways of the high school, sinking into the bleachers of sporting events, face hidden behind a camera. He wonders if that’s Will’s brother. If he’s missing him.

“And how did you get here, Will?” Steve asks, carefully modulating his voice. Keeping it even. Keeping it low. Will flinches, but he doesn’t step back again. Eddie still glares at Steve from behind the kid’s head.

“The Demogorgon,” Will says, “It got me.”

Part 15

[moonsandmobilityaids]

The Flu

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: You get the flu. But for someone with your immune system, the flu is never just the flu. Warnings: Flu, one tonic-clonic (grand mal) seizure Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

"Y/N, are you alright?" Sirius's voice cuts through the fog of your mind. You open your eyes to find him sitting on the end of your bed, concern etched into every line of his face.

His fingers brush against your forehead, and you flinch away from the unexpected contact. His touch is cool against your fevered skin, a stark contrast that sends shivers down your spine despite the warmth radiating off you in waves.

"You're burning up," he murmurs, pulling his hand away as if burned himself. "James, get her some water. And have you taken your meds?"

Before you can protest, James is already moving, filling a glass from the pitcher on your bedside table. He offers it to you with a soft smile, his hazel eyes full of worry as he finds your pill divider, handing you your morning meds. As you take your meds, you can't help but notice how attentive he is, watching for any sign of discomfort or pain.

Remus lingers in the background, silently observing as Sirius fusses over you and James refills your glass. His eyes are intent, taking in every detail of your flushed cheeks and laboured breathing. Right now, though, all you can focus on is the pounding in your head and the heat consuming your body.

"I'm fine," you insist, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. The room spins around you, and you fall back against the pillows with a groan. Despite your words, they don't leave. They hover close by, their presence a silent promise that they won't let anything happen to you.

The morning passes in a blur of sleep and half-awake moments where you drink more water and try to eat something at the insistence of your boys. Each time you wake, one of them is there, watching over you with worried expressions.

The afternoon light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over your sweat-slicked skin. You lie motionless under the heavy blankets, shivering despite the fever that has taken hold of your body. Your head throbs in time with your racing heart, each pulse sending waves of pain crashing against your skull.

Every muscle feels weighted down, as if you've been lifting weights for hours on end. But it's more than just physical exhaustion; there's a heaviness that seeps into your very bones, sapping away at your energy until all you can do is lay there and breathe.

Your thoughts are hazy, fragmented by the heat coursing through your veins. The room tilts around you, and you squeeze your eyes shut against the vertigo. It leaves you gasping for breath, clutching at the sheets as you fight off the urge to vomit.

But then, something changes. A coldness creeps up along your spine, replacing the fever's heat with an icy chill. Your heart beats faster, thudding loudly in your ears as your surroundings start to blur. Panic rises within you as it becomes harder to focus, harder to think.

You know what's coming. You've experienced these symptoms enough times to recognize the signs of an impending seizure.

"No," you whisper, the word barely audible as you press your hands to your temples. "Not now."

Images flash before your closed eyelids — falling, shaking, convulsing uncontrollably while those around you watch helplessly. You may not be aware when it happens, but you’ve seen the footage from when you were a kid. This time, it's not just Remus who will see you at your weakest. Now, James and Sirius will witness the truth of your condition too.

"Y/N?" James' voice floats towards you, tinged with concern. He must have sensed your sudden shift — the way your breathing hitched, the tension coiling around you like a tight spring ready to snap.

"Seizure... coming." The words are barely a whisper, but their impact is like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of alarm through the room.

James' eyes widen with fear as he takes in your rigid posture and shallow breaths. Sirius rises to his feet, all traces of his earlier amusement gone. Replaced by an intensity that leaves no room for doubt—he will move mountains if it means keeping you safe.

Remus stiffens beside you, his face paling. He's seen this before—your body wracked with uncontrollable tremors, your mind lost in the terrifying abyss of a seizure. And every time, he's felt powerless, able only to watch and wait for it to pass. And the other two - you’ve only told them about it, about what to do.

Panic flutters at the edges of the room, threatening to consume the calm sanctuary. But there's no time for fear—not when every second brings you closer to the storm brewing within your body.

"Sirius," Remus's voice cuts through the tension, steady despite the gravity of the situation. He doesn't glance away from you, his eyes locked onto your form as if he could somehow will away the impending storm with sheer determination alone. "Keep track of the time. If it lasts longer than five minutes..."

Without missing a beat, Sirius nods, pulling out his watch and positioning himself at the side of your bed. His fingers tremble ever so slightly against the cool metal, betraying the adrenaline coursing beneath his composed exterior. "I've got this."

James remains nearby, hovering over you like an anxious shadow. His hand hovers inches from yours, caught between the desire to provide comfort and the fear of causing harm. The usually confident boy looks lost, unsure how to navigate the treacherous waters of helplessness.

Remus keeps his focus on you, monitoring each breath, each twitch of your muscles for any sign of what's to come. His expression is tight, lips pressed together in a thin line as he fights back his own fears. This isn't about him; right now, all that matters is keeping you safe.

The room is thick with anticipation, every heart pounding in sync with the ticking seconds. Yours, however, beats out a different rhythm — one that speaks of the tempest brewing within. And all anyone can do is wait for it to break.

"Any moment now," you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else. The world begins to warp and blur at the edges as your body tenses, instinctively bracing for impact.

And then it hits — a tidal wave of sensation that crashes over you, relentless and unforgiving. Your muscles seize up, locking into place as if held by an unseen force. Every nerve ending screams in protest, caught in the throes of an invisible storm.

"Sirius..." Remus' voice cuts through the chaos like a lifeline, grounding you amidst the turmoil. "Start now."

Without hesitation, Sirius counts out loud, his voice steady despite the tension etching lines across his face. He watches as each second ticks by, marking them not just on his watch, but also in the creases deepening around his eyes—each one a testament to his unwavering vigilance.

When the seizure finally subsides, your body feels like a battleground. Drained and weary, you lie there, muscles still trembling from the onslaught. The storm may have passed, but it's left wreckage in its wake—each breath an effort, each movement a reminder of the ordeal.

"Four minutes, six seconds," Sirius announces as Remus turns you onto your side, his voice tight with relief and something else—an undercurrent of worry that lingers even as he lowers his watch.

James moves then, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he reaches out to adjust the blanket around you. His touch is gentle, almost hesitant, as if afraid any further jostling might set off another wave of convulsions. It's a small act, but one that speaks volumes about the depth of his concern.

"Is she...?" James starts, unable to finish the question hanging heavy between them.

Remus leans forward, brushing your hair back. "She'll be okay."

James, Sirius, and Remus stay by your side, their presence a constant amidst the lingering echoes of fear. They sit in silence, each lost in their own thoughts yet bound together by the shared experience.

Their attention never wavers from you, taking in every shuddering breath, every flutter of your eyelids—a silent vigil maintained out of concern, yes, but also something more profound. It's an unspoken pact forged not just in friendship, but in the crucible of trials endured and battles fought—side by side, always.

"Could it... happen again?" James asks, breaking the stillness that has settled over the room. His voice is low, barely above a whisper, but it carries the weight of his worry nonetheless.

"We'll need to keep an eye on her," Remus replies, meeting James's gaze with a nod. "But for now, let's give Y/N some space." He turns to look at Sirius, who seems rooted to the spot, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "You should get some rest too. We'll take shifts watching over her."

Exhaustion tugs at your consciousness, pulling you further away from the world and towards the sweet oblivion of sleep. You welcome it, welcoming the respite it promises after the storm. But even as you drift off, there's a sense of relief that washes over you—not because the seizure is over, nor solely because the pain has subsided, but because they are here.

They're here, and for now, that's enough to quiet the fears clawing at the edges of your mind.

The boys exchange glances, their expressions serious despite the fatigue etching lines around their eyes. They understand the gravity of the situation—that much is clear—but there's also a determination there, a resolve that speaks volumes about their loyalty.

"Alright," James agrees, running a hand through his hair as he pushes himself up from the floor. "We'll do this together."

Sirius nods, standing as well. There's a heaviness to his movements, hinting at the toll the evening has taken. Yet, when he looks back at you, there's a steadiness in his gaze—an unwavering promise of protection.

As James and Sirius move towards the door, Remus stays behind, his focus fixed on you. He watches as your chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, each breath a testament to your resilience. The sight brings a small measure of peace, easing the knot of worry that's been tightening in his chest.

"It was expected," Remus says quietly, turning to face them. "With the flu... being any kind of sick is a trigger for her."

His words hang heavy in the air, bringing with them a sense of finality. This wasn't a random occurrence—it had been a ticking time bomb, waiting for the right moment to detonate. And though the explosion had been contained, the aftermath was far from over.

"But she'll recover," Remus continues, offering them a reassuring smile. "She's strong, and she's got us."

For a moment, neither James nor Sirius respond. They stand shoulder to shoulder, absorbing Remus's words and finding solace in their shared understanding. Then, almost simultaneously, they nod, a silent acknowledgement of the truth in what Remus has said.

They trust him—they trust his knowledge, his judgement, and perhaps most importantly, his reassurances. Because if there's one thing they've learned over the years, it's that Remus Lupin is rarely wrong when it comes to matters of health and healing.

As darkness settles outside, casting long shadows across the room, you slip into a fitful sleep. Your dreams are filled with flashes of memory—the sharp sting of fear, the crushing weight of helplessness—all tinged with an undercurrent of unease.

Yet, even within the depths of slumber, you sense the steadfast presence of those keeping watch over you. Their voices are distant whispers, woven together by threads of concern and care. They follow you into the dark, anchoring you with their constancy.

[gyutopia]

world of sinners iii | sim jaeyun

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: your parents are the head of one of the nation’s most lucrative syndicates and your older brother is heir to the throne which leaves you free to leave this world of evil behind. you’ve been waiting for this day for twenty years of your life, you can practically taste the freedom. what will you do, however, when your parents arrange a marriage for you to bind together their empire with the lee’s to stop a full on gang war?

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: sim jaeyun x f!reader ft lee heesung

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: mafia!au, arranged marriage!au

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 8.4k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: dark themes, mentions of drugs, mentions of violence, vulgar language, mentions of death, forced marriage, corruption, possessiveness, mentions of guns, attempted murder, talk of murder.

| masterlist | previous | next |

Three weeks have passed since your wedding to Jake, a union formed not out of love but necessity. The initial awkwardness between you two has subsided somewhat, replaced by a tentative friendship. Jake is often off at work, leaving you at home to explore the enormous house or hide away in your art studio. You’ve found a surprising new muse in Jake, and the past few weeks have seen you hardly putting down your paintbrush.

It’s a peaceful morning, and the sun filters softly through the curtains. You’re lost in the tranquility of your surroundings when Rose enters your room.

“Good morning, madam,” she says, her tone professional yet warm. “Your in-laws have requested your and Mr. Jaeyun’s presence for brunch today. Shall I help you prepare?”

A sense of dread settles in your stomach. Brunch with Jake’s family sounds taxing. Nevertheless, you comply. “Thank you, Rose.”

She nods and moves further into your room, showcasing a burgundy dress that matches Jake’s family color slung over her shoulder. “This will be perfect for today. Mr. Sim chose it for you.”

You thank her before heading to the bathroom for a refreshing shower. The warm water helps wake you up, and as you step out, you find your bed made and the dress neatly laid out. Once dressed, you admire the elegant fit before heading downstairs.

Jake is already ready, dressed in a suit with the first few buttons of his shirt undone and his hair slicked back. He looks up and smiles warmly at you, stepping closer to kiss your forehead and reach for your hand. “Good morning.”

He greets you warmly, the gesture catches you off guard. While the hostility between you has diminished, affection has not been a part of your relationship. Jake notices your confusion and offers an explanation.

“It’s just for the sake of appearances,” he says softly. “I don’t want my parents to pick up on any tension between us. It’s better if we start acting affectionate at home before we arrive.”

You nod, understanding his reasoning. Jake senses your unease and squeezes your hand gently. “Don’t worry. I know my family can be a bit much, but I’ll be right there with you.”

As you both prepare to leave, Jake explains, “They probably want to see how we’re functioning as a unit now. My father is keen on assessing how well we’re adjusting.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you think they’re happy with the arrangement?”

Jake looks thoughtful for a moment. “My father is satisfied as long as the business runs smoothly. My stepmother, on the other hand... well, she has her own opinions, as I’m sure you’ve seen.”

You chuckle lightly. “Kind of hard to miss.”

As you both get into the car, Jake starts the engine and glances at you. “How have you been feeling about everything?”

You take a deep breath. “It’s been an adjustment, like you said. But I think we’re handling it well. I’ve found a lot of peace in painting.”

Jake smiles. “I’d love to see your work sometime. I’m sure it’s incredible.”

You blush slightly, the majority of your work nowadays all contain some essence of Jake. You’re quick to brush off the compliment. “It’s nothing special. Just a hobby to pass the time.”

Jake frowns slightly, not buying your modesty. “I’m sure it’s more than just that. When we get back home, I’ll join you in the studio to take a look.”

You nod, feeling a mix of embarrassment and anticipation. “Alright. If you insist.”

The beginning of the drive to his family’s house is quiet at first, both of you lost in your thoughts. Eventually, Jake breaks the silence.

“It’s important to them that we present a strong front.” He says, glancing at you

You nod, understanding the importance of this brunch. “I’ll do my best. It’s just... a lot of pressure.”

Jake reaches over and takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I know. But we’re a team now, remember?”

You smile, feeling a bit more at ease. “Yeah, a team.”

The rest of the drive is filled with small talk, Jake making an effort to keep you relaxed. When you arrive, the grandeur of the house matches that of your own, with perfectly manicured lawns and vibrant flowers.

Jake parks the car and helps you out, his arm protectively around your waist as you walk inside. As you begin walking, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the upcoming brunch.

The foyer is grand, with a sweeping staircase and chandeliers that catch the morning light. Jake's stepmother and father are already waiting in the sitting room.

“Jaeyun, my boy,” his father greets, his tone commanding yet warm. “It’s good to see you.”

“Father,” Jake replies with a nod. “Mother.”

Yerin gives you a once over, her eyes raking over your appearance. “I see you’ve managed to dress appropriately today.”

Before you can respond, Jake’s father intervenes. “Enough, dear,” he says sternly, his tone brooking no argument. “Let’s not start with criticism.”

Yerin purses her lips but remains silent. Jake’s father turns his attention back to you and Jake, his gaze more appraising. “How have you two been?”

Jake speaks up first, his tone steady. “We’re managing well, Father. We’re taking things one step at a time.”

You nod in agreement, feeling the weight of their scrutiny. “It’s been an adjustment, but we’re finding our rhythm.”

Jake’s father nods thoughtfully. “That’s good to hear, especially in times like these.”

Yerin, not entirely satisfied with the direction of the conversation, pipes up again. “And what about your duties as a wife? Are you keeping up with everything?”

You feel a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck, you haven’t left the house since Jake’s last meeting. You know you’ll have to pick up the slack soon but you’ve been enjoying the peace of being at home away from all the bustling business deals. “I’m doing my best, Mother. There’s a lot to learn, but I’m committed.”

Jake squeezes your hand gently, offering silent support. “She’s been doing great,” he adds. “Happy to have her by my side.”

Jake’s father seems to approve of Jake’s response. “That’s good.” He turns to face his wife and places a hand on her hip. “Why don’t you take ____ to look at the garden? Jaeyun and I will join you once Heeseung arrives. It’ll give us a chance to catch up and discuss some business matters.”

You hesitate, not wanting to be alone with Jake’s mother. Sensing your unease, Jake leans in and kisses your forehead gently. “It’s alright. Go ahead.”

You nod, feeling reassured by his gesture. “Okay.”

Yerin gestures for you to follow her and begins walking away. “Come along, dear. Let’s make sure everything is in order for brunch.”

As you walk away, you glance back at Jake one last time. He gives you a small, reassuring smile before turning to face his father.

You follow Yerin through the lavish mansion, trying to calm the nerves fluttering in your stomach. As you step into the garden, you’re greeted by the sight of meticulously maintained flower beds and elegant topiaries. The tranquility of the garden provides a stark contrast to the tension inside.

Yerin turns to you, her demeanor still hard and guarded. “The garden is a reflection of our family’s legacy. It requires constant care and attention, much like the relationships within the family.”

You nod, understanding the metaphor she’s drawing. “It’s beautiful. You must put a lot of work into it.”

Yerin’s lips curve into a small smirk. “We do. It’s a labor of love. Just like marriage.”

The two of you continue to walk, Yerin spares you a glance before asking, “Any plans for children soon? It’s important for the family to have heirs.”

Her question catches you off guard, and you feel heat creeping up your neck. Despite the growing camaraderie, your relationship with Jake has remained strictly platonic. You can't help but wonder if Jake even sees you in a sexual way. His kindness and support are undeniable, but there’s a distance between you that makes you question your sex appeal.

Yerin’s gaze is piercing, and you scramble to find a suitable answer. “We haven’t really discussed it in depth,” you say, choosing your words carefully. “There’s still so much we’re getting used to, and with Jake’s responsibilities, it hasn’t been a priority.”

Yerin’s lips press into a thin line. “Responsibilities are one thing, but ensuring the continuation of our family’s legacy is paramount. You need to prioritize that.”

You nod, trying to hide your discomfort. “Of course, mother. We understand the importance.”

She stops walking and turns to face you fully, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Marriage isn’t just about companionship. It’s about duty and preserving what generations before you have built. Don’t lose sight of that.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of her expectations pressing down on you. “I understand.”

Her gaze softens slightly, but her tone remains firm. “Good. It’s also crucial to show a united front. People are watching, always. They need to see that you and Jaeyun are strong together.”

As she speaks, you can’t help but think about the unspoken divide between you and Jake. How can you present a united front when you’re not even sharing the same space? The irony isn’t lost on you, and you wonder if Jake feels the same pressure.

“I know,” you reply quietly. “We’re working on it.”

Yerin gives a small nod, her expression still scrutinizing. “See that you do. The last thing we need is any sign of weakness.”

Embarrassed, you nod, “Yes, mother…”

The conversation leaves you feeling unsettled and overwhelmed. As you continue to set the table, you find yourself lost in thought. The expectations of this marriage are heavy, while Jake has proven himself to not be all that bad, his family has become a major source of stress.

As you finish setting the table, Jake and his father join you. The conversation is stilted, filled with polite but strained exchanges. Jake’s father, with a faux smile, breaks the silence.

“So, how do you two find living together?” Jaehee asks, his eyes piercing into yours.

“We’re managing well, Abeonim,” Jake replies calmly. “It’s new and different, but we’re working through it together.”

Yerin sniffs delicately, her gaze critical as she looks you over. “And how is the house? Are you finding everything to your liking?”

“It’s beautiful,” you respond politely. “I’ve enjoyed exploring and getting to know the place.”

Yerin raises an eyebrow. “And what about the prospect of children? I assume you both have discussed it?”

The question catches you off guard, you can see the evil glint in Yerin’s eyes as she waits for Jake’s response. Having already heard your side you know she expects Jake to fumble in front of his father. You glance at Jake, trying to subtly shake your head but he only squeezes your hand under the table.

“We haven’t really had time to think about that yet,” Jake answers smoothly. “We’re still getting to know each other and settling into our roles.”

Jaehee leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “Marriage is not just about partnership but also about legacy. It’s important to think about the future.”

You feel a knot form in your stomach at the familiarity of the words. “We understand that,” you say quietly. “We’re just taking things slow.”

The room falls silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Yerin’s lips thin into a disapproving line, but Jaehee nods slowly.

“I see,” he says finally. “It’s good to take your time and build a strong foundation. But don’t forget the importance of continuing the family line.”

You stiffly nod, feeling as if you might explode if you hear one more mention of your womb and the expectations of a baby, a baby you don’t think will ever exist. You can’t imagine Jake making a move to ever bed you. You wonder if he’ll find another woman just as his father did, if he’ll fall in love with her and give his father an heir that way. He may be kind to you and has shown that for now the two of you are a team but at the end of the day he’s still the son of Lee Jaehee and heir to the most powerful mafia in all of Asia, you can’t imagine him never having a child.

Jaehee’s eyes narrow slightly. "If you don’t mind me asking, why the delay? The sooner you start, the better. An heir is crucial."

You hesitate, but before you can speak, Yerin interjects, "I've heard some rumors that you two aren't even sharing a bed."

Her comment hangs in the air, heavy and accusatory. Jake’s father’s gaze sharpens. "Is this true, Jaeyun?"

You feel a lick of ice run through your veins- not only do you feel violated by the fact that Yerin seemingly has spies planted in your home, reporting back to her but you also feel angry at the fact that your own staff, staff that you have treated sincerely from the start, has been trading your secrets to your mother-in-law who clearly has a dislike for you.

Jake takes a deep breath, but you decide to address the elephant in the room. "It’s true. We haven’t consummated our marriage yet."

The silence that follows your admission is deafening. Yerin looks smug, while Jaehee's face turns red with anger.

"That is unacceptable," Jaehee says, his voice low and dangerous. "An heir is not just a formality; it's a necessity for the stability of our empire."

Jake, sensing the need to de-escalate the situation, squeezes your hand. "We understand the importance, Father. We just needed some time to adjust. We’ll handle it."

Yerin, not wanting to let go of the topic, presses further. "If it’s taking this long, perhaps a honeymoon is in order. Sometimes a change of scenery can work wonders."

You feel your patience wearing thin but manage to maintain your composure. "Thank you for the suggestion. We'll consider it."

Jaehee waves his hand dismissively. "I’ll arrange it. You two will leave by the end of the month. I expect results."

Before either of you can respond, Heeseung strolls in, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His father scowls at him. “You’re late.”

Heeseung shrugs nonchalantly, ignoring his father’s glare. “It’s called being fashionably late.”

His mother fusses over him, but he brushes her off, taking a seat and grabbing a mimosa. “He was probably with one of his whores,” his father mutters, the disdain clear in his voice after hearing his wife ask about his whereabouts.

Heeseung scoffs. “Why pretend? Everyone knows the real reason we’re here—to see how the happy couple is doing.”

His comment cuts through the fragile peace, and his father’s eyes narrow. “That’s enough Heeseung.”

Heeseung, however, isn’t done. He leans forward, a sly grin on his face. “So, Jaeyunie, how’s married life treating you? Is the pussy any good? I heard that being tied down to the same bi-”

Jake shoots him a warning look. “Finish that sentence and I’ll kill you myself.”

Heeseung chuckles. “Who’s the pussy whipped one now?”

Jaehee interrupts, his tone firm. “Enough, Heeseung. We’re here to enjoy a family meal, not to bicker.”

Heeseung shrugs, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Just making conversation.”

Jaehee sighs, rubbing his temples. “Jaeyun, take your wife and show her around the house, I need to have a word with your brother.” Jake stands, helping you up from your chair.

Once inside, the tension eases slightly. Jake glances at you, a small smile on his lips. “Where would you like to go?”

You think for a moment before responding. “How about your bedroom? I’d like to see what you were like growing up.”

Jake looks surprised but nods. “Uh, alright. Let’s go.”

As you walk through the house, you notice the ornate decorations and family portraits lining the walls. When you reach Jake’s old room, he opens the door and gestures for you to enter.

When you enter his childhood room, the space is surprisingly empty, devoid of personal items. No posters, no decorations—just a king-sized bed and a desk with a single picture frame.

You glance at Jake, puzzled. He sees your questioning look and explains, “I didn’t want to live with my father. I grew up with my mother until I was six and was forced to move in here. My father couldn’t deal with my anger issues though and shipped me off to a boarding school in Australia after a year, I was rarely home until Uni.”

You nod at the new information, guess that explains the thick Aussie accent you picked up on when you first met. “Anger issues?”

Jake nods, “it’s gotten better over the years, moving in with my father was just a huge adjustment. No need to worry about me ever losing my temper with you.”

You nod and walk around the room, trying to imagine Jake in this space. “It’s hard to believe this is where you called home.”

No reply comes and you walk up to the desk and examine it. You pick up the picture frame, studying the image of a pregnant woman. “Is this your mother?”

Jake nods, a soft smile on his lips, though you can see the pain in his eyes. “Yes.”

You did your fair share of research on Jake once your father had made it clear that this marriage wasn’t something you’d be escaping but you found it incredibly hard to find any information on the male. It was almost like Jake was a ghost up until his father made the announcement of him taking over.

You had Anton run multiple background checks to see if he could find anything but all he had to offer was the announcement Veridian made about Jake’s birth and how the rumors of him being the son of an affair were true.

Aside from that, the only public information about Jake is that he attended a prestigious international boarding school in Australia, graduated from Seoul National University Suma Kum Laude and that he’s now married to you. Nobody knows who his mother is or much about his childhood.

His father faced backlash from the Korean public once news of the affair was made known, you heard from your father that keeping Jake hidden was a PR move to clean up the image of Veridian. It seems that’s another thing you and Jake have in common, fathers who prioritize their businesses before their own children.

You hesitate before asking the next question. “Where is she?”

Jake’s expression hardens. “She’s dead.”

You’re ready to apologize, but Jake continues. “My stepmother hated that my father had an affair with my mom. She wanted both of us dead, but when my dad found out I’d be a boy, he hid my mother away until she gave birth. She ran away to protect us, but my father found her when I was six and had her killed to make his wife happy.”

You step closer, instinctively wanting to comfort him. You bring him into a hug, and he holds you tightly. When you pull away, you’re still close, your faces inches apart. Jake’s eyes drop to your lips, and he leans in, his breath mingling with yours.

Just as your lips are about to meet, the door opens, and a maid enters “Your father is waiting for you to continue the brunch.”

The moment is shattered and you pull back, flustered. Jake sighs and nods. “Thank you, we’ll be right there.”

He releases you gently from the hug, his gaze lingering on your face for a moment longer than usual. He clears his throat, breaking the silence. “We should get back to brunch before my father gets more impatient.”

You nod, feeling the tension from the almost kiss still hanging in the air. “Yeah, we should.”

Jake leads you out of the room, his hand resting lightly on your back as you walk down the hallway. The silence between you is palpable, each step echoing your unspoken thoughts. When you reach the top of the staircase, you hear the television in the living room, its volume turned up.

As you begin to descend the stairs, a news anchor’s voice catches your attention. “Breaking news: The chief of police has officially been declared missing. Authorities are seeking any information regarding his last known whereabouts…”

You stop in your tracks, your breath hitching. Jake notices your sudden pause and turns to look at you, concern etched on his face. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow hard, your mind racing. You remember seeing Sungchan with the chief a few weeks ago, engaged in a heated exchange. Could your brother be involved in this? Your mind also goes back to your own meeting with the chief just before the wedding, when you handed over his monthly bribe money and discussed business. If he was truly missing, this could ruin you.

Jake’s voice pulls you back to the present. “Hey, are you okay?”

You force a smile, trying to mask your anxiety. “Uh, yeah. I just…umm I recognize the chief from some old business deals.”

Jake’s eyes narrow slightly, not fully convinced but not pressing the issue. “Do you want me to make some calls? See if any of my men know something?”

You nod, grateful for his support. “Yes, please. That would help.”

Jake takes out his phone and steps aside to make a call. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. When Jake returns, he gives you a reassuring nod. “I have someone looking into it now. We should go back to the garden and wrap up brunch.”

You both continue down the stairs, the weight of the news still heavy on your mind. When you reach the garden, you notice that Heeseung is no longer there. Jake’s father and stepmother are engaged in conversation, but they pause as you approach.

“Where’s Heeseung?” Jake asks, looking around.

“He had to leave,” Jaehee replies, his tone dismissive. “Something about an urgent matter.”

You exchange a glance with Jake, the timing of Heeseung’s departure striking both of you as odd. However, neither of you voice your suspicions. Instead, you take your seats, and the conversation resumes, albeit with a lingering tension.

Suddenly, Jaehee's phone rings. He glances at the screen and frowns before answering.

"Yes?"

You and Jake exchange a look, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Jaehee's expression darkens as he listens to the caller, his jaw tightening. "What do you mean he's missing?" His voice is low but laced with agitation. "How long has it been?"

There's a pause as the person on the other end responds. Jaehee's fingers drum impatiently on the table. "And you're sure there's no trace of him? This is a disaster."

Another pause, and Jaehee's eyes narrow.

"Find out who's responsible. We can't afford any loose ends."

He ends the call abruptly and pockets his phone, his expression stormy. Jake leans forward, his concern evident. "What was that about, Father?"

Jaehee sighs, rubbing his temples. "The chief of police has been declared missing. This isn't just bad—it's potentially catastrophic."

Your heart skips a beat. Jake glances at you before turning back to his father. "Why is it such a big deal? I mean, I know he was important, but-"

Jaehee cuts him off, his tone sharp. "Jaeyun, do you have any idea how many of our business associates have ties to the chief? He was the linchpin keeping several of our deals in place. If he's really been taken, and it's by any of our enemies, we're looking at a shitshow of epic proportions. Not to forget we’re already on the FBI’s radar, we can not afford any potential leaks."

The word "shitshow" hangs heavily in the air, and you feel a chill run down your spine.

Jake's face hardens as he processes his father's words. "Who do you think did it?"

Jaehee shakes his head. "I don't know yet. But we need to prepare for the worst. If our enemies have him, they could use him to dismantle our operations piece by piece. The information he has it’s... it's invaluable."

You speak up, your voice hesitant. "Maybe he's already dead."

Jaehee's gaze snaps to you, his eyes intense. For a moment, you think he's going to reprimand you, but then he sighs deeply.

"That would be the best-case scenario. If he's dead, we can at least control the narrative, claim he was taken out by a rival or in a random act of violence. But if he's alive and talking..."

He trails off, the implication clear. Jake's hand tightens around yours under the table.

"So, what do we do?"

Jaehee's expression hardens with resolve. "If he's alive, we find him and we kill him ourselves if necessary. We can't afford to have our entire syndicate compromised. Every second he's missing increases the risk."

Yerin interjects, her tone composed. "Do you have any leads?"

Jaehee shakes his head. "Not yet. But I have people working on it. Jaeyun, I need you to reach out to our contacts, see if anyone has heard anything. We need to be proactive but discrete."

Jake nods, his face set in determination. "I’ll get on it right away."

You feel an odd surge of anxiety at the thought of Jake diving headfirst into this dangerous situation. "Is there anything I can do to help?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jaehee looks at you thoughtfully. "Just keep your eyes and ears open. If you hear anything, no matter how trivial it may seem, let us know immediately."

You nod, your resolve hard. Jake's hand squeezes yours again, offering silent support. "It’ll be okay," he says quietly, his eyes locked onto yours.

Jaehee stands, his posture commanding. "I'll make some calls. Yerin, keep an eye on things here. And you two," he says, looking at you and Jake, "stay vigilant. We can't afford any mistakes."

With that, he leaves the table, his phone already to his ear as he steps into the house.

Yerin watches him go, her face passive. "This family has faced challenges before, and we've always come out on top. This will be no different."

Jake nods, his jaw set. "We'll do whatever it takes."

You look at him, feeling fearful. You’ve come to understand that you don’t like Jake when he’s in his leader mode. He becomes cold, calculated and ruthless.

You all finish your meal in relative silence. When the meal ends, you and Jake excuse yourselves, making your way back to the car. Jake starts the engine and glances at you. "Are you really okay?"

You take a deep breath, your thoughts racing. "I don't know. I'm worried about what this could mean for me, for Sungchan."

Jake reaches over and takes your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "We'll figure it out. Together."

You nod, feeling a little lightheaded at the way he says the word with so much conviction. "Yeah, together."

As you drive, your mind races with thoughts about the chief, Sungchan, and the potential fallout from all this. Your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. You frown and decline the call, feeling uneasy.

A few minutes later, the phone rings again with the same unknown number. Jake glances at it and then at you, his expression serious. "You should answer it."

Reluctantly, you pick up the call. "Hello?"

There's a heavy silence, then the sound of labored breathing. After a moment, a weak voice whimpers, “…S..sa.ve... me."

Before you can respond, the line cuts off. You stare at the phone, shaken. The voice was so faint and distorted, you couldn't even recognize who it was.

Jake's eyes are on you, concern etched on his face. "What was that?"

You force a shrug, trying to keep your voice steady. "Probably just a spam call."

He watches you for a moment, then nods, seemingly accepting your explanation. The car ride continues in tense silence until you reach a stoplight, and Jake takes an unexpected turn.

"Jake, where are we going?" you ask, confusion lacing your words.

He smiles, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "I have a surprise for you."

"What's the occasion?" you ask, a blush creeping up your cheeks at the gesture.

"To celebrate being partners," he says simply. He glances at you and smirks, “and a gift for surviving brunch with my family.”

You can't help but smile, feeling a flutter in your chest. "That's sweet of you."

He drives for a bit longer until you pull into the parking lot of the Museum of Modern Art. You look at him, puzzled. "A museum?"

Jake nods, a proud look on his face. "I know how much you love art. I thought we could spend some time together doing something you enjoy."

You feel a rush of gratitude and warmth. Jake has yet again gone above and beyond. You wonder how much more your heart can take before you fall for him. "Thank you, Jake. This means a lot."

You both continue through the gallery, stopping occasionally for you to explain different pieces and their historical contexts. Jake listens attentively, asking insightful questions and clearly enjoying learning about the art world from your perspective.

At one point, you come across a serene landscape painting. "This is by Claude Monet. It's one of his famous Water Lilies series."

Jake's eyes soften as he looks at the delicate brushstrokes. "It's beautiful. Peaceful."

You nod. "Monet was a master of capturing light and atmosphere. He painted these in his garden at Giverny. It's like he's inviting us into his private world."

Jake smiles. "I like that. It's like a glimpse into his soul."

You move on to a bold, geometric piece by Piet Mondrian. "This one's called 'Composition with Red, Blue, and Yellow.' Mondrian was all about simplicity and balance."

Jake studies the painting, the intersecting lines and primary colors. "It's so different from the others we've seen. Almost mathematical."

"Exactly," you say. "He believed in reducing art to its purest form. It's all about finding harmony."

Jake chuckles. "You're a little art geek huh? Really passionate about this, aren't you?"

You blush slightly. "I guess I am. Art has always been a way for me to escape and express myself."

Jake's expression softens. "I'm glad you're sharing it with me. I feel like I'm getting to know you better through this."

As you continue to explore, you come across a striking sculpture by Auguste Rodin. "This is 'The Thinker.' It's one of the most famous sculptures in the world."

Jake walks around the statue, taking in its intricate details. "The detail is incredible. It's like you can feel his thoughts."

You smile. "That's what makes Rodin so amazing. He could capture human emotion and thought in such a tangible way."

Jake nods, clearly impressed. "It's like he's frozen in a moment of deep contemplation."

You spend hours wandering through the museum, discussing various artworks and sharing your thoughts and feelings about them. Jake's genuine interest and engagement make the experience even more enjoyable. You feel a growing connection between the two of you, a bond that goes beyond the superficial.

As you leave the museum, the sun is beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the city. Jake holds your hand as you walk back to the car. "Thank you for today," you say softly. "I had a great time."

Jake smiles. "So did I. I'm glad we got to spend this time together."

You drive in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights flickering outside the car windows. Eventually, Jake breaks the silence. "There's something I need to do before we head home."

You glance at him curiously. "What's that?"

"I need to stop by the packaging warehouse," Jake explains. "I need to speak with Sunghoon and Jay about how to distribute this batch. We're running low on baggie boys, and with the chief's disappearance, I’m sure the police are cracking down on drug deals."

You nod, understanding the urgency. "Alright. I'll come with you."

Jake looks at you, a mix of surprise and gratitude in his eyes. "You don't have to, but I'd appreciate the company."

The drive to the warehouse is short, and Jake parks the car in a secluded area. The building is nondescript, blending in with the industrial surroundings. Jake leads you inside, where Sunghoon and Jay are already waiting.

"Hey, boss," Sunghoon greets Jake with a nod. "We were just going over the inventory. It's getting tight."

Jake frowns, his mind clearly focused on the problem at hand. "We need to figure out a way to stretch what we have and find new suppliers. The last thing we need is a shortage right now."

Jay nods in agreement. "With the police cracking down, it's going to get harder to move product. We need to be careful."

Jake turns to you, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Any ideas?"

You hesitate for a moment, then speak up. "Maybe we could diversify our distribution methods. Use different channels to move the product and keep the police off our trail."

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow. "Not a bad idea. We could use some of our legitimate businesses as fronts."

Jake nods, a look of approval in his eyes. "That's a good start. We'll need to be smart and stay one step ahead."

Sunghoon clears his throat, looking hesitant. "I know it's bad timing, but..." He trails off, unsure of how to continue.

Jake sighs at his best friend. "Just spit it out, Sunghoon."

Sunghoon takes a deep breath. "The shipment of overseas ammunition we ordered has disappeared."

Jake is silent for a moment, then his voice is deadly calm. "How the fuck does a cargo freight carrying sixty thousand dollars worth of ammunition go missing?"

Sunghoon scrambles to explain. "It went missing a few minutes after leaving the harbor earlier today. We've been trying to find it, but so far, no luck."

Jake's anger is palpable, his fists clenching at his sides. You place a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. "Jake, you need to stay level headed."

He heeds your words, taking a deep breath before speaking again. "Keep me posted, Sunghoon. We need to find that shipment before tomorrow. It's meant for the Byun's, and Baekhyun isn't known for being a patient man."

Sunghoon and Jay nod, leaving to figure out the situation. As they walk away, you turn to Jake, noticing the tension in his shoulders. "Come on, let's go to your office. You need to relax."

Jake leads you into his office, closing the door behind him. You can see the stress etched into his features, the weight of the day's events bearing down on him. You guide him to sit behind his desk, leaning beside him against the table.

"You've had a rough day," you say softly. "Let me help you unwind."

Jake’s eyes darken as he looks at you from his seated positions “And how do you plan to do that?”

Jake knows very well that his question opens the door for something more, more room for exploring the more intimate parts of your relationship and for a second he thinks he may have jumped the gun. Though when you lift yourself from his desk, looking into his eyes with desire and need swirling in your irises, he gulps as he thinks he may not have made a mistake after all.

Jake swallows, looking into your expectant eyes as you look at him innocently, sparing a glance at his thighs; deliciously manspreading. You try to remain calm about it, taking a deep breath and going all in, tentatively bring your hands to his chest and hook one of your legs over him.

You bravely straddle Jake’s lap in a single moment, settling above his crotch as you peer at him with an unreadable expression.

Jake freezes, eyes wide as his hands naturally fall around your hips sitting on him, and he can’t help but grow weak at the innocent look in your eyes though your body is doing the contrary. He only watches as your eyes linger on his soft lips, his own hands canvasing up to grip your sides with an emotion he could only label as want, eyes filled with anticipation.

“I can fix it… like this.” You speak, hand sliding up to grab Jake’s jaw. You don’t pause to think, mind blank as you lean forward and press your mouth against Jake’s in a single second. Jake doesn’t even have time to feel surprised, in shock for an instant before he begins relishing in the familiar sensation of your lips, warm palms smoothing over your sides.

You slide closer to his body, feeling your chest push against his own as you deepen the kiss, slowly with a hint of lust that leaks into the way you began grinding your body against his, needing more. Jake gladly accepts that, opening his mouth to let his tongue roam your own.

He tongue swipes your bottom lip, loving the wet feeling and you open right up for his taking, all-consuming and head-spinning.

You sneak your hands up into his hair, tugging at the base lightly and Jake groans into your mouth. You become more impatient for friction, something to quell the arousal shooting through your veins, and so you begin moving yourself over his welcoming crotch. You feel him twitch underneath you, beginning to rock himself along with your smaller body, pushing his hips up into you.

Your mouths begin moving more harshly the more time passes, full on making out as you move more urgently against him. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulls away from you, tugging on the flesh as he breathes for much needed air, moaning as your foreheads find each other.

“Let me take care of you Jake.” You breathe hotly. “I’m yours, aren’t I?”

Jake instantly feels ignited, his cock jolting at just the feeling of you straddling him and he drags his tongue along the inside of his cheek, smirking.

The heat of Jake’s stare then turns dark as he says, “all mine.”

For some odd and unknown reason, Jake finds himself wanting to be the only one who gets to have you; maybe it’s because he’s never felt this way before, or has never felt so strongly about it. But it constantly eats at his brain, thinking of the possibility of other men that got to kiss you just like this, got to have you sit on their lap just like this before he came into the picture.

And he fucking hates it.

Though now that the proverbial line has been irreversibly crossed all Jake can feel in this moment is his sheer desire, his incessant, passionate desire for you and how it has been growing. Ever since the kiss from three weeks ago at lunch, his mind has been spiraling.

He wants to kiss you all the fucking time.

“I need to take you home, baby.”

You nod, that’s exactly what you want. “Please.” You whimper.

Jake is quick to help you to your feet and shift his pants around to hide his raging boner. He grabs you by the back of your elbow and leads you out of his office then the warehouse all together.

He walks you back to the car, his hand gently resting on your lower back. "Can’t wait to get you home," he all but moans.

As Jake starts the car and begins driving, the city lights blur past. You can feel the tension from the day's events slowly ebbing away only to be replaced by a different kind of tension.

He glances at you, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know," he starts, his tone borderline serious, "I've been thinking a lot about us lately."

You look at him, curious. "What do you mean?"

Jake takes a deep breath, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "I mean, I want more. I want us to be more than just a team…and if we’re going to fuck, I want us to be more than people who just sleep with each other."

Your heart skips a beat. "Jake, I..."

Before you can respond, the deafening sound of gunshots pierces the air. Jake's eyes widen as he swerves the car, narrowly avoiding the bullets that shatter the rear windshield.

"Get down!" Jake yells, pushing you down as low as you can go. He maneuvers the car through the empty streets of Seoul, trying to shake off the assailants.

You can hear the gunfire getting closer, the bullets pinging off the car. You're frozen in fear, the reality of the situation paralyzing you. Jake reaches over and pulls you down even further just as a bullet crashes through the window on your side, embedding itself in the backseat.

"Hold on!" Jake shouts. He hits the gas, the car lurching forward as he attempts to outmaneuver the shooters. The assailants' car pulls up alongside yours, and you can see the muzzle flashes as they fire again. Jake swerves violently in their direction, sending the other car careening off the road and into a ditch.

Jake slams on the brakes and pulls out a gun from the console, handing you a spare. "If anyone comes near the car, shoot them," he orders, his voice firm and unyielding.

You nod, gripping the gun tightly as Jake gets out of the car. You watch him approach the other vehicle, his movements calculated and purposeful. You can see his lips moving as he questions the driver and shooter, but you can't hear anything over the pounding of your heart in your ears.

Suddenly, Jake lifts his gun and fires, the shots echoing in the night. He stands there for a moment, looking down at the bodies before turning and heading back to the car.

Your anxiety is palpable, but not because of what you just witnessed Jake do. The realization that someone tried to kill you is overwhelming. Jake come back to the car, standing in front of your door, his expression unreadable.

"Hand me the burner phone from the glove compartment," he says calmly. You do as you're told, your hands trembling slightly.

Jake dials a number and waits for a moment. When someone answers, he simply says, "Crimson dove." Then he hangs up, wipes the phone clean, tosses it to the ground and stomps on it before getting into the car and speeds away from the scene, his focus entirely on getting you both to safety.

The remainder of the drive is silent, the tension settling once again, thick as ever. Gone is the sexual desire and want. Instead, in its place is anxiety and anger.

You can't shake the feeling of unease, the fear that still lingers from the attack. When you finally pull into an opening at the top of a hill leading to a tiny home, you spot Sunghoon and Jay standing at the front of the house, their expressions grim.

"What the hell is going on?" Sunghoon demands as Jake helps you out of the car.

Jake's jaw tightens. "Someone put out a hit on us," he says, his voice cold and controlled.

Jay looks shocked. "What the hell? Are you both okay?"

"We're fine," Jake replies. "But we need to act fast. Jay, I need you to go clean up the scene. The car is in a ditch on the outskirts of town."

Jay nods. "Got it. I'll call Sunoo to come and take care of your car."

"Good. Sunghoon, stay here with me. We need to figure out what's going on. First, the missing ammunition shipment, and now this. There’s no way they aren’t connected."

Sunghoon's expression hardens. "We'll get to the bottom of it."

Jake takes a deep breath, his hand still on the small of your back, a silent reassurance. "Let's go inside," he says, guiding you toward the house.

When you step inside Jake doesn't waste any time. He begins pacing the room, his mind clearly working through the details of the attack.

"Sunghoon," he starts, "we need to double-check our security. Make sure there are no leaks. I want a full sweep of our network."

Sunghoon nods, already pulling out his phone to make the necessary calls.

Jay returns, his expression tense. "The scene is being cleared as we speak. Sunoo is on his way to take care of the car."

"Good," Jake replies. "Now, let's focus on the ammunition shipment. I want to know who had access to it and who could have known about our movements."

You watch as Jake effortlessly takes control of the situation, his leadership and anger evident. Despite the chaos, you feel a sense of security knowing he's in charge. A complete change of heart compared to this morning at brunch, God that seems like forever ago now.

Hours pass as the men work tirelessly, making calls and gathering information. You stay close to Jake, offering support where you can. The fear from earlier lingers, but the resolve to find out who targeted you burns even stronger.

As the night wears on, Jake finally turns to you, his expression softening for the first time since the attack. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You nod, managing a small smile. "I will be. As long as we're together."

Jake pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms strong and protective around you. "Together," he murmurs.

You nod against his chest, playing with the buttons on his dress shirt. You pull away when you hear footsteps approaching. It's Jay, looking serious as ever.

"Sunghoon and I are leaving now to follow up on some leads," Jay informs him, his tone brisk and professional.

Jake nods, his expression hardening again. "Good. Keep me updated on anything you find."

Jay gives a quick nod, and with a final glance at you, he turns and leaves with Sunghoon. The door closes behind them, and the house feels eerily quiet.

You follow Jake into the living room, the tension from earlier still lingering. Both of you sit on the couch, and Jake wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. You nestle into his embrace, finding comfort in his warmth.

After a moment of silence, you murmur, "Crimson dove."

Jake freezes at your words, his body tensing. You pull away slightly to look at him, curiosity and concern in your eyes. "What does it mean?"

Jake sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's a secret code Heeseung and I came up with when we were younger. During the year I stayed with my dad, Heeseung and I were inseparable. Whenever our dad would get on my nerves and I felt my anger issues start to act up, Heeseung told me to just call out 'crimson dove,' and he'd come running to help calm me down."

He smiles bitterly, the memory clearly a mix of fondness and pain. "Heeseung used to be a good older brother to me."

You comfortingly pat his back. "Does it mean anything special?"

Jake laughs softly, shaking his head. "When I asked Heeseung why 'crimson dove,' he just shrugged and said because it sounded tough."

You laugh with him, the tension easing slightly. "Sounds like something Heeseung would say."

Jake's smile lingers for a moment before he continues. "I figured there would be some opposition once I took over and would need a safe phrase or word for when that trouble came knocking. 'Crimson dove' was the first thing that came to mind."

You look at him, your expression thoughtful. "And the safe house?"

Jake nods. "Jay found it. He decided it would be our meeting point if a 'crimson dove' situation ever happened. The three of us, now four including you, are the only ones who know about its existence. Jay and Sunghoon are my closest friends. Sunghoon was meant to keep a close eye on me while I was abroad, and Jay is the son of my father's right-hand man. He's the one who helped me find my role in this world. Jay, in a way, has become like an older brother to me."

You reach out, placing a hand on Jake's cheek. "I'm sorry Heeseung has changed."

Jake shrugs, leaning in to peck your lips. "It's not your fault."

You stare at each other in silence, the tension giving way to a different kind of intensity. The desire in his eyes mirrors your own. Slowly, you lean in and kiss Jake more passionately, your hands threading through his hair.

He responds immediately, his arms tightening around you as he deepens the kiss. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you in this moment. His touch is both gentle and demanding, a perfect reflection of the complex man he is.

Your hands explore the contours of his back, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. Jake's hands are just as busy, one tangled in your hair, the other tracing patterns down your spine.

As the kiss continues, you can feel the day's stress melting away, replaced by a fiery need. Jake pulls you even closer, if that’s possible, his lips never leaving yours. When you finally break apart for air, you're both breathing heavily, eyes locked in a heated gaze.

"I can't lose you," he whispers against your lips.

"You won't," you assure him, your voice equally breathless. "We're in this together, remember?"

Jake nods, his forehead resting against yours. "Together," he repeats, his voice filled with an emotion you can’t quite place.

The kiss resumes, this time even more fervent. Your body presses against his as his hands roam your back, exploring and memorizing every curve. The passion between you is undeniable, a testament to the bond you now share.

As the intensity builds, you pull back slightly, looking into his eyes. "Jake..."

He looks into your eyes, desperately searching them for any sign of discomfort.

“I want you.”