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kiddbegins · 10 months ago

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Secrets Kept - Matt Casey [Pt. 1]

Requested: kind of. The request I got gave me the idea, but I decided to split it up into a mini-series on my own

Word count: 3,759

Warnings: nothing really tbh

A/n: that little comment she makes is a canon event for me... didn't break my wrist though

Masterlist

Working at 51 was a blessing. Truly. Moving to Chicago from the east coast and so having a group of people practically invite you in with happy, open arms was exactly what you needed.

You were content with your crew, the boys shockingly open for having you be one of their first female firefighters, even the older men of the group were welcoming. Something you were sure was by some grace of god.

Regardless, your first year has been going great, and the closer you got to the one year mark the more you wanted to tell your lieutenant of your plans to apply to squad. Sure you could have put in an application months ago, got a head start on things, but you wanted the regular truck experience under your belt.

Get to know the way the Chicago fire department worked, get to know the people in the house in case you were detailed to somewhere that wasn’t 51. Which would suck. Not only because you liked the crew, 81 specifically but Severide was someone you wouldn’t mind working under.

“What are you thinking about?” A voice pulled you out of your thoughts and back to reality which was that you were staring in front of you at the mug that was still sitting completely filled.

You lifted your head, shrugging faintly as Stella took the spot across from you, “Uh, nothing, honestly. Kind of just zoned out.” In an attempt to cover the fact you were lying, you chuckled, “Not my best habit.”

Stella nodded, crossing her arms. “Yeah I have noticed that about you. Except that was usually when you were looking at someone,” A smile on her face as she not so subtly gestured towards the lieutenant at the opposite end of the table.

There was no real way to hide the way your cheeks tinged pink, a light scoff leaving your mouth. “I… I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” You tried to divert your attention to the mug in front of you but Stella’s smile tightened.

“Oh, you so do.” She laughed quietly, leaning closer to you, elbows to the table. “You got the hots for-”

“Shush, don’t you dare say a thing. If I’m admitting this to you, you’re being bound to secrecy.” Your finger pointing at her made her zip her lips with an imaginary key, tossing it over her shoulder. “Thank you. New conversation topic now?”

Stella nodded, starting to go off about how she was gonna try and get a job at Molly’s, put use the mixology knowledge she had tucked into her pocket to use. Except Herrmann was apparently not entirely sure that was a good idea.

You rolled your eyes slightly, “You’d be great, you’ve made me a cocktail before and it was freaking delicious.”

“Right?! Thank you.”

“Not to change the topic again but can I run something by you?” You took advantage of the pause in conversation, Stella gesturing forward, urging you to continue. “Do you think I’d be a good fit for squad?” The question made the other girl raise.

Her lips tugged down as she nodded, “I don’t see why not? I mean everyone is if they get the right training? Why? You thinking about leaving us?” Stella was usually supportive and that was pretty soothing.

When you first joined 51, she made sure you felt welcomed, and maybe that was why you got the open arms as you got used to those around you. “Leaving us?” Casey looked up from the magazine in his hands, Stella’s voice coming out louder than she meant to.

You turned to him quickly, shaking your head, “No, no, not leaving.” You attempted to clarify with a waving of your hands.“I just uh, I was kind of thinking about trying out for squad is all. And I wasn’t going to say,” A pointed glare at Stella, “ anything until I knew if I was going to go through with it or not.”

Matt put the magazine down, leaning forward onto the end of the table. “You wanna join squad?” His eyebrow cocked up, something being said in between the words that you couldn’t put your finger on. Not disapproval but also not support.

Some sort of middle ground. “Uh, yeah? Is that an issue?” Your voice came out just a bit snippier than it was meant to, reading too much into the way he seemed to not think she could do it? To not want her to do it? “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

Mentally you slammed your head to the table, Casey shaking his head slightly, “No, it’s okay, you just uh, never seemed like you had an interest in it before. That’s all.” He replied, eyes lingering on you before glancing at Stella who had sat back, watching the two of you talk.

She was perfectly content in staying out of the conversation, letting you and Casey continue at it. “I’ve been thinking about it for a couple months. It’s no biggie. Sorry if I should have told you sooner.”

He waved off the apology, it wasn’t like you owed him the knowledge of your interest in the switch. And you knew that as your lieutenant and friend that he’d support you whether you gave him a big heads up or not.

“No worries, keep me updated?”

“Uh, sure…” You glanced slightly at Stella before standing, making a beeline for… well anywhere but where you were. It didn’t have to be so awkward around Matt, hell it felt wrong to feel so awkward around him.

But he was just so open about welcoming you in with open arms and the fact that he consistently checked in at the end of shifts made you feel all… warm inside. And sure, he was just doing his job, being a lieutenant and/or being a friend, but you couldn’t help the fact it made you want to grab him by the face and kiss him.

Which is a totally normal thing to feel. Kinda. You collapsed into a chair out on the apparatus floor, forehead leaning against squad’s table, each of the other guys just looking at you in confusion. The table was meant to only be for them but she’d already taken to it.

“Well hello to you too,” Cruz laughed out, tossing his hand of cards onto said table in annoyance, “alright I’m out,” they were playing some card game you didn’t know, just listening to them bicker back and forth.

Mainly Kelly telling Capp that his hand was crap and that he wasn’t bluffing (he was), but mixed with him arguing the same thing back. You sighed as the game came to an end, Kelly winning just like you assumed he would.

“Severide, could I ask you something?” You asked as the others went inside, the food for lunch being done and them apparently starving from what Tony had said.

Kelly nodded, “Shoot.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to ask, didn’t want you to think I was looking for an in or something but if I was gonna try for squad, do you have any specific classes and stuff you recommend?”

He went off into an entire list of classes, your eyebrows lifting as you sighed, “God. Alright, uh, could you… write those down? At least the last few, I got the diving and the hazmat but other than that.”

Kelly chuckled before pulling the notebook on the table closer to him and jotting most of them down. “Here, if you need to, I give you full clearance to name drop me to the higher ups.”

“That offer is greatly appreciated Kelly, thank you.”

Later that night, as always, the firehouse met up at Molly’s. Drinking, chatting, snacking on the small bowls of peanuts that Herrmann put out. Everything.

You were currently sitting at the bar, Otis on the other side rambling on about how he would like to start offering at least some sort of food that wasn’t the nuts but Herrmann was apparently fully against it.

As he was with most things. “I just don’t understand why he wouldn’t want to. It would help the bar immensely, don't you think?”

Stella, who was sitting next to you nodded, but you didn’t answer. Too busy gazing off to the one man in the entire building that you couldn’t have. “Earth to y/n.” She muttered on behalf of Otis, sighing as she followed your line of sight. “Jeez, alright, look at me.”

Stella snapped her fingers in front of your face. “What, what?” You flinched, turning to her with a slight glare in your eye.

“What? Dude,” She lowered her voice and turned to be away from the man who got pulled away seconds later, “you were staring at Casey. Again. Look, either you suck it up and ask him out, or you throw your crush off the roof of a burning building into the chicago river. Because you can’t pine forever.”

She leaned away as Sylvie came over, sitting directly next to you. “Hey, what are we talking about? I don’t know how much longer I could listen to Casey talk about construction jobs.”

“I would.” You commented before sighing and shaking your head, forcefully pulling your eyes away from the blonde Lieutenant. “And uh, just firefighting stuff. I’m starting to train for squad.”

Sylvie nodded faintly, “Hm, right, I’ll just listen in then,” she chuckled, ordering some fruity drink right after. The conversation ended up mainly being about movies you’d all seen, and making plans to see a new one together soon.

After a while you sighed, “I think I’m done, gonna head home.” Stella frowned before nodding.

“Alright, be careful getting there.” She spoke, knowing you had a few drinks and were a decent lightweight.

You nodded before standing, putting your jacket on and heading towards the door. “Oh hey, you leaving too?” The familiar voice of Matt Casey caught your ear as you grabbed the door handle.

Softly you nodded, pulling it open and letting him out first. It wasn’t awkward per say but there was an unexplainable silence as you both walked to your respective cars, his truck parked right in front of yours.

“You shouldn’t be driving.”

“Neither should you.”

Matt looked over at you, eyes lingering just too long that you felt yourself go warm. He nodded faintly, “Fair enough. How about I walk you home then?” He offered genuinely, always happy to make sure someone got home safe.

Even more happy to walk and talk with you the entire way there. Not that you lived far but it was far enough that you’d be walking for a decent amount of time. “It’s a bit of a walk.” You muttered, hands deep in your pockets.

“I don’t mind.”

It was so hard to ignore the way those three words made your heart skip a beat. Like he knew how you felt and all that. You nodded just slightly, not trusting your voice to be steady as you started in the direction of your apartment.

In actuality it would have made more sense to uber. Get there quicker, no awkward conversation with the man you wanted to kiss regardless of all those regulations. But how could you have said no and wasted the way you walked together?”

“So, Sylvie said you have a construction job coming up? You only talk about those if you’re not sure how to do them.” You glanced over at him, the blonde chuckling in response. He was aware that he did that, but he didn’t know anyone else picked up on it.

Slightly he nodded, “Yeah, these people want a shed, but they want it two floors, with an actual staircase but they don’t have the space for one. It’s frustrating.” Matt chuckled, fondly glancing over at you as your eyes stayed on the ground in front of you.

You nodded, “What about a spiral? Those aren’t like, a lot of space right?”

Matt stopped, looking over at you. “That’s actually a really good idea. I don’t know how I didn’t think of that.” He laughed softly before continuing on next to you.

“My apartment has one that has definitely given me tons of space so, I figured I’d offer it up.” You shrugged faintly, smiling warmly to the man. “Glad it wasn’t a stupid idea at least.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever had a stupid idea.”

“More like you’ve never seen or heard my stupid ideas. I have plenty.” You joked as you turned the corner, taking the chance to look up at him, the same smile on your face that didn’t seem to want to go away.

He raised his eyebrows slightly, looking at you. “Maybe you should tell me some of them then.” When you looked over at him he had a soft smile on his face, as if he actually wanted to hear anything and everything you could have thought of.

You immediately blushed, the thought of sharing half of the shit you thought throughout both your life and more importantly, the shifts you had together. “Uh, mmm, maybe if I wanted to embarrass myself I would.”

It was a good reason, hopefully a satisfactory one. “Oh come on, we’ve been friends for how long now? I don’t think anything you tell me could be that bad.” Matt lightly elbowed you. It was nearly impossible to give in.

Like seriously, he looks over at you with the stupidest and shiniest blue eyes and you’re expecting to not give in but then he gives a reassuring smile and it’s like he flicked the heel of Achilles.

“God fine, only because I can’t say no to your stupid blue eyes,” You huffed, looking down at your feet as you paused at a crosswalk. “When I was a kid, I thought it was a good idea to ride in one of those red Little Tikes cars on my mom’s friend’s porch.”

Matt shrugged, “Couldn’t have been that bad?”

“There were no railings and I went right off the side. Broke my right wrist.” You laughed quietly, shaking your head, “Not the first time I’ve broken a bone because I thought something seemed like a good idea.”

He rolled his lips in an attempt to not laugh, failing as he chuckled in response, “Okay, maybe not your best call but hey, you managed to make it here and you’ve had better ideas now.” Matt offered, “Like that call at that house fire last shift.”

You waved off the comment, “Someone would’ve thought of that too.”

“But you thought of it first.”

You didn’t get a chance to retort, your apartment complex coming up in just a few more steps. “Well, this is me.” You breathed out, turning to Matt as you stopped at the front stoop.

He stopped, just barely glancing over your shoulder to the apartment building before back at you. There wasn’t a bone in his body that wanted to leave you. Talking just.. Came so easily. It was probably the simplest conversation he’d had all day and between the other firefighters and the higher ups he was forced to talk to that day, he needed it.

“Oh, alright.”

There was no way to deny the fact you didn’t want him to leave either. Maybe you should have just kept walking. Take a tour of Chicago as if you’d never been before, maybe that would be a good way to get him to spend more time with him.

Just slightly you nodded, stepping forward to hug him, arms over his shoulders. The choice you made to do that was split second, not giving any chance to second guess. Matt hugged back, only a tiny bit shocked.

He wanted to have his arms around you longer, his grip not loosening as you pulled back. Your arms stayed over his shoulders, eyes darting over his face. What was he doing? Why didn’t he let go?

His gaze was on you with the intensity of about a three alarm fire, “Casey?” You muttered just barely, unable to pull your eyes from his once they locked onto one another. It felt like there was buzzing all around as he just slightly leaned forward.

Against everything you wanted to do, you slightly pulled your head back, “Casey, we can’t.” You sighed, punching yourself mentally and repeatedly, wishing you could’ve forgotten that he was your lieutenant, your superior. That it was wrong.

“Why not?” He muttered, already knowing the answer. Matt wasn’t unknowing of the rules. “You’re trying out for squad soon right?” That was why he was acting differently. How you hadn’t realized that before was a mystery to you.

You gaped slightly, “I mean yeah, but that’s not for a while.” You wanted to give in. Truly it was like he was mentally pulling you in and you were just strong enough to not let it phase you. Sort of.

But squad was far out. Months away. Hell you hadn’t even applied yet. But for some reason, Matt didn’t seem to really care. Well, he didn’t mind, but you on the other hand, were worried.

Matt moved a hand from around you, putting it on the side of your face, “It’s still going to happen.” He moved slightly closer, your body not moving that time. It wasn’t like he was wrong. It was going to happen.

What exactly could go wrong?

He noted the lack of rejection that time, eyes locking on yours before onto your lips, officially moving the rest of the way and pressing into a kiss. Every single neuron in your brain seemed to fire at once, your body immediately going warm.

Matt kept his hand on your cheek, your arms over his shoulders just enough to keep him to you. The way he held you made every thought, every bit of concern fly right out of your brain. As if you never even thought of it.

You leaned in more, grabbing at the front of his jacket like he’d suddenly disappear if you didn’t. He pulled back just slightly, the both of you needing to breathe. “Do you want to come upstairs?” Your voice was soft and low, Matt almost immediately nodding and muttering a yes under his breath.

In seconds you dropped your hand to grab his, pulling him upstairs and into your apartment.

The last thing you expected in life, well, in the last few months anyway, was to wake up to your boss looking over at you. Matt Casey being the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes made your breath catch and your heart nearly stop.

If you didn’t already think he was attractive, the way his hair was tousled from the night before along with the lazy smile that grew on his face at the first sign of your consciousness would have been enough for you to sleep with him.

Again.

Oh fuck, you slept with him. With god damn Lieutenant Casey. “Oh my god, we-”

“We did.” Matt cut you off, looking down at you, “And if you want me to leave and forget it happened I will. But if it matters at all, I would like to not do that.” He spoke soothingly.

Once again you were a snake and he was the charmer, calming you down as you sighed, “Don’t leave, but we definitely need to talk about this because honestly we shouldn’t’ve done this and if Boden finds out or worse-” Matt leaned down to kiss you, his lips probably the best form of being shut up you’d ever had done.

He hovered over you, a hand next to your head, “Breathe. It’s okay,” His hand moved to stroke through your hair. “Just, take a second.” Maybe it was you being blinded by your feelings but you felt like you had to listen, sighing softly.

“Go ahead.”

“Alright, maybe last night was a lapse of judgment, but, I have wanted to do that for at least the last two months.” Matt started, moving to sit up in the bed, you following suit, the blanket pulled up over your chest.

You could tell he wasn’t done so you simply nodded, “And finding out you wanted to try out for squad was probably the best thing I could have heard cause, working with you but not being able to do anything was suffocating me.”

Matt picked at a loose string on the blanket before he continued again. “If it means anything. I want to do this. Be with you.”

“Casey, we wouldn’t be able to at work-”

“So we don’t tell anyone. I don’t care if I have to become a hermit if it means being able to be like this again. And, I don’t just mean the sex. I mean, sitting and talking. Laying together. All of it.” His words were convincing. Almost like an angel on your shoulder.

Of course there was the devil part too. Your own thoughts being the negative side. Except, what exactly was there? Sure, no kissing or hand holding at work but would that be much different than the usual already? No.

Maybe it would be worth it. Having time like this with Matt was alluring. It was something you’d been thinking about for ages so why were you so hesitant to do it? “You’ll have to promise something then.” You spoke after a few moments.

“Anything.”

You let out a soft sigh, biting your lip, “You don’t treat me differently at work than how you always do. No, suddenly not putting me in harder situations. Or dangerous ones. I’m still a firefighter and I’m still a good one.”

Matt nodded, “You’ll still be one of my subordinates. No special treatment. I think in turn that means I have to tell you not to do anything stupid and expect me to let it slide.” He added and you immediately nodded.

“I expected nothing less. I won’t expect anything special and you don’t do anything special.” You thought before holding out your pinky to him. Matt looked at you with amusement. “C’mon. Pinky swear. Everyone knows that if you break one of these you get bad luck or whatever.”

Matt chuckled, nodding as he latched his pinky to yours. “Alright, I promise.” After a couple moments, you sank back into the bed, looking up at him. Without needing to say anything, he leaned over and pressed a firm kiss right to your lips.

“This mean you’re my girlfriend then?”

“I believe it does.”

“Perfect.”

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moeitsu · 2 months ago

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The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 19 - We Loved Each Other Then

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

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

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

TW: Slight NSFW. Adult content 18+.

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

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

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

Bang!

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

Bang!

Yet another miss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With a determined exhale, she squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

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

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

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

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

Bang! Bang! Bang!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bang!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When a heavy knock came from the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And I just gained a daughter."

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

I love you guys <3

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #ao3 fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x reader #red dead fandom #arthur morgan x oc #arthur x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 oc #rdr2 fandom #fanfic update #fanfiction #ao3fic

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platonic-soulmates-gencest · 7 months ago

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I read about crossdressing Sam so now I'm bringing you crossdressing Dean! (kinda nonbinary actually)

It's already canon that Dean has tried out lingerie and liked it. So my take is that it goes downhill from there. He's hiding it ofc. How could he not? But those years when Sam is at Stanford and John ditches him, Dean gets a bit bolder about his habit.

At first, he starts wearing skirts and dresses inside his motel room. He's alone. Nobody's seeing him. It's fine.

Then he gets greedy.

He knows he has a pretty face. It's not hard to put on a wig and some make up.

It's easy actually. Dean loves the feeling of it.

Making his body look more female is a big hurdle though. He would intentionally get skirts with tight waistbands and he would tie all his dresses with belts as far as they could go. He tries corsets. He finds scarfs to hide his adam's apple. He wears jackets with long baggy sleeves so his biceps won't stand out. He wears long dresses and skirts to hide his thighs. But there's no way to fully hide his legs under the knee so he shaves. And he LOVES the smoothness there.

He knows that he's playing with fire. John might ask him on a job any minute. What if Dean got hurt? What if John had to take his pants off and he show his shaved legs?

But Dean is addicted. He doesn't stop.

Then he gets Sam back and he has to hide it. His shaved legs, all the girly clothes he has collected. And it's hard to part with this part of him but he does. Because he can't have Sam leave him again. He wouldn't survive that.

So the clothes get tossed aside. He stops shaving. He even stops wearing lingerie. It's not safe with Sam there.

Then, many years later, in the safety of the bunker, Dean tries on the lingerie again. It's easier to hide now that they have a whole hideout as their home base. Sam doesn't notice.

Until Dean messes up on a hunt and Sam has to undress him and he SEES and Dean wants to find a hole and crawl and never come back.

Sam would have teased him if he hadn't already seen the lingerie collection in the bottom of Dean's closet, if he hadn't found the makeup supplies in the back of the bathroom cabinet, if he hadn't seen Dean stare at shops with female clothing with fire in his eyes.

"Dude, we've saved the world how many times now? I think you are entitled to wear whatever you want."

And Dean knows its genuine but he still feels disgusting doing something like this. He doesn't buy clothes still.

Not until Sam shows up with a red dress that has Dean pretty much salivating and practically forcing Dean in it.

Dean cries because it's been so long.

Sam keeps buying him clothes and slowly Dean is back on his routine.

It doesn't stop at shaving his legs this time though.

He lets his hair grow out. It gets longer than Sam's and it looks so good with his new clothes.

So it might have taken him some years, but Dean is finally letting himself dress as he wants, all thanks to Sammy's support.

#gencest #spn #samdean #weirdcest #wincest #nonbinary dean winchester #transfem dean winchester #this got out of hand #im sorry #i should write a fic lol

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louwhose · 1 year ago

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Link and Tetra because I'm obsessed with them right now but also I redesigned them because I felt like it. explanations under cut about my thoughts going into this design

Tetra: I got to that part where you find out she's descended from the royal line and got frustrated with her transformation. and after stewing about it for a while realized that it's not that she couldn't do a "princess" outfit she just doesn't work at all for the classical one they try to put her in it really just doesn't work for her so I decided to make it. the top itself is actually kinda cool and not that different from her own outfit so I let it stay but she absolutely needed the trousers instead of the skirt. she's a pirate she would absolutely keep the crown cuz TREASURE and also the belt but that one's also partially because it looks snazzy. the necklace is because it looks simpler and more suitable for tetra than the one with big beads that's the canon "zelda" design but also the king guy mentioned that she had a necklace she got from her mother that was part of the triforce and it might be the full triforce after that point but I still like that for her necklace and then sandals because it seemed the right mix of nice enough for the princess look and practical enough for tetra

Link: first of all he gets sandals too but his are close-toed partially because I love those and also because it's more practical for adventuring and I didn't want to draw toes any more. he also lost his sleeves because that just works better for the place they live and when he gets it he is less than thrilled about how hot it looks and he's 12 so you bet as soon as he left his grandma he took it off as soon as he could. the hat I forgot to draw but I wish I remembered to draw his bracelets from the beginning but forgot when I was on the lineart😭he gets freckles because I think they're cute please tell me you can see them I can't tell as I'm trying to post this but they're there. and strap for the sword because it makes sense and he's holding it the way I like to hold any strap I have going over my shoulder like that because it makes me feel cool

#legend of zelda #wind waker #tetra #link #telink #redesign #they're twelve and they have such crushes on each other and I love them so much #lou draws

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blarrghe · 1 year ago

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Happy Friday! For your consideration, “The moon is high tonight, it frames you well.”

Love some cheesy romantic lines! A little softness that will fit nicely into my canon collection. Thank you!

WC: 972 / M / Pavellan

@dadrunkwriting

As the dust settled around the camp and the sun sank low, the desert air finally grew cool. Taren cooked a stew over the fire, and the company settled around him. Dorian settled under his arm. An extraordinary thing, to be under his arm. There was a certain strangenes to the feeling; comfort on a held breath. None of those around seemed to bat an eye, they even teased — even Bull, even Bull teased. Taren laughed the teasing off and remained unmoved from his spot, his arm secure around Dorian's shouder.

He was warm. Warm and… normal. He told his usual stories, laughed his usual laugh, only now he did so with Dorian under his arm.

As the open sky grew red, Taren pulled him away. He wanted to scout out a bit of ruined watchtower in the distance. Dorian played along, offering him protection from the varghests, taunting him with silly looks.

He watched the sun drip into Taren’s desert-red hair as he bounded off across the sand. His heart leapt to a jog.

There were no varghests between the camp and the watchtower, no dangers in the rising dark. Only stars and a high, bright moon. Taren found a seat in the crook of an old stone wall, Dorian leaned over him.

The old watchtower was from the second blight, Divine Age, Tevinter built —

Seconds of that, only moments of idle words, before he was kissing him.

He had, of course, kissed him before.

And yet.

“What?” Taren pulled away to smile at him, lips on a slant, eyes too knowing. Dorian was staring.

“The moon," Dorian spoke low and leaned back, looked him over more openly — let him see him doing it, let him know — “it frames you well.”

The smile broke to flattered amusement. His eyes closed, they kissed.

It was so much the same; desire, heat, the scent of the campfire in his hair, and at the same time so different. This felt settled, wanted — like all he had wanted.

It almost made him want to stop.

A conflicted kind of moan fell out of his throat and into Taren’s mouth as Dorian felt hands lower to his sides. Taren chuckled at his lips, encouraged. His tongue met Dorian’s, and he pulled him in slow.

“Would you share my tent with me tonight?” Taren's voice was quiet.

He was, had been, courting him. That was the only word for it, these gentle inquiries, these fluttery lashes and held hands under starry skies. Dances and walks in cold desert sand, watching him under the moon, feeling his mouth move over his lips.

He almost said yes.

“But I only just managed to get the thing up,” Dorian complained, smirking close to his lips, trailing fingers to his thigh.

Taren laughed.

“Next time we make camp you can help me with mine, and I will show you the ropes. So to speak.” He winked.

“Mm, you’re much better at this camping business than I am. I’m afraid I’d ruin your simple comfort with all my tossing and complaining.”

Taren laughed again, but he was still looking at him from under lashes.

“Perhaps when one of these trips finally finds us stopping near an inn…”

A guilty pang ached against all his wanting. Taren softly hummed his rejection away, and then it didn’t matter. They fell back to kissing.

To moving, to feeling one another press close, to hands running up sides and over the hooks of belts and clasps…

“Dorian,” Taren’s voice was soft as his hands reached over the fabric of Dorian’s loose trousers beneath his robe — easy layers, practical and light. The heat was the one climate he knew how to dress for. “I want to do more with you tonight, if that’s alright.”

Dorian hummed back his agreement. It was still jarring, how he asked like that. He slipped his own hands beneath Taren’s leather vest and cloth shirt, crawling them up his stomach and chest, bringing him closer. His skin was warm and smooth.

“And I was having so much fun playing hard to get,” Dorian muttered, playing one last smirk at his lips before Taren’s moved downwards.

He hadn’t done this before. Dorian had tasted him — and how sweet it had been, to kneel at the Inquisitor’s feet and have him sighing and hard — but Taren had not given the act himself.

His lips now kissed Dorian’s thighs, slow presses of soft warmth. His hands spread and pulled.

Dorian watched him, stared.

Moonlight danced in his hair. He looked up and caught Dorian’s eye before he caught his erection in his mouth. Then he wrapped his mouth around it, eyelids lowered, tongue eager.

Maker, he felt like nothing else.

Dorian’s mind ceased swimming with dilemmas of etiquette, of asking the right questions and answering the wrong ones. Left behind were the heightened nerves in thoughts of shared tents and shared fires, the shock of gentle concern.

Promises of beds, promises of anything.

His mind fell blank to be filled with only this; with feeling, with heat, with the slip of his fingers through his hair.

He felt Taren and watched him. He came for him and kissed him, settled and wanted. He satisfied him in turn with his own frantic motions of hand and mouth, but not because it was in turn, simply because he could not get enough.

His lips addicted. His laugh was contagious. His sighs lit fires.

“A bed,” Taren said after, all but glowing in the bright, moonlit night. “Next time, I will have you in a bed.”

“You’ll have no argument from me.”

They returned to camp stumbling, drunk on sex like a pair of youth. Taren kissed him in front of his tent.

“Goodnight, Dorian,” he said, grinning, “I will see you in the morning.”

He was unbothered, content. Dorian watched him enter his tent and was almost compelled to follow.

Almost.

#all the almosts #dadwc #my fic #my writing #pavellan #dragon age inquisition #dragon age inquisition fanfic #da:i #dorian pavus x inquisitor #dorian paveus x lavellan

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antisatiric · 3 months ago

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it's occurred to me i've never really gone through design notes for twain's design; i have nothing else i can do right now so i'll do that under the cut!

post-writing me adding this bit on: it ended up becoming a sort of chronology about the evolution of twain's design. it's really very long, but i'm happy with the way things turned out.

this is where we started compared to my current design for twain! it's important to acknowledge where he started; my version of twain very much did come initially from bungou stray dogs, and especially on my older blog you can see a long, long stretch of time where i still used his face for icons. there's a marked difference between these two designs, though.

first of all, bungou stray dogs has a habit of just dressing the foreign authors in whatever suits the time period their real life author counterpart was from. this isn't always bad, but in twain's case it wasn't particularly accurate, so i aimed to fix that by removing the aspect of period accuracy from the lore's equation. this is where my first ever redesign comes in;

this was my first ever go at redesigning twain's character to fit the more serious storyline i had in mind for him! there are a lot of aspects changed here and a couple aspects i kept the same so i'll go through them.

the shape and color of his hair remained consistent, save for the addition of a ponytail at the back---at this time, i wasn't confident enough in my portrayal and its deviations to change standout parts of his design, and moreover i wanted to be able to continue using icons of the canon design without too much of an issue. i also kept his giant belt because i found it funny.

i wanted to incorporate a lot more color into this design, though; his initial design is almost entirely black and white except for the belt and his hair, and twain had always seemed to me the type to enjpy vibrant colors. because i tended to base him off the characters featured in his works---usually huck and tom---i wanted a very earth-toned palette, and eventually settled on the green, brown, and black because i liked the way they looked with his red hair.

you might also note that i kept the button up shirt for this design! that will inevitably change later, but for now it's staying, although i had him button it up partway. i considered it an iconic part of his design at the time to have it unbuttoned but i secretly resented the unbuttoned shirt coming up as often as it did in my writing, so i changed it.

as for his shoes, i gave him something a lot more practical while still being a little unnecessarily complicated because i had always had a gripe with his sandals. he was meant to be a rough-and-tumble traveler and the shoes never seemed to be practical for that, so i fixed them.

then we get to my next iteration of the design!

this one is actually quite close to my current design, but it suffers from a few elements i wasn't quite sure how to commit to.

by this time, his official change in ability from aimbot to what it is now had already taken place, and i had also conceptualized no. 44 thanks to the help of a long-dead server for the plot point of humanized abilities, although he was initially quite a different figure in twain's life---originally, before settling into the tense and unwilling mentor-mentee relationship, i had intended 44 to be a sort of de-facto love interest for twain who gave him power out of a sense of fascination, rather than inevitable necessity. the plot of twain being his inheritor came later.

this is the first real appearance of twain's white eye, discolored skin, and white hair, though you'll notice i was hesitant to fully commit to sapping ALL of the color from his skin and his hair retains a lot more orange in a lot wider of a span.

the buttoned up shirt is finally gone, too! i figured since i was already taking dramatic liberties with his character i could just go ahead and change whatever i liked, so i decided it would make more sense to just put him in a non-buttoned shirt and be done with the button debacle that seemed to haunt him all the time. then i gave him a jacket to make up for the loss of green in his shirt!

and now we're finally onto my current iteration of the design.

i've committed fully since then to the color sap on his face. i also brought back the belt (it wouldn't have been visible, but he lost it for a few pictures after the previous one) and decided on a more consistent volume or his hair. this is, for now, what i'm considering his final design, though i imagine it will continue to recieve slight tweaks in the future as i draw him more.

then i of course have my redesigns of him that suit a specific purpose in a couple of his aus...

... but these each honestly deserve their own posts, and i've gone on enough here. thank you for reading if you've gotten this far. i love talking about things like this when it comes to twain. hehe.

#there once was a wanderer. ⟹ self.#you can't handle the uber instincts of my uber autism ⟹ ooc.

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kyberphilosopher · 3 years ago

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Fensterln

“I can’t get up. You’re sitting on top of me.”

Warning(s): some allusions to sex, explicit-ish language, fluff, reader has a whole ‘Black Cat’ thing going on. Word Count: 3273

Notes: This is a requested work. This is a headcanoned canon version of Superboy, meaning he is no version in particular and simply the character I figure as a whole. Reader can be any gender.

“Fensterln is when you have to climb through someone’s window in order to have sex with them, without their parents knowing about it.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You know, most people think that climbing up the side of a building is easy. Like it’s nothing. They see it on TV, and in the movies, and in cartoons even, and they think, “That doesn’t look so bad!” because it doesn’t. Cartoons and actors don’t have to deal with the wind whipping their hair, constantly pushing their whole body all around, the butterflies of anxiousness making their heart thump, threatening the scenario of falling to their death. It’s terrifying. It takes a lot of skill, a lot of courage, and a lot of luck.

“Shit.”

Your right hand releases from the glass, arm slowly swinging back until it’s at your side. The same sides foot follows this pattern of rotation, until only your left fingertips and toes are stuck to the wall of the building, suctioning you to life. Below you, hundreds and hundreds of feet, is an island of grass and sand, encompassed by a large body of water. Over the tidal waves chip chopping away, there’s a distance. And in that distance, is the city, just under the inky blackness of the midnight sky.

Jump City, it’s called. You’re not too familiar with it. Most of your time is spent in Metropolis, or Gotham. Luckily, both of those cities have plenty of skyscrapers to practice scaling. One could say that you’d perfected the art of this sort of thing. The finger pads on your suit are sophisticatedly sticky, seamlessly letting you latch onto anything with grace. Your feet are the same.

The wind hits your face like sharp needles, amplified by the cold air and the incline. Your hair whips around wildly, also different from how it flows, softly, in the movies. The harsh breeze roars in your ears, louder than the thousands of explosions you’ve heard in your lifetime. Although dangerous, nothing beats the view. Those thousands of lights in the distance, the cars, the buildings, this building that you’re on now. Titan’s Tower is far larger and closer and more important than anything else at the moment.

“Okay then,” you mutter, twisting your body over to the right twice more, until finally both hands and feet are connecting against the glass in a stealthy, perfect crawling position.

You work your way up, one foot and hand at the time. You resemble that of a spider, or perhaps a cat. One, two. One, two.

His room is on one of the top floors, if not the top floor. From the two other times that you’ve done this, you remember the number of steps, the distance, the little cracks in the glass panes to look for so you know you’re close. Even from the outside, hundreds of feet up, hanging above death tantalizingly, you know exactly where you are and where you need to be. And you know, of course, that you are close.

Your right hand leaves the wall once more and reaches down to the belt on your hips. “Coming, my love,” you mutter as you flip open a small pouch attached. From the inside you pull out a slim switchblade, made specifically to cut through glass walls like this- designed it yourself.

The knife springs open. In a circle big enough to fit your entire body, you trace the blade in a wide arc from up to down, left to right. Then you flip the blade back inside, place the whole thing back into the pouch on the belt, and shove your left elbow against the middle of the glass in front of you.

It pops free immediately. The circle of wall falls forward into the room, with you not far behind.

Landing like a gymnast on your toes with your arms overhead, you are immune to the sharp pain in your femurs that comes from a sudden pressure like this. The glass pane is still intact on the floor ahead of you, which is coated with a red carpet that you recognize so well. It’s much warmer inside than it was outside, although you can still feel the night wind from behind you.

“Silent,” a voice remarks from beside you. It’s not an amused tone, really. It’s genuine and full of awe, surrounded by something casual.

You hum as you stand before throwing a look over your shoulder. Sure enough at your back, splayed casually on a bed against the wall you just broke through, is your favorite boy toy. Dark, curly hair framing his classically handsome face, nose scrunching slightly on instinct. He’s wearing the black and red super shirt he always does, coupled with the plaid pajama bottoms you’d gotten him as a gift in spring.

You want so badly to quip something back, but you both know you can’t right now. Not when you’re so close to the door. And yeah, that’s partially Conner’s fault, if not all. Too much noise would attract the attention of his team mates, the Titans, and then something probably not that great would happen. Maybe they’d throw you out. Maybe they’d fire him. Maybe things would just get weird. It’s not as if you and Connor are an official couple, even after all this time. You could stop sneaking around to see each other at any sense of danger.

You take a step towards the bed he lays on, noting the big, bright smile that lights up Superboy’s face at the motion. “Can you fix the hole?” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.

Conner’s eyes go wide and the smile gets bigger.

“In the wall.”

The smile turns into an eye roll. “Yes,” he sighs, almost dramatically, pushing himself up. The boy crosses to the center of the room a few feet from you and begins picking up the perfect circle of cut window- wall while you look around the area.

You’ve snuck into Conner’s room before. Twice, in fact. It’s not clean, not horribly messy. His leather jacket is usually hanging off the dresser or door handle. Sweatshirts of different colors are littering the floor in a collective pile. It looks like a normal teenage boys room, really. It just feels very ‘Conner’.

First, he pushes the glass back into place in the wall, then he takes a few steps back. You throw him a smirk, nudging your head to encourage him to do the thing.

Conner’s eyes heat up. Little at first, as a soft yellow. Then into an all consuming scarlet that hisses out in two beams meeting in the middle between them. They move in a circle around the pane until you can’t even tell it was ever not there, and the wind you once heard no longer exists. The wall is perfectly in tact.

“Thank you, Superboy,” you tell him, tone laced overly sweet. Your hands, freezing from the cold even through the gloves of your costume, wrap around Conner’s upper arm.

“Yeah,” he tosses, back, voice low. His cheeks are turning pink.

You unhook your arms and saunter over to his mattress. As you throw yourself on and relax as you sink into the pillows, you let your eyes close. “You’re lucky I like you so much,” you tease. “Mm, do you know a lot of people who would climb up the Tower for you? I don’t.”

Upon hearing him take a single step forward, one eye pops open. “I know you missed me,” you continue.

Conner lays himself on the bed beside you, hands behind his bed with his arms bent. You turn to face him, propping your head up with your palm.

“You never answer my texts,” Conner says, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“You text me?” you smirk, watching Superboys eyes sink close as he releases a sigh of defeat.

Your left leg slips over Conner’s hips. Then you pull your whole body up and over into a straddle over him, looking down at him. He’s handsome in the way nobody can argue with, so perfect and soft and structured. When you squint, he looks like Superman. But Conner’s not Superman, he’s better. You can’t explain why, or how, but he just is.

You place your palms forward on his chest at first, then backwards, behind your back, on Conner’s thighs. Your chest puffs out at the slight change of position.

Below you, the boy bites his lower lip softly in thought for a second. “What if I got you a phone?” Conner asks you. His light eyes holding yours through thick, dark lashes. “Just so you can text me back sometimes?”

“Us?” you gasp with wide eyes. “Talking? During the daytime?”

Conner glances away. “Message received. Very funny. Forget it.”

“I’m messing with you,” you promise with a smile. “Loosen up Super-Annoy.”

“So you’ll let me get you one?” Conner pushes himself up with a snap, eyes wide with some kind of excitement.

Well… would you? You haven’t had a lot of long term partners, if any. Your time with Conner has been the longest with anyone, and he’s not even really your boyfriend. He’s just… you know… the guy you kissed on a rooftop one night. The guy who once surprised you with a cone of ice cream, again on a night time rooftop, whilst you were sitting on the side of the building to watch the city below. The guy who remembered your birthday, the guy who keeps sending you the many, many texts reminding you that you can watch your favorite show on the TV in the tower. The guy who once lied to get you to ice skate with him.

Something about Conner has been enough to keep you hooked for months and months, always coming back. Sneaking into the Tower, taking more and more trips to Jump City, keeping notes of events throughout your week to tell him about when you see him.

How silly. Never giving the time of day to any other partner of yours, but for Conner? Conner has gotten at least eight months of it.

“I’ll think about it,” you roll your eyes.

“You promise?” Conner urges.

“Yes. Jeez, I promise. I will think about letting you get me a phone that only you have the number to.”

“Please don’t laugh at me about this.”

“I’m not laughing at you.”

“It feels like it.”

“Connor,” you clasp a hand on his shoulder, pushing back laughter. “Have I ever laughed at you?”

“W- Is that- is that a serious question?” Conner’s eyebrows raise.

“Get up,” you roll your neck. “I want to change positions.”

The boy below you shifts. For a quick moment, something pokes between your hips from underneath. Your pupils dilate in response, but by the time they finish, the movement has ceased. “Tell me about your day.”

“I want to lay down,” you say as you stretch. “I just scaled up the side of the skyscraper-”

“You love it.”

“-and it was oh, so cold. I’m tired.”

“That’s not your day.”

You just stare at him expectantly, not quite sure what it is you’re waiting for.

“I can’t get up. You’re sitting on top of me,” Conner concedes. “You chose to be up there.”

“Prove it,” you challenge.

“Yeah, yeah,” the boy below you hisses as if annoyed. “I get it,” he says, but his arms are already snaking around your torso to pull you close and slowly pull you into a new position.

You lay on your side, back against Conner’s broad chest. His arms stay wrapped around your middle as he curls up against you on instinct, legs quick to tangle with your own. You know he must really be interested in you if he’s not going to mention that your ‘work’ shoes are still on while in bed.

“You’re an ass,” he mutters into your hair.

“What was that?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Ha,” you chuckle once. “Douche.”

“Please tell me about your day now?” you hear Conner almost plead. “Please?”

One of your hands, your right one, rests on top of Conner’s against your stomach. “Oh, you know. The usual. I helped out a small jewelry store today, snuck into a big building, currently hiding from Nightwing- you know how it is.”

“There wasn’t much crime today. I mostly just stayed in. You know that big building you snuck into?”

“Such a douche,” you breathe.

“Jealous much?” Superboy rumbles against your ear.

“I’m gonna tell Dick,” you tell him. “I’ll send an anonymous tip that one of the Titan’s is a big poop face.”

Conner puts his whole face in your hair. “Shiver me timbers.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not fair you guys get a whole building to yourselves. What are you even using half these floors for? People in Gotham are struggling.” You frown. “Well, except for Wayne. But you know what? He’s a douche too. You’d get along.”

Conner squeezes you once. Then you feel him still from behind you, not even breathing. And then-

“Move in then.”

At once, your brows furrow. “What?”

Your companion squeezes you once more. “Move in. Move in with me. In the Tower.”

Your mouth opens and closes a couple times, eyes looking around. You can’t see Conner, but you can feel him out. His eyes are closed, still inhaling the scent of you shamelessly. It’s hard for people to catch you off guard, not just like this, but at all. You just have that sarcastic, witty, sultry reputation. And for him- Super-Annoy, of all people- to just throw you off so easily?

“I’m not a Titan,” you decide on explaining, almost asking.

“Become one, then.”

“I don’t have the money to move in. The rent must be crazy.”

“I’ll pay for you.”

“Conner,” you swallow. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking.” His head pops up. When you turn yours a little, you can look up at him, and he can look down at you. “Move into the Tower.”

Now your eyes are wide, and his are relaxed. No, Conner’s are focused, drilling into your own. “I’m... hardly Titan’s material.”

This was true. You’ve been skirting the gray line far longer than you’ve known Superboy, and he’s been super since the beginning of his creation. The first time you’d met was about ten seconds before you’d robbed a bank and sent him a wink before disappearing.

“You just told me, not five minutes ago, that you helped a small business. Helping people is what heroes are all about. You can do this, Y/N. You are Titan’s material.”

Shit. He’s right.

“Why not?” Conner questions.

“I... um...”

You’ve never lived with another person before. Your family, once upon a time, sure. Not friends. Not Dick Grayson, or Kori, or Rachel fucking Roth. And certainly not Superboy- Super-Annoy. Not someone you have a ‘thing’ with. What would that mean for the two of you? And when things go terribly, terribly wrong, what then?

Gotta’ think fast.

Your face is wiped clean, replaced by your signature smirk. “Get me a phone first. Then I’ll consider it.”

Conner doesn’t budge though. You wonder if X-Ray vision can see through lies too. “I mean it,” the boy tells you. “I want you here.”

“I have to survive the night in the building with boy prodigy and star flame.”

“Starfire.”

“Whatever. I have to do that first. There’s a reason we sneak me in, you know.”

Your free hand reaches up and cups Conner’s cheek without you telling it to. You ask your brain why, but yet, your palm doesn’t move. It feels over Conner’s cheekbones, encouraging you to look deeper into his somehow soft eyes. Your fingertips can even feel his hair, which is in need of a wash, as they get comfortable.

“For you,” you finish the sentiment, voice now genuine- also not predicted. “Sneaking in for you.”

“I don’t want you to feel like a secret,” the boy above you whispers, pouring his entire heart into it.

You answer with a snort.

If anything, Conner’s the secret. If he had his way, the two of you would probably be on your honeymoon at this moment. Hell, your whole relationship and subsequent marriage would be a honeymoon. You’re the one letting him follow you around. You’re the one never giving him just what he wants.

But then again, you’re the one who keeps coming back. Conner’s the one that never left.

“Trust me,” you nod with a humored grin. “I don’t.”

Conner sighs and falls back down to rest behind you. “Good.”

Besides his breathing, then there is silence.

Really? Telling you to move in? Of course it doesn’t seem like such a big deal to him. Of course he has the solution to all the reasons why not. Your fairly certain that Conner hasn’t thought about this until mentioning it, but even then, how did he have all the answers so fast? Where would you stay? With him? Sandwiched between Conner and Wally West playing video games for the rest of your life? Dying after Donna Troy catches you accidentally stealing her lunch?

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Conner begins, “but you should really stay the night.”

In response, you practically burst. “You hate being told what to do!” you say as you squirm in his arms. “Now you’re giving me suggestions?”

Conner sits up again so he can look down at you with a little frown. Luckily, it’s too nice of a view to be really scared of anything he could do. “Shh! You’re gonna get caught, Y/N.” Then Superboy’s eyes widen a little. “If you lived here, you wouldn’t have to be so quiet, either. You could just come through the front door.”

“Oh my God,” you squeeze your eyes closed. “Conner...”

One battle at a time.

“Fine,” you begrudge. “I’ll stay the night.”

Conner tightens his grip around your form happily in response. “Will you need any help in the morning?”

“No. No, I got it.”

Silence.

Say it. Say it. Say it.

“Conner? I, uh...”

Say it.

“I don’t have any sleeping clothes,” you lie.

“Sleeping?” you hear the boy behind you whisper. “I didn’t think we were going to be sleeping.”

“Now who’s going to get us in trouble?” you smirk. “Seriously though. I’ve been wearing my suit all day.”

“I can get you out of it.”

“You can’t just see through it?” you question. “Don’t you have X-Ray vision?”

Conner groans. “You’re ruining it.”

You smile. Conner’s the only partner of yours you realize you’re actually happy to be around. “I think you just want us to get caught.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Yayyy. Request finished. Next I have a Reverse Flash request, and then I should be good with the DC requests for now. Other than that I have some Jason Todd things, something for Damian and 2 fics for a character I haven’t written for before but are looking pretty good. I hope this satisfied the prompt that I was given in the request. Let me know anything you want or whatever.

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thepariahcontinuum · 2 years ago

Note

an anti-tinker cape

knows the perfect way to dismantle, break, hack and reduce efficiency towards any kind of technology they make contact with

Now this is a shitbag of a villain waiting to happen....Like, minor but still massively annoying for the amount of bad press they can cause.

This would probably come under a Striker class since it's on contact, but if it was extended to area of effect it would be a Shaker.

I'm imagining someone who has an online presence and fanbase like Uber & Leet, except their whole shtick is basically and "Urban explorer YouTuber" and conspiracy theory/found footage type deal but they break into things like Capes bases and looting shit (Ironically creating more work for another recent ask OC Safeguard). Whilst they're primarily a sneak in/sneak out type of villain they're also really capable in a fight as well, owing to their abilities causing havoc, especially with Protectorate teams who always seem to have a field Tinker and also their own equipment.

They have a collection of PRT weapons which absolutely do work for them because they've overridden the Tinker-made safeties that stopped Taylor from using one on Dragon in canon. Their YouTube channel is them showing off prototype versions of Capes costumes and doing product reviews of things they steal from the gift shop but then they fund a nice lifestyle by selling information on things like rotas, intel on what the PRT knows about criminal activity and upcoming plans and event on the black market.

They don't even look for anything about civilian names, they respect the code.....And also they know that the PRT really want them on a kill list as it is.

They also knew about Cauldron but weren't stupid enough to blad about that on YouTube.

Their costume is one of those that's definitely more practical than "Cape" but with some clear Cyberpunk aesthetic..... I'm thinking one of those full face masks with the led lights so it's basically 8-bit emojis, honestly something like the Crown Tundra costume from Pokemon Sword and Shield but in black and with shoulder patches that show their personal emblem and some of their subscribers logos, definitely has body armour over it and their gloves, boots, belt, mask and backpack are all kitted out with hidden tricks and stolen tech to the point that the anti-tinker is basically a "Tinker Zero" like Saint.

As for a Cape name.....I was tempted to be a petty bitch and name them after one of the apprentices at my place of work in honour of broken machines but how about "Subvert" or "SubvertReviews....Don't forget to like and Subvert"

#worm web serial #wormblr #wildbow #parahumans #worm oc #TheSternest

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opalesense · 4 years ago

Text

you asked for it

kaeya & f!reader [NSFW]

4.2k words • ~30 min. read

summary: after a frustrating and touch starved week, kaeya catches you playing with yourself despite promising you wouldn’t while he was gone. needless to say, he is not happy.

warnings: sadist kaeya, lots of degradation, choking, bondage, spanking, belt whipping, facefucking

notes: i’m so embarrassed to post this because i’ve never written a full nsfw thing before hahahhddhdhd anyway i’m going to hell... also if you can spot canon voice lines i’ll give you a smooch

"I’M HOME, PRINCESS!"

Kaeya's alluring voice marked his distant presence outside the bedroom door. The sound of the front door closing behind him made me jump and snapped me out of my daydreaming state. I could hear him taking off his shoes and putting his bags down on the dining table, the sounds of his coat shuffling off his body and onto the coat rack making my thoughts race even faster.

He's home already? I thought he was coming home tomorrow!

"Our new recruits did so well in training that Jean let me off a day early. They don't need anything else from me for now," he said, as if he were reading the questions that bubbled in my head. "Can you believe it? I hardly ever get a break. I guess today is truly my lucky day."

Panic began to bubble in my stomach now as I heard his footsteps quickly advancing towards me, giving me no time to cover up the sticky situation I put myself in.

Literally, a sticky situation.

I had been spending the last half hour curing my loneliness in bed, using my hands to replace the pleasure I was missing so badly from Kaeya. His sudden return home made me curse under my breath. I was so close to a release too.

I quickly pulled my fingers away and sprung up from the bed, rushing to the dresser to find some clothes to throw on. But as soon as I pulled the nearest shirt over my head, the bedroom door creaked open, revealing the handsome figure standing and immediately pinning his eyes at me.

"Hi, Kaeya!" I turned and took a few steps towards him, immediately wrapping my arms around his torso and burying my head in his chest. He smelled like sweat and hard work. "Welcome home, sweetheart!"

"[Y/N]," Kaeya placed cold hands on my lower back to return the hug and gave me a sweet smile, "what were you doing just now, cutie?"

"I was just about to take a bath," I quickly lied and cupped his face with my dry hand to give him a peck on the cheek. "Care to join me?"

His expression suddenly changed from gentle and loving to unimpressed. He could see through my lie – I could tell. He was always so good at spotting my lies. His blank eyes pierced through mine, sending a shiver down my spine. Or maybe that was his hands slowly freezing up my skin with his vision, the annoyance easily seeping through his sharp stare.

"Are you sure, princess?" he reached to grab my other hand and lifted it up to his face, licking my wet fingers without breaking eye contact. He let out a deep growl at the taste, his eyes turning more dangerous by the second. Any hopes of me escaping this lie were completely gone now. "It doesn't seem like you were... 'just about to take a bath.'"

"Kaeya..." my body quivered at his strong grip on my hand, "Listen, I’m so sorry, I was just so lonely without you–"

His face inched closer to mine as he slowly walked both of us to the edge of the bed. "You couldn't wait for a week?" his sharp voice tickled my ears, "I specifically told you to wait for me, didn't I? You even promised me you would."

"Y-yes, I did promise," we stood at the foot of the bed, my naked hips desperately pressed into his. "I’m so sorry–"

"Yeah, you’re 'so sorry,'" he mocked me and rolled his eyes with a smirk. "You better be sorry, sweetheart. I missed you too, but at least I kept up my end of the promise and didn't touch myself while I was gone, unlike some slut I know," he hissed.

Suddenly, he wrapped his other hand around my neck and began applying pressure, pinning me down into the mattress. His clothed knee spread my legs open and pressed against my sensitive clit, driving more shivers up my spine and triggering a moan from my throat that only came out as a weak whimper. His face leaned down to mine to give me slow, gentle kisses. "My slut," he whispered between kisses, squeezing my throat harder, "I can’t believe I’m in love with a stupid disobedient bitch."

The insults only made my core light up with satisfaction. I closed my eyes and relaxed into his touch, forgetting about all the consequences I knew he would lay out for me in a few moments. I could tell he missed me just as much as I missed him with how gentle and loving his kisses were in contrast to his hand suffocating me. We kissed as if this was our last time ever seeing each other, as if the world was going to end in one minute. My heart thumped with excitement as the realization that he was finally back home began to settle in.

He released my poor throat and instead ran his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp and deepening the kiss. His lips began moving with a purpose, groans escaping and movements getting more and more desperate. "[Y/N]," he muttered into my own lips, "I missed you so much, princess. You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted this."

He slowly separated his face from mine and nuzzled his head into my neck, biting and suckling my already bruised skin from all the other love marks he had given me last week as a memento before he left. "I’m not going easy on you after this, sweetheart. Savor my mercy while it lasts."

I grew restless after a few minutes of him licking and nibbling at my neck and started to grind my hips on his knee, wanting some kind of advancement in this hazy evening. He took notice of this and paused his kisses, lifting his eyes to meet mine. I pleaded for more action with a pout, to which he replied by removing his knee and instead tucking his thighs below mine with my legs pinned at his sides. I let out a shaky exhale at the realization that his bulge was mere inches away from my holes.

"What's the hurry, princess?" he leaned down to run his hands up my sides, dragging my loosely fitted shirt along with him. "Is there something you're waiting for?"

He pulled the shirt up enough to expose my anticipating breasts, perked with excitement at his chilled fingers. I gasped at the bite of the cold air he was manifesting. "Kaeya, please..."

“Please what?" he traced a finger on the underside of my breasts and planted more kisses across my collarbone, "Use your words, baby.”

"Stop teasing me, please," I begged with shame, "You know I want you... I need you inside of me..."

He hummed as if he were processing my answer. Instead of using his own words, he responded by completely pulling the shirt off of me and twisting it into a long strip. He grabbed both of my hands and pinned them above my head, purposefully pressing his bulge against my aching hole. He hesitated to look down at me, his eyes becoming consumed with pure lust.

"Final warning, [Y/N]. Do you want to do this now?" Any remaining gentleness seemed to slowly spill out of his voice as he made it apparent he was asking for my consent. My core lit up once more knowing we were just getting started.

I trembled with a mixture of excitement and fear, not knowing what he had under his sleeve tonight after the touch deprived days that broke our usually consistent sex streak. We were two lovers in desperate need of pleasure. "I need to be fucked senseless," my voice shakily begged, "I need to be covered in your cum by sunrise, sir."

He raised his eyebrows at the vulgar language that spewed out of my mouth, knowing how uncharacteristic it was for me to beg before we've begun. Judging by the evil smirk that formed on his face, those two simple sentences were enough to send him over the edge and into complete darkness. An evil chuckle escaped his lips. The glint in his eyes that was once loving and sweet became borderline malicious within seconds.

"Safeword?" he breathily muttered with a grin.

"Diluc," I sarcastically sneered at him, knowing how much he hated when I used his brother's name as a safeword, even if it was just a joke. His hand quickly struck me across the face, catching me by surprise. The sting made my eyes swell with small tears.

"Fucking brat, always messing around with me," he chuckled. "But you know, I could always arrange something for the three of us–"

"Kaeya!" I interrupted him and he laughed at my flustered face. We had been joking about a threesome for quite some time now. At least... I was joking about it. Maybe he seriously meant it.

He guided his hands to make me sit up then pinned my arms behind my back. "It’s just a suggestion," he grinned at the thought while tying my wrists together with my own shirt. "Oh, to see my little princess squirm with both her holes pounded crying with pleasure and pain... That would be quite the sight indeed, don't you think?"

“Please shut up,” I giggled, bucking my hips into his for an ounce of stimulation. He tightened the fabric around my wrists and tugged at it a few times to make sure it stayed in place. He gently laid me down again, enjoying the sight of my naked body fully exposed to him.

"Now for the fun part," he smiled.

He sat up to take his own shirt off and set it aside. My eyes widened at the sight of his toned torso, my mouth practically drooling as my gaze traced his muscular abdomen. His delectable skin glistened in the light of the fading sunset and I couldn't help but stare at his beautiful body. To my dismay, my staring was interrupted by his shirt being placed over my eyes as he blindfolded me, pausing the fantasies in my head that came with that delicious sight.

I felt Kaeya’s hands turn my vulnerable body so my chest pressed against the bed, my back arching to greet his face with my holes. He snickered at the sight of me being drenched as a result of him teasing me for the past ten or so minutes with kisses and cold fingers. All I could feel was his chilled breath tormenting my wetness and a hand caressing my inner thigh. "Seems like you're so eager to be touched despite ruining yourself with your own fingers.”

"Y-yes," I whimpered as one finger outlined my entrance, making me gasp. "More..."

He suddenly slapped my ass with his other hand, earning a yelp from my throat. "I’ll think about it after I punish you, cunt. Don't think I have forgotten about that."

He got off the bed to stand up and pulled my body closer to the edge of the mattress. "Now, count to fifty."

I hesitated. "Fifty? What do you mean–"

"Do I seriously need to repeat myself for your dumb whore brain?" he responded slowly and sternly as if he were spelling it out for me. "Count to fifty now before I leave you here and drink at the tavern tonight instead. You wouldn’t want to waste an opportunity to get fucked stupid by my fat cock tonight, would you?"

I paused again thinking about why he'd want me to count in this situation before shyly starting. "One–"

SLAP!

"Fuck!" I instinctively buried my face into the sheets as his hand stung my ass. That hurt way more than it should. That's why he wants me to count?

"If I hear anything out of that mouth other than numbers I will not hesitate to leave you here. No cursing, no gasping, no moaning. Do you understand? Now pull yourself together and count. Start from one again."

I quivered at the thought of him leaving me here after already being separated for a week. I suppose the pain I’ll soon endure is my punishment, after all. So with no hesitation, I obeyed what he told me to do.

"One..."

SLAP!

“T-two...!"

SLAP!

It hurt so bad and it had barely begun. “Three..."

SLAP!

“Pick up the pace, my little painslut. You can handle it."

"Four..."

SLAP!

“Five..."

SLAP!

"You're doing so well, princess."

Soon enough, we were nearing the end. I truly underestimated Kaeya's strength with each smack. Sometimes I forget that he's a Knight of Favonius, that he has a vision, and that he trains nearly every day to maintain his strength. His blows were hellish now in comparison to the first few counts, which were extremely gentle in hindsight. And he never hesitated with each slap, as if he wanted to do this to me for a long time.

“Forty eight..." I was a teary eyed mess at this point, trembling at the pain that stung like a million needles.

SLAP!

“Forty nine..." I whimpered, thinking about how i got myself into this situation, never being punished by him like this before.

SLAP!

“F-Fifty!"

SLAP!

I sobbed at the aching pain while he simply chuckled. He sat next to me and sighed contently. "How do you feel, princess?"

"P-please stop... no more..." I muttered incoherently as the pain didn't seem to fizz away.

"You have a safeword you know. But it would be a shame to stop now when we’ve only just begun," he caressed my bruised skin with care, making me flinch instinctively. I gulped.

No. I'm not going to stop here.

"Tell me how you feel, my love. Don't be shy."

I paused, struggling to come up with the right words when all my brain could focus on was the excruciating soreness. "I-it hurts s-so much..."

"I know, baby. But that's what you get for disobeying me. You’ve learned your lesson, I hope?"

"Yes, I-I've learned my lesson, sir," I breathily cried, "I w-won't ever do it again..."

Suddenly I felt his thumb caress my wetness, eliciting a gasp from my throat. "Oh? But it seems like you actually really enjoyed that," he played with my aching folds as I stifled my moans, not sure if I was allowed to make noise. "Well, princess... that's not what a punishment is for, don't you think?"

He pulled away his hand as he stood up which made me whine at the loss of touch. I heard him undo his belt, but once it was off, I didn't hear him unzip his pants like I had hoped for. Instead, I felt a leather strip gently trail down my thigh.

"Your skin isn't that pretty shade of purple I was hoping for either. In fact, if I had to take a guess, I would say it's red from pleasure instead of pain."

"Wait, Kaeya! No, please, it really does hurt...!" I weakly muttered as the realization settled in when he gently tapped my skin with the looped leather.

"I don't think you realize how long I've waited for a moment like this, baby," his gravely whisper struck a genuine fear into my stomach, "A moment when you'd slip up so I'd have an excuse to make you quiver in pain. You've been such a good girl for so long that I've never had a moment where I can make you beg for my forgiveness. Which, as a matter of fact, there hasn't been a single moment so far where you've begged. I assume you haven't actually learned your lesson yet."

He brought his hand up to prepare for a blow. "I'm going to brand you. I'm going to make your skin raw until I feel tired. And I can last all night and all day, baby. You know that."

He whipped the belt down to meet my thigh, creating a new kind of pain that made me cry out in desperation. This was a new side of Kaeya that I have never seen before. A new darkness had consumed him so suddenly that I sat on the fence of being terrified and being turned on at the same time.

And this was still only the beginning.

"Convince me to forgive you or bleed. Your choice."

He immediately whipped me at a quick, consistent rhythm, paying more attention to my thighs in addition to my already bruised ass. At times the belt would land on my holes, which made me twitch with excitement and agony at the same time. This isn’t like him. Why is he doing this to me?

"K-Kaeya, please stop!" I moaned out after a few hits, "P-please stop, I'm begging you!"

“Try again, slut."

More hits landed with sharp hisses sizzling off of my skin. "K-Kaeya, I'm so sorry! P-please forgive me–"

“I don't even know what you're apologizing for," he interrupted with that damned teasing tone of his, "Could you remind me again?"

The blows got stronger, more urgent and unforgiving, hitting any inch of exposed skin even if it was already raw. "I-I'm so sorry for disobeying you... I'm sorry for t-touching myself without your permission...! P-please stop, I just want you inside of me–"

He paused the hits to emphasize his words, which were muttered through gritted teeth. "I don't give a single fuck about what you want, whore. You’re just a toy for my amusement and somehow you still managed to fuck up."

He quickly resumed the stings. "I'll be a g-good girl from now on! P-please... Please just forgive me! K-Kaeya!" my voice slowly raised in volume in cries for the pain to stop.

"Dumb whore. It’s funny that you think I believe you."

“Y-yes, I’m a dumb whore!" I scrambled for words and just copied his. There was no use in begging anymore. A part of me hoped I would be beat to unconsciousness under him just to relieve myself of this pain momentarily.

He let out a groan and a low maniacal laughter, "Seeing your veins under my belt makes my cock twitch, princess. I'm not sure if I want to stop, even if you kept asking me to."

I couldn't take it anymore. The pain hurt so bad but as fucked up as it was, I was still so unbelievably aroused by him. The thought of him getting so aroused by me pulled out some kind of satisfaction within, despite the borderline torture I was experiencing. Maybe he was so comfortable with hitting me because he saw my body as just another criminal to interrogate and punish. Maybe he was releasing pent up frustration on me. Why is all of this so arousing?

I felt my core light up as my thighs squeezed together. For a moment, I forgot about the pain and a wave of pleasure washed over my body, sending twitches through the nerves in my legs. "K-Kaeya, actually p-please stop, I think I'm gonna c-cum...!"

He disappointedly cursed under his breath and let me feel one last blow for good measure before letting go of his grip on the belt and tossing it onto the bed. “Fine. That’s enough for now.”

He climbed over my curled up body so his bulge pressed against my tied hands near my tailbone, my head trapped between his hands on the mattress. He stayed hovering over me, slowly panting.

"I don't have enough words to describe how much you're turning me on right now," Kaeya began to slowly whisper. I could feel how hard he was by how he nestled himself into my tied hands. "Your body shaking under mine, shaking in pain and pleasure... And to think you were going to cum by my belt alone... You really are a slut, [Y/N]."

"K-Kaeya, I'm your slut... and I need your cock in me now," I weakly interrupted him, "I n-need to be fucked... right now, please, I'm begging you..."

He stayed there for a moment, taking in the sight of my helplessness before standing up at the edge of the bed again. He guided my shaking torso up to finally flip me on my back, pulling me closer so my head hung over the edge. My lower half felt so relieved to finally make contact with the soft sheets, which were slightly damp from sweat and possibly my own wetness. I felt him wrap the belt around my neck, letting the loop gently tighten around my throat as he tugged. I couldn't help but be reminded that he could kill me here if he really wanted to. I was completely surrendered to him.

I heard him finally take off his pants with the other leg, the scent of his sweaty skin tickling my nose. I have never longed to get this stupid blindfold off and lay my eyes on his figure already. It had been so long since we’ve seen each other and now that he’s here I couldn’t even fully appreciate the sight of him. Nevertheless, I felt the shadow of his cock drape over my face and let out an exhale before he tugged the belt to catch my attention.

“Don't make me tell you what to do."

I opened my mouth and stuck my tongue out eagerly which earned a chuckle from him. He slowly pressed the tip of his cock into my awaiting throat, groaning loudly in the process. he was surprisingly gentle about making sure I wouldn't choke immediately. "F-fuck yes, [Y/N]... taking all of it in like a good slut..."

As soon as his long member hit the back of my throat, he tugged the belt tightly and groaned deeper. My throat spasmed at the suffocating sensation which he responded to by pulling tighter. I tried my best to relax. "Behave," he reminded me.

He began fucking my throat with no mercy, gradually quickening his pace but never pulling out or pausing to let me catch my breath. He had trained my throat over the past few months for this, but the belt added a whole other level of difficulty and torment. The muscles of my throat tightening around him more than usual made him breathlessly curse and praise me. "Such a good slut... My whore is doing so well taking my big cock...”

He eventually let go of the belt to place both of his hands on either side of my face and fuck my mouth senselessly, ignoring my sputtering and cries for help at the suffocation. It felt like I was drowning, but all I could think about was how good it felt to pleasure him, to hear his grunts and sighs of relief. His praises were consistent, a stark contrast to the way he degraded and pummeled me into the ground like a prisoner. Before I nearly passed out at the cut off oxygen, all his pent up frustration over the past week suddenly flooded my throat as his warm fluid was dumped into my mouth, deep groans and heavy breaths filling up the room. His breath stuttered as I swallowed each pump of cum he fed me with hazy eyes, somehow enjoying this moment despite suffocating as he used his thumb to caress my face. Kaeya placed a hand on the bed and pulled his hips away from my hanging head, leaning over my body and keeping only the tip of his cock inside my mouth. I coughed and sputtered for a moment before pulling myself together to swirl my tongue over his tip, inciting a few twitches and extra drops of cum as a reward. Tears and saliva painted my face, but at last, I finally caught a moment to breathe.

"Keep licking and I might immediately cum again," Kaeya chuckled, cooling down from the heat of the moment.

"I wouldn't complain," I playfully responded, letting out small coughs to clear my throat.

"I suppose that's enough punishment for today," he gently lifted my head back up on the bed to provide better airflow. He untied the blindfold off of my face so I could finally see him again.

"Hi, handsome," I grinned, saliva dripping down my cheeks and into my hair. He ran his fingers through my hair and began massaging my scalp.

"God... you are so inexplicably beautiful right now," he whispered desperately. He began slowly stroking his cock in front of my face and deepened the massage, a proud yet cunning grin stretching across his face. "But you'd look even more beautiful with my cum dripping out of your cunt, don’t you agree?"

I moaned out his name and slowly lifted my knees up to my chest, teasingly using my hands to pull my thighs apart as an invitation. My eyes stayed locked with his. "Punishment's over, right?"

He silently agreed, releasing his cock from his grip and taking another moment to catch his breath. I watched him with pure lust in my eyes as he positioned himself at the crevice of the pillows in front of me then pulled my body forward to sit in his lap. His sensitive cock twitched as the tip of his shaft kissed my dripping hole, aching to rearrange my insides. He used one hand to pull himself down and shower my shoulder with bites and kisses, the other hand reaching down to massage my wet cunt, preparing for the night ahead.

"My beautiful, stunning slut..." he growled into my ear between kisses, "I can't wait to see you completely destroyed by sunrise. You asked for it, after all."

#kaeya #kaeya x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact smut #mine #bang #genshin impact x reader

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the-dragon-invasion-is-near · 2 years ago

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Blue from AvA / AvM!

She is also one of my blorbos, and i was so excited to make her design and share her headcanons, so all of them under the cut!

(also I completly forgot about the lines thingy, i think im 100% gona drop it lmao)

link to tsc design

She/her. Okay, this is one that im excited to talk about. It's really common to find she/her blues in the fandom, but usually they hc her as a her because "uWU mUZt proTekct sm0l beAN Uwu" or "UWu thE d0ctor of ThE gaAnG" or "uwu SHE LIKES TO COOK" or "uWU sHE doEZN't lIKe t0 fIght" or "uWU She cRIez a L0T" and i hated that, a lot. They seemed as awful reasons to headcanon her as a she, so i never headcanoned her as a her. BUT, then i came across really cool stuff that made me reconsider, and i ended up actually liking this reasons to hc her as a her. The stuff was:

She could be a herbalist witch, and that sounds awsome.

She could be the botanic/scientist of the group, and her friendship with my red would be really cool.

i just think blue is a cool af character, with way more cool stuff than the few talked about in the fandom, and that usually the she/her hcs let out a lot of that, so i want to do it with more dept.

moving on, i think she is closest to green and red. The green one is canon, but green tends to gravitate towards tsc, and i think blue might do the same but with red.

I find her rlly creative, specially since she found a way to fight with potions and plants, but also because of her interests in cooking, and how she experiments with all the potions, trying to find out what x or y thing would do, and how it all works. Same thing with the botanic area, she is curious about how to grow them and well, she got a fucking adiction to the nether wart because of that, so yea.

She is the kind of people who would put almost anything on her mouth if it looks as if it has a cool texture/flavor

She is good at long range combat, i mean, she uses a bow.

I don't think she'd be the doctor of the gaang, maybe she'll be the one to prepare the meds, but tsc is the responsible one, so they get that title.

She and red both dislike fighting hard, and fighting in general unless it's friendly

i really think she has a lot of issues with purple, both her and green, it seems to me that blue has it more internalized than green, who expresses it a lot, but, i think blue hates purple the most.

The apron's got pockets but i fucking forgot to put lineart on them.

She also has a kind of belt for potions

the boots are for the same reason as red, and dirt is rather uncomfortable

i put a star on her face cuz it's cute xd

she cares a lot about the environment as well as red, they just focus on different aspects

when shit goes down, she is usually on red and yellow's side, while tsc and green are the other side

she cares a lot about her loved ones, and she is emotional about is, as well as red. But while red is louder and like, bouncier, about it, blue gets emotional when bad stuff happens.

the uh, blouse? shirt? under the apron it's mostly because of aesthetic honestly, i liked the sleeves and leaving them as part of the apron leaved a weird look, so now she has a shirt but no pants i guess

They all are stick figures, im so not drawing anything more than a stick figure. Not having clothes is NOT WEIRD, they use them because of aesthetic and practicity, they don't have clothes on canon, don't be weird about it please.

i THINK i have more hcs but i'll add them later cuz i don't remember rn

#wow that was a lot #blue is also my blorbo btw #and you can see i don't quite like some of her interpretations by fans #but oh well #blue ava #blue #blue avm #alan becker #blue alan becker #animation vs animator #animation vs minecraft #blue animation vs animator #blue animation vs minecraft #dragon's art

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kohakuarisaka · 4 years ago

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Untamed (chapter 4 of 5)

Takami Keigo x (fem!)Reader

[ SUMMARY ] Every year, without fail, Hawks went into a rut: when autumn began, and then again in early spring. He would honker down up north in a secluded cabin. For the first time, he brought you with him.

[ WARNINGS ] R18+ for graphic sexual content and language. Non-canon compliant: Hawks’ quirk does not work like this. Reader is a hero that works at Hawks agency. Pre-existing relationship. Reader is a female with female genitalia. Feral behavior. Rutting. Biting. Spanking. Slight BDSM. Consensual sex. Wing kink. Oral sex. Romantic relationship.

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5

[ My BNHA Fanfic Masterlist ] ~ [ Also on my AO3 ]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hawks had gone on an early morning flight the following day, before you had stirred from sleep, leaving you alone in the cabin for the first time.

He was reaching the apex of his rut. The cabin was beginning to feel like the inside of an oven. That was great for keeping his mate warm, but not so great for him in his current state, where he felt like he was roasting alive.

Outside, the winds were cold, almost punishingly so. Under normal conditions, he would have been wrapped up in his fur coat. However, now, he was wearing a loose T-shirt more suited for summer, baggy cargo pants and military boots.

He took off into the sky, soaring at great speeds that would make him near impossible to see with the naked eye, assuming anyone was actually around to spot him in the first place.

He'd soar up high, then let himself descend in a tumbling spiral, then catch his fall above the trees and rocket between the branches, sometimes letting the bottoms of his boots skim the trees to shake the snow off.

He always loved the feeling of the wind through his feathers; but, the sensation was more intense during his rut. While pain receptors didn't exist in his feathers in the same manner as his flesh and bones, he could still process feeling.

During his rut, feeling was intensified in his wings. He almost thought he could breathe the air through his feathers. Perhaps, it was why he felt so unbearably warm, why your touch had reduced him to a blabbering animal.

It was difficult to resist the desire to bring you with him on his flights, to hold you against his chest and feel your body clinging to him while he descended.

It was exciting to think about what kind of noises you would make. He hoped that you would find it exhilarating. He wanted to feel your heartbeat thundering away from the rush, to see red tinting your cheeks and tears in your eyes.

Instead, Hawks floated alone and let the late winter air bite away at his skin while the winds brushed along his feathers. It was soothing more so than chilling. Despite how unfitting his clothes was for the weather, not even the tips of his fingers felt cold.

The winter breeze had relaxed him, but not for long. Despite the obvious chill in the air, Hawks was still sporting a painful erection. He avoided touching it, knowing full well that masturbation was pointless. Enduring this alone for years taught him that it would likely only irritate him further.

You were here, you were safe, you were his, you wanted to be here, you wanted him. Your scent was all over the nest and his bite mark was a heavy eyesore on your throat. There wasn't another human for miles. But, despite the obvious fact that there was no reason for him to feel uneasy, his nature wouldn't allow him to rest.

His rational side wanted to let you relax, to give you some reprieve from him, from what he did to you and intended to do again. The beast, however, clawing under his skin, wanted to have you again.

Hawks flew some, and then some more, letting time slip away, until he was agitated to the point that his hands were digging into his outer thighs, nails threatening to rip his clothes.

Snow began to fall on his way back to the cabin, and the gentle wind hurled it to and fro. He could feel the soft droplets fluttering against his skin. The snow felt cold, of course, but he didn't really process it. All he could think about was getting back to you.

When he crossed the threshold, it was like entering another world. The outside whistled with the harsh wind and kicked snow inside, suddenly silenced when he slammed the door. He felt the sudden security of being in his nest, enclosed, private, safe, where it smelt like freshly cut logs and you.

As Hawks stepped into the living room, he realized that you had migrated away from the bed, likely due to the cold. You had brought some blankets and pillows over and haphazardly arranged them in front of the fireplace. You had even dug a rolled-up futon out of the supply closet to pile the bedding on top of. He had forgotten that was even in there.

His boots thumped against the wood floor as he walked, catching your attention. You peered up at him, your eyes failing to mask your excitement at his return.

At a glance, Hawks could see that you had showered while he was away. Your hair was clean, just a tiny bit damp at the ends. As he got closer, he could faintly catch a whiff of the well water that fed into to the cabin lingering on your skin.

It was only natural that you would want to clean off after what he had done to you the past couple days. Hawks was well aware of that and was trying to remain calm about the whole situation; but, the truth was, he was annoyed by your actions.

You had washed him away.

Of course, that could easily be remedied.

Hawks advanced towards you, mindful to not step on the blankets with his boots, to not dirty the nest you made. He lowered onto his haunches first, taking in the sight of you, the sight of the bedding you had arranged without him. You had slipped on one of his shirts and a pair of shorts, not suitable for the weather, but suitable for him. Like this, your body was very accessible, that much was certain.

"I made breakfast, if you're hungry?" you offered, clearly not at all perturbed by his looming and staring. He didn't look annoyed, but oddly intrigued, maybe even flattered by your behavior.

"You have snow in your hair," you observed, smiling at the sight of pale white crystals caught in his blonde locks. You leaned up and reached for him, carefully tousling his hair to shake the snow free.

He waited until you were done preening him and suddenly jerked forward, pushing you onto your back with his torso. He followed with you, knees pinning you beneath him, one falling between your thighs.

When you peered up at him, unperturbed by his behavior, Hawks' gold eyes narrowed and his fangs bared. A sound that you didn't know he was capable of making snarled from behind his teeth and echoed around the room.

It was a growl, not like anything you had heard from a dog, or any animal, really. You didn't know that he could make noises like that. It seemed unfitting for the calm, polite hero that you knew so well. Then again, he had warned you about this.

Maybe, this whole experience was doing something to you, changing you; or, more likely, he was helping you discover things about yourself you never knew existed.

The growl didn't frighten you at all. It made you tremble with excitement, made your skin prickle with goosebumps and heart flutter, made wetness pool between your legs.

Spurred on by him, maybe wanting to rattle the beast's cage a little, you decided to be daring. You lifted a leg, pressed your foot against his chest, and pushed against him. Of course, he didn't budge at all. He was much stronger than you normally, and especially unwavering in this state of mind.

"Take off your clothes," you requested, trying your damn best to sound powerful, unyielding. You sounded firm, sure, but you didn't sound as strong as you wanted to, maybe not strong enough to coerce a beast.

Yet, Hawks' gaze softened, surprising you. He had told you he wanted you to be yourself, to not succumb to his every emotion. It kept him grounded, reminded him that you were here of your own free will, because you wanted to be. Your demand sobered him.

"Whatever you want," he uttered, sultry and low, and it made you tremble with excited goosebumps.

He leaned back, rising to his feet, and began shucking off his clothes in record time. His boots hit the floor noisily before he fumbled with his belt, having it barely undone before it was dragged down his hips by his pants.

He wasn't wearing underwear, you realized, as he shucked his pants off his feet. He lifted his arms and tugged his shirt over his head. The fabric hit the floor and, rather than throwing himself on top of you, Hawks remained standing.

His wings were spread out behind him, crimson feathers bright and imposing. His gold eyes were vibrant, staring you down like a predator seconds away from laying claim to its prey.

However, it didn't go unnoticed to you that he was standing there to allow you to appraise him, as if you had never laid eyes upon his nudity before.

Despite the cold, he had a faint sheen of sweat that was glistening in the light coming from the fireplace, outlining taut abdominal muscles. He hadn't eaten much since his arrival, and that much was obvious by the exaggerated tightness around his core, muscles more enhanced than you had ever seen before.

It felt almost shameful to stare at his crotch, but it was damn near impossible to not admire the heavy cock between his thighs. It was a sight to behold, just like the rest of him. The trail of pale blonde pubes leading from beneath his belly button was practically begging you to stare.

Still, you dragged your gaze back up at his face, where he looked surprisingly anxious, as if there a chance in hell you would tell him no. Sometimes, it was astonishing to think that someone so beautiful could have an ounce of self-doubt. But, he did. Even if he managed to hide it well, you could always spot it, the fear of not being good enough.

"Keigo," you uttered, voice sounding weak over the sound of the crackling fireplace.

Your arms lifted, hands reaching out for him, beckoning him into an embrace. You blinked and suddenly, he was on top of you, torso ushering you back into the sheets while his hands clawed at your shorts, dragging them down your legs.

Hawks panted into your neck, nails biting at the fleshy meat of your thighs as he tried to will himself to calm down. He was being nonsensical. You had been together for a while now. He had fucked you in every position he could possibly think of, held you at night when he could and kissed your mouth like you were his.

Because you were. Yet, despite all that, he felt so pleased that you still chose him, again.

When your hands slid over his shoulders and felt the burning heat of his skin, you felt a tinge of guilt at his state. Deliriously, you wanted to take care of him, to be able to give him everything he needed.

One hand cradling the back of his neck, you pulled him up until his face came into view and you kissed at the corner of his mouth. Encouraged, he followed, tilting his head to capture your lips in a proper kiss.

You felt his shoulders relax as his body slid atop yours, legs tangled and torsos coming together. His hands released your thighs, opting to slide up your sides, beneath your shirt and along the expansion of your ribs, where the pads of his fingers traced the outlines of your bones.

Despite the insistent, throbbing erection trapped against your thigh, burning hot like forged iron, his kisses were gentle, ushering your mouth open to accept his tongue. He kissed you like he had forgotten what your mouth tasted like, tongue slotting over yours eagerly, moaning into the kiss senselessly.

After sometime, you pushed back against his chest until he finally got the message and pulled back from your lips. You tried not to laugh at the childishly irritated scowl on his face, his expression silently reprimanding you for stopping him.

"Lay down," you urged. "I wanna touch you."

"Don't need any more teasing, babe," he protested weakly.

Still, despite his protest, you nudged him pleadingly. Hawks groaned like you had struck him, but complied and began rolling over, bringing you above him.

You watched his wings flex and fan out comfortably beneath him, spread out across the sheets like twin, elegant blankets, mindful of the fireplace. He propped his back up with some pillows, giving him just enough leverage to lean up a little, but not quite in a seated position.

As Hawks got situated, you tweaked one of his nipples between your fingers. He yelped at the touch, shoulders twitching and wings shuddering faintly beneath him. Your hand was ripped away by a grip at the wrist; but, you couldn't hold back a smile as he glared up at you.

That glare disappeared off his face when you started wiggling down his lap. Of course he knew what was coming, especially when you cupped his weeping cock and tenderly lifted it off his abdomen. Yet, excitement clawed up his spine as if he was sincerely surprised.

He hardly registered your tongue lapping at the swollen tip, where he was sticky with precum. He did, however, painfully so, notice when you sank down, enveloping his length in your hot mouth.

For a moment, you just held him against your tongue, reveling in the salty taste and moaning when you felt him throb. You slid up to the tip, failing to notice how tense the rest of him was, back arched and staring down at you intensely, muscles tight from head to toe. When you sank back down, tightening your mouth around his shaft, Hawks cried out suddenly.

His loudness startled you more so than the sudden gush of his seed. His hands grabbed at the bedding. In the corner of your eye, you could see his feathers shuddering beneath him.

Hawks' cock throbbed with each spurt, heavy where it rested against your lax tongue. He was deep enough that his seed spilled right down your throat. You relaxed and swallowed it carefully, cheeks tinted red as Hawks whined above you.

When he came down from his high, he was still impossibly hard, throbbing against your tongue as if he hadn't come at all. You began bobbing your head, excited at the thought of getting him to come again. However, his hands suddenly flew up, grabbed at your cheeks and pulled you off.

You hadn't expected that, resulting in a wet pop and a string of saliva dangling between your drooping bottom lip and his member. Hawks stared for a moment, almost in disbelief at the sight, like something taken straight out of a porno, and not reality.

"God, you look so fucking naughty," he snarled, dragging your face in towards his, forcing you to arch over him. "Dirty fucking girl, aren't you?"

His tongue lapped against your bottom lip, catching your dripping saliva, before entering your mouth without preamble. The wet organ thrashed around senselessly, enjoying the taste of himself on your mouth. After a few seconds, he pulled back with a growl and dragged your shirt up, forcing your arms above your head to free you from the garment.

"Keigo, let me-" you whined.

"Be good," he silenced you in a gentle, albeit commanding, voice.

The world flipped when he spun you back around and your back hit the bedding. His wings fanned out above the two of you, beat against the air once, and flexed, plumes spread out majestically.

"I wanna touch you more," you protested, fingers weaving through his hair with dangerous intent. You gently dug the pads of your fingers into his scalp and watched his head lull from the pleasure, eyes fluttering shut.

"That's not being good," Hawks commented with a groan, making no immediate movement to stop you.

"I wasn't done," you retorted, leaning up to drag your cheek against the stubble on his jaw. You couldn't hold back a shudder at the sensation, soft yet rough hair dragging against your skin.

"Fuck," the winged hero growled, eyes opening to take you in with a faint glare.

Your felt a wandering hand smack gently against your inner thigh, forcing your legs to spread to give him space to settle between them. A digit suddenly grazed your slit, circling your entrance to gather wetness before slipping inside.

It was almost laughable to think he had gone out into the snow to cool off; yet, the heat of your core was tantalizing, so inviting that the touch alone threatened to undo him. You were already slippery and when he effortlessly sought out your sweet spot, you mewled.

Hawks groaned like you had wounded him, the sound practically vibrating from his throat and traveling through him onto you. He tilted his head to nibble at your jaw, breath hot enough to burn your skin where he exhaled against you.

"You're ready for me," Hawks commented lowly, driving his finger inside until his knuckles brushed your folds. "Did you like the taste of my cock that much? -my cum? Feel this - fuck. You're begging for it."

"You're begging for it," you retorted softly, hands carefully untangling from his hair and sliding down to cup his face. You pulled him back, away from your neck, so you could look into his eyes.

"Yeah," he agreed in a low sigh, forehead bumping against yours just a little too roughly. "Want you so fucking bad."

"How bad?" you hummed encouragingly, hiking your legs up on his waist to pull him in.

His finger slipped free, hands shifting to slide over your hips, dragging you into a place more to his liking, pinned beneath him, where you were helpless to much more than squirm. You hiked your legs up on his hips, groaning when he humped at your core, causing his cock to drag against your folds.

"Kinda hurts, if I'm being honest," Hawks groaned out lowly.

"I'll take care of you," you promised, blinking slowly as you stared back at his vibrant gold eyes.

"Yeah?" he uttered weakly. "I can just-"

His tip prodded at your entrance and Hawks cut off, moaning in a wounded manner that had your head spinning. You had seen him get pent-up and frustrated before, after week long missions and months apart; but, he never sounded quite like this.

"Yes," you whispered back harshly.

With a shift of his hips, he was suddenly buried inside you. The sudden intrusion wasn't as startling as the loud noise that escaped Hawks. He shuddered above you, crying out, wings flexing and beating the air, driving him down against you.

"Oh, fuck, Keigo," you whined, realizing he had finished the moment he slipped inside.

His cock throbbed as if to remind you that he wasn't done yet. There was a wet squelch as he slipped out and rammed back inside, nearly drowned out by a guttural, "f-fuck", that he breathed against your neck.

He thrusted a few times, rough rolls of his hips, forcing your walls to accommodate his girth. You couldn't hold back a weak groan. As prepared as you might have been, it was inevitable that there would always be some strain to take him.

Hawks must have assumed that he was taking you too hard, for he slowed down, uttering a weak, "s-sorry."

Yet, the dissatisfaction from his slow pace was far worse than the slight ache when he took it too fast. You didn't want it slow and soft. The last couple days had you wound up, prepared for the promised, carnal passion. You wanted him to fuck you like his life depended on it.

"No," you hissed out, trying to angle your hips up to bring him in harder, fast. "God - no - Keigo, harder-"

With a faint growl, he obeyed that command, the sudden hard roll of the hips forcing you to break off into a loud cry.

"Babe, I'm gonna lose it if you talk like that," he warned, words throaty and rough where they breathed against your skin.

You worked one hand into his hair while the other grabbed at his back, nails biting deliciously into his skin, holding him close, forcing your bodies together.

"I want you to," you uttered between broken moans that he forced out of you with his cock.

Hawks uttered your name lowly, a clear warning.

"God, Keigo, just-" you growled, wiggling around helplessly beneath him. He shifted his weight, holding you down with a growl, as if you were dare trying to escape him.

It was exciting, and had you babbling at him wantonly, "you're so f-fucking sexy and I - I want it. Want you to just - f-fuck me like - ahh, Keigo, your mate."

His arms suddenly wound beneath you and hoisted you off the floor. You cried out, clinging to him in a startle at the sudden verticality. Hawks leaned upright, on his knees in front of the fireplace, holding you up, pressed against his chest, hands gripping your meaty hips to hold you at the perfect angle to fuck up into you.

"My mate? -fuck when you say things like that, makes me fucking - ghhh - fu-uck - you want me to fuck you? Yeah?" he babbled on, whispering harshly right into your ear.

It was a little too close, a little too loud, and left a ringing sensation in your head. Yet, you didn't want to shy away, especially not when he started growling. Clinging to him desperately, you could feel his back muscles shifting as his wings flapped with enough force to knock some logs off the stand.

His head tilted back and took in the sight of your face. Your eyes were struggling to remain open, lips parted lewdly, cheeks tinted a brilliant shade of red.

"You look amazing," he whispered, hot breath fanning over your face. "Fucked stupid on my cock, where you belong."

You moaned lowly, head lulling against his shoulder. You felt his lips press a kiss against your temple and he continued uttering into your hair.

"Gonna fill my pretty mate with cum. Is that what she wants?" he whispered, low and sweet, sultry and downright vulgar. You didn't answer; but, he felt your nails bite into his shoulders, heard your breath briefly catch in your throat.

"Yeah, she does," he agreed, breaking off into a pleased hum.

The wet, fleshy sounds drowned out the noise of the fireplace, accompanied by your helpless mewling and Hawks disgruntled moans and grunts. You were so close like this, held up by his strong grip, chest to chest.

You sought out the strength to peer up and catch a glimpse of his wings shuddering, flexing out from his back either for balance or unconsciously, you couldn't determine. You tore one of your hands from his shoulder and dragged your fingers through his plumes, along the growth until you met his back.

Hawks cried out in a sharp roar. His pace increased exponentially as he rode out his orgasm, wheezing and panting into the space beside your head. That white-hot pleasure overtook you at some point, forcing a startled scream from your throat.

He kept going and going, only slowing down when he was certain you were finished. Suddenly, he slipped out, and the emptiness had you whimpering, head spinning and body aching.

Your back hit the bedding and then your front when Hawks rolled you over. Focused on the ache between your thighs, you barely processed the rustling of the bedding, until Hawks shoved some pillows beneath your abdomen to slightly elevate your lower half.

He propped himself up on his hands and knees, fingers splayed out across the bedsheets on either side of your torso. You felt the tops of his thighs slide against the backs of yours, cock heavy and wet against your core.

The realization of what he was about to do seemed to slap him in the face at that moment, for Hawks suddenly stopped, freezing up behind you.

"Fuck, I need you," he uttered, voice hoarse and low. "Please - please, can I keep going? -still so fucking hard."

You almost didn't recognize the sound of his voice, hoarse and desperate; but, then, his wings beat against the air, sharply reminding you that this was Takami Keigo.

Your cheek was pressed against one of the pillows, arms splayed out above your head, and you realized faintly that you must have been quite the sight, spread out lewdly for him, back curved, ass in the air, presenting to him like a bitch in heat.

There was no sense of obligation spurring your unity; or, if there was, it was an afterthought. All you felt was desire, longing for more, aching to be filled, trembling and void of any coherent thought beyond Hawks.

You could feel his throbbing cock at your entrance, his knees pushing yours apart, his arms trembling on either side of you. He was hovering some odd few inches; yet, he was panting so heavily, you could feel it fanning over your back.

"Keigo," you whispered weakly. "Don't stop."

Your scream drowned out the inhuman growl that escaped him as he shoved his hips forward, sheathing himself inside your velvety heat, as deep as he could possibly go, trying to push his hips further forward as if it wasn't enough.

Hawks fucked you wildly, huffing out sharp breaths mingled with pleasured moans. It didn't take long for him to reposition his hands, one settling on your waist while the other fisted in the bedsheets above your head. He arched over you possessively, wings beating the air to drive him forward. As unnecessary as it was, you couldn't deny the way it stoked the fire inside you.

Before you could even think to ask, one of his feathers wiggled between your thighs, nuzzling against your pearl where it flicked and twirled, pinching at the bud with just enough friction to be pleasurable, but not too hard to be painful.

"Keigo!" you cried out, hands gripping the sheets with enough force to nearly tear them.

"Say my name," tumbled from his lips, like a broken baritone. "Yeah - fuck - my name - say my name. Gonna - ahh - stuff you with my c- ahh - fuck, you feel so good - so good," he babbled on, leaving your head spinning.

He was fucking into you at the perfect angle, ensuring his cock reached your sweet spot with each and every thrust. At some point, coherent thoughts died. Nothing existed beyond the bed sheets, the fireplace, the cabin. All you could think about was the sweet scent lingering on the sheets beneath you and the explosive pleasure Hawks was forcing through your body.

He came again at some point; but, you could hardly tell. Everything was already sopping wet, seed dripping from your cunt and down your thighs, as well his. The sounds he made never ceased, inhuman groans deep in his throat that mingled with each hurried inhale and exhale, in harmony with his thrusts.

His dominant hand slid down your spine, carefully curling at the back of your neck to hold you down. As mindless as it might have appeared, you were acutely aware that he wasn't holding all his weight down.

You were familiar with the power he held, the brute strength hidden beneath his charming and silly demeanor. He could hurt you very easily if he wanted to; but, he never did. Even in this state, his self-control was mind boggling, pinning you with just the right amount of pressure to keep you still, but not enough to cause any discomfort.

'Keigo' fell from your lips, again and again, as if it was the only word you knew. Above you, Hawks seemed to be in the very state he had been worried about, that he had warned you about: blinded by the pleasure of your core, lost to the desires overwhelming his every thought for days.

At some point, he hunched over even further, hardly thrusting properly anymore and just rutting into you, and you felt his lips touch the space between your shoulder blades.

It was hardly a kiss and you realized vaguely that he was drooling a little before you felt the sting of his teeth. Hawks gnawed a path up your back, leaving behind pink, blossoming bruises, before digging his teeth into your shoulder. It wasn't as strong as the last bite, a brief sting before the pain was lost to the pleasure.

He growled into your skin, whole body quaking with sharp tremors, signaling that he had reached orgasm again. You had lost sense of your own awhile ago, always ablaze in white hot pleasure. The mere touch of his hand along your skin, every shift of his hips, the union of your sexes, had you vibrating.

You lost track of how long that went on, how long Hawks kept going, mouth latched onto your skin, slobbering and whimpering into your flesh, while his hips rolled against yours, pinning you between the floor and his unwavering form.

Everything felt too good for you to process how tired you had become, brought to the brink of exhaustion, glistening with sweat from head to toe, kept awake only by his invasion of your body, the drag of his cock along your velvety walls.

Eventually, Hawks began to slow. He carefully removed his teeth from your shoulder and gave a few more thrusts, letting out a low whine that you could guess was one last, final orgasm.

His feather departed your slippery folds, leaving you aching and spent, and he remained buried as deep as he possibly could, hips pressed tightly against yours.

Hawks nuzzled his face into the back of your neck, panting wildly, and you felt what you could only describe as vibrations rumbling from his chest, so violently that it had you shaking beneath him. It was almost alarming, but the tremors steadily waned as his breathing relaxed.

Carefully, Hawks turned you onto your side, shoved the pillow beneath you away, and curled into the space between you, pressed tightly against your back, skin touching in every spot that was possible. His wings stretched out behind him, past the boundary of the bedding and spread out across the floor, lax like the rest of him.

Hawks adjusted your legs carefully, stretching them out with his own until they were comfortably laying side by side, all whilst ensuring his cock remained lodged inside you. The strain wasn't unpleasant; rather, you were surprised by how good it felt.

"Keigo?" you uttered weakly, voice so low, you were surprised he even heard you.

You felt his lips kiss at your throat and a hand settle over your tummy, fingers splayed. He uttered your own name back, as if reassuring, before his fingers moved around, sliding up and down your side soothingly.

You willed your eyes to open and watched the flames inside the hearth dance briefly before your gaze darkened and you drifted off to sleep, lulled by the sounds of the storm brewing outside and Hawks breathing softly behind you.

He didn't join you in the abyss, but watched over you cautiously, as if you could possibly be in any danger. The storm outside wasn't particularly worrisome, but it made it impossible for him to pick up sounds beyond the boundary of the cabin.

If you had turned to look upon his face, you would have seen his pupils miniscule, gold iris vibrant and wild. There was no chance that anyone would possibly disturb you, and his sensible self would have known that; but, as he was now, rut peaked and beast sufficiently satisfied, Hawks couldn't be told otherwise.

An arm drooped loosely over your waist, holding you close, and he listened to the soothing beats of your heart as you drifted into a peaceful slumber.

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