#the Now Saddled addition!

[metaphorical-goblin]

happy unnecessary feelings day everyone

[comatosebunny09]

preface [ un ] | sylus

summary: he reluctantly agreed to let you be bait. ‘you’ll be fine,’ he tells himself. you always are, more than capable of holding your own. you wouldn’t be his ace otherwise. his jaw tenses. doesn’t make him worry any less. he just needs you to hold out a little bit longer until he can get to you. and hopefully, the other girls they’d taken from their families are with you, too.

warning(s): alcohol use, adult themes, profanity, kidnapping, mild violence

now playing: champagne cool - jackson wang

tagging: @athanasia-day @falon-fen @queen-serena88 @karespocketboyfriends @mrswanel @readerxyourfave @world-of-hearts @sunsets-and-crows @antonneva

notes: preface for limerence. | part 2

He doesn’t like to share.

He’s slowly coming to terms with that fact. Not that you’re property. A snack he’s meant to go halfsies with on the playground. But he won’t deny seeing you ride the mechanical bull like that with all those people watching. Well…

It does something to him.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Sighs for the umpteenth time, the six screens meshed together in the security room of his penthouse flashing over his features. You’re having a good time. Doing your thing, riding it like it’s no one’s business. Garnering the attention of almost everyone in his club like you always do.

Bull be damned.

He’d bought the damn thing at your behest. You were so cute about it. Pushed your chest against his bicep, squeezed his hand, gave him those beseeching eyes. A farce you put on to get your way. But Sylus and the twins knew better. Knew what truly lurked beneath that glitter and glam. Yet he still fell for it.

He always does.

You reasoned the bull would be a nice add-on. Something to dress up Lux’s so-called drab decor. And sure, it was an interesting addition. A contrast of cowhide and worn colors amid the lush, crimson curtains framing the stage and gilded columns stretching high towards a yawning ceiling. In your words, it was meant to bring in new clientele and keep regulars coming back. Something to expose the seedy underbelly of the city. Lure out his enemies. After all, who could resist a pretty thing like you on a bull? 

Lux is one of Sylus’ many business ventures. A posh little club settled in the city’s heart where innocents and lowlifes frequent alike. Most come for the atmosphere, the unrivaled drinks, and the pretty dancers. Some stay for the promise of something more intimate. Backstage performances, one-on-ones with the lavish women who work there. 

Too bad some of the people who come seeking respite never check out. 

He’s hauled back to the present by cheers of varying degrees. Whistling and not-so-innocent words hurled at the stage. All at you. 

Sylus pitches himself forward to perch sturdy hands on his desk. Shakes his head, exasperation inhabiting his person. 

You’re giving everyone a show of your chest—boasted by the tight costume he had custom made for you—when you lean back like that, your spine level with the saddle. Smile sultry and bleeding sin. He swears he catches you winking at him, thoroughly aware of the many cameras littering his club. 

You’ll be the death of him one day. He’s sure of it. 

He taps the earpiece nestled in his ear. Prepares to lecture you for showboating like that. You’re laying it on too thick tonight. And he feels like a concerned dad about to scold his daughter for wearing something that bears too much skin. But before he can fix his mouth to reprimand you, the whisper of an errant breeze catches his attention.

He cants his head. Doesn’t have to look to know Luke is there behind him, haloed by the shadows. Bowed slightly at the hip with a fist pressed to his chest in greeting. 

“Speak,” Sylus orders, his voice rough with disuse. He pushes down the vexation fizzling in his veins. 

“He’s here, boss,” Luke states.

It’s a simple enmeshment of words, yet it’s enough to shift the atmosphere of the security room just the slightest. Sylus’ jaw tenses, the tendons in his neck flexing. His nostrils flare, and he pushes off the polished oakwood to stuff his hands in his pockets.

The real reason why you’re peacocking about like this has just arrived. And Sylus feels his hackles raise, his lips twitching with an impulse to scowl. The tendrils of his Evol threaten to make themselves known, but he tamps down his quiet rage, trading it for level-headedness. It won’t do him any good to lose his cool now. Not until he’s extracted all the information he needs to make his move tonight.

Sparing a final look at the CCTV footage, he appears composed as he snatches his coat from his leather rolling chair. Drapes it over his shoulders in customary fashion, stepping past his subordinate. Kieran appears at his side as if summoned from thought alone, never missing a beat.

“Keep an eye on her,” commands Sylus over his shoulder to the other twin. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything…reckless.” 

Luke complies with a curt bow before the door of the security room clicks shut. Left to his own devices, Luke chuckles. Rubs the chin of his mask in thought, studying the blue flicker of the various screens, all displaying you.

“More reckless than usual?” he quietly queries, amusement surfing in the undernotes of his voice.

—

Sylus is a businessman through and through. He built his empire granting favors, trading weapons, and other nefarious deeds. Despite how much he radiates murderous intent, he’s cordial as he shakes his guest’s hand. Dons a foolhardy grin, motioning for the man to sit across from him in his private office.

The gentleman’s bodyguards flank him when he takes his seat. Four of them standing in good form behind him, their bodies taut with the need to shoot if necessary. All for little old Sylus?

Sylus sits back in his plush, red leather seat. Crosses his legs, tapping his fingers together. Kieran stands not too far off behind him. All the muscle he needs. “Mister Fate,” Sylus acknowledges, finding it too easy to fall into such an affable role. He’s done this too many times. “It’s been too long.”

The man seated across cracks a smile. The years haven’t been kind to him, wrinkles and sunspots littering his face. “It has,” Fate agrees, twining his fingers in his lap. He hides his intent behind dark lenses. But Sylus already knows what’s genuinely driven him here to his club. Knows what lurks beneath that amiable mask of his.

“Can I offer you a drink?” asks Sylus, ever the trained actor. By the time he’s finished asking, Mister Fate’s attention is elsewhere, focused on the ceiling-high, one-way glass window beside them. A knowing smirk crooks Sylus’ lips. 

Beyond the window stretches his club below. Bodies writhing, merriment filling the air. And then there’s you, the focal point of the stage. Standing on the bull like a surfboard, that pretty smile canting your lips as you tilt your hat. You make it look so easy. His office is soundproof and shrouded in dim lighting. But he knows you’re dancing to your favorite song, basking in the attention. The limelight. 

Serving as the perfect distraction. 

And Mister Fate’s hooked. Tugs on the round of his tie, his mouth growing dry. He can’t look away, taken by your beauty and charm. You always play your role to a T. The pretty femme fatale that everyone wants a chance with but is rarely awarded your time. Your attention. 

Not like Sylus. 

And he doesn’t know what’s washing over him when his fingers twitch on the armchair, and his brow ticks towards his hairline. But he suddenly doesn’t like how Fate’s watching you like a prime cut of meat waiting to be seared and consumed. Had it been any of the others, would he still feel so defensive? “Mister Fate,” Sylus tries again after clearing his throat.

The gentleman in question finally tears his ironclad stare away from the window to look at Sylus. Like he’s been caught doing something naughty. It’s normal to stare. Sylus sometimes finds himself, too, falling prey to your allure.

Sylus motions to a whiskey decanter and two glasses on the coffee table before them. “Can I interest you in a drink? Something to wet your whistle?”

“Y-Yes, of course,” the aging man replies, bringing a shaky hand to his face to stroke his mustache. It’s comical how sweat collects on his forehead and between the thin hairs bordering his lip. You really are something dangerous, aren’t you?

“Such a beautiful girl,” Fate notes, more-so to himself whilst the slosh of viscous fluid poured into a glass fills the quieted room. Sylus slides the man his drink, and he’s not at all surprised to find him peering out the window again. “A very lovely girl.” He speaks as if he’s in a trance. Fallen prey to your spell, just like Sylus knew he would.

Sylus raises his glass to the man to toast but to no avail. He’s found what he’s looking for. And you’ve served your part well. And Sylus most certainly does not bristle as he leans back in his seat, dumping the contents of his glass down his throat, the acrid sting serving to ground him.

“Mister Fate,” he tries again, attempting to redirect the subject. He’s becoming increasingly sensitive when it comes to you these days. Doesn’t know why the thought of you makes his chest pull where before, you were something of convenience. 

There’s amusement in Sylus’ voice as he puts back up that arrogant front. “Did you come here just to ogle my dancers, or are we going to get down to business?”

Fate, as if remembering himself, quickly wipes his mouth after taking a sip. Sets his glass down, leaning forward with his elbows resting in the pockets of his thighs. “Ah, yes! Of course!” 

Sylus spares one more look out the window. You glance up as the crowd you gathered erupts in applause and praise. Like you sensed your boss’ scarlet eyes on you. And with a knowing lift of your brow and an unnoticeable nod from Sylus, he starts digging for what he’s truly after.

Information. 

—

Fate talks in riddles, but Sylus is good at reading between thin lines. 

They’re halfway through a game of chess when Sylus’ earpiece crackles to life for the first time in nearly an hour. And it’s your voice pouring through, dipped a few octaves down. Amused.

“Woah,” you chuckle, the click of your heels slowing to a stop. “Is that a gun in your indigo pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

There’s a rigidness to Sylus’ movements as he sets his rook down on the chessboard. The world melts away around him, and he finds himself trained on the hang of your voice on the other end. 

He tries not to show it, adrenaline spuming through his body. You said the code word. Indigo. Something to signify you’re about to be captured. You’d lain yourself out as bait to further Sylus’ agenda. You always did. Always served him well, the brawn and beauty. 

You’ll be fine, he tells himself. You always are. More than capable of holding your own. You wouldn’t be his ace otherwise. His jaw tenses. Doesn’t make him worry any less. 

This is a dangerous game you’re playing. The both of you. One wrong step and he could lose his diamond. He’s spent years hunting Fate down. Knew it’d be a matter of time before he bared himself, the greedy bastard. All thanks to you.

“Mister Sylus,” Fate interjects, tapping the clock on the side of their chessboard. Sylus glances up to see his lips crooked with a smile. Something omniscient. Smug. “It’s your turn.”

Sylus rights himself. Poises his hand over the next piece, prepared to make his move. He tamps down a rush of epinephrine when he hears a gruff voice grouse, “Yeah right, bitch, get in the car,” in his earpiece.

You laugh, the sound of it rich and complacent. “What? Not gonna buy me dinner first?”

There’s a brief scuffle taking place in his ear, followed by the sound of something blunt being jammed against bone. And then, there is but the sound of exertion. Orders being barked, car doors slamming. A shriek of feedback and then cold silence.

They’ve more than likely knocked you out. Found your earpiece and disposed of it.

He has faith that you’ll survive long enough to get to the auction unscathed. At least until he can track you to its location. 

—

“It’s been a pleasure, Mister Sylus,” says Fate once the game ends, shaking his hand a little too firm. “Maybe next time I’ll beat you.”

“You almost did,” Sylus counters on a double entendre. Fate regards him with a quirked brow, still holding fast to his hand, rooted to the spot. He scrutinizes Sylus a little longer before one of Fate’s bodyguards approaches him from his side, murmuring something into his ear. It’s hushed, but Sylus picks up on keywords and uses context clues to piece everything together. 

The package has been secured. 

That package being you.

The blood in Sylus’ veins turns to ice. He keeps up the mask of indifference as Mister Fate smiles at him a little too knowingly. Bordered by his men, he excuses himself from the Sylus’ office, taking his egotistical aura with him. 

He feels the twins standing behind him. Stuffs his hands in his slacks’ pockets, studying his feet, the tendons in his jaw pulling. 

“We found her, boss,” Kieran cautiously states. “Looks like they haven’t discovered the tracker in her brooch. You were r—”

“Alive?” Sylus interrupts. He knows you’re fine. But he steels himself against the worst outcome just in case.

“Looks like it.”

A glimmer of something indiscernible fleets over Sylus’ visage. Atta girl.

He signals for the twins to get moving over his shoulder. And when they clear the room in a gust of wind, he’s already sinking into the inky, feathery shadows of his Evol, prepared to find you before they’ve sold you off to the highest bidder.

He just needs you to hold out a little bit longer until he can get to you. And hopefully, the other girls are with you, too.

[feeder86]

Guy Again and Again

Hyde Park was incredible during the Fall. Guy couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else when the leaves started changing colour. He’d lived in London for three years now and had happily started to put down roots. Like any major city, he’d paid an absolute fortune for his house, but it had been necessary to set himself up and enjoy all that the city had to offer. There was always something happening, always new folks to meet and beautiful people to seduce. When he’d been offered a role back home for even more money, he’d declined it, using it as leverage instead to climb even higher up in his company and then side-step into yet another high paying position at another firm. His ambition was celebrated here and Guy earned himself the cringe-worthy reputation of being one of the city’s most eligible bachelors.

“Guy, won’t you come and meet my young lad?” called Sheridan, as Guy was strolling through to his large office.

Guy sighed and glanced quickly over at the others in the space, knowing that they were all feeling exactly the same way. Whilst this was an incredible company to work for, the nepotism involved in the majority shareholder inserting his twenty-two year old son into such a major position, straight out of university, had frustrated them all.

Following the company’s owner into his office, Guy plastered a happy enough smile onto his face and held out his hand to shake the young man’s hand. He’d seen pictures of Robert in the past, on his father’s yacht and throughout the tabloids as he dated London’s latest ‘It Girl’ setting all the fashion trends. They’d also briefly crossed paths the summer before last, when using Robert’s family’s private box at Wembley Stadium. Soccer was a huge game over here and Guy had found himself quite captivated by it.

“Nice to see you again,” Guy offered, shaking the handsome boy’s hand.

“Robert is very keen to get started!” his pompous father announced happily. “I’m sure he’s just what this company needs: a bit of fresh energy injected into it.”

Guy nodded, despite feeling that Robert was going to be nothing more than dead wood for them all to carry. “We’re all delighted to have you here!” he lied.

“My father says you’re the absolute best,” Robert chimed in. “I think he seriously believes you’re going to rule the world one day! I’m definitely looking forward to learning from you this week.” 

Guy knew he had been stitched up straight away. “Let me guess. You’re shadowing me this week?” he asked tentatively.

“That’s the plan!” Sheridan nodded, already grabbing his jacket to leave for his golf match at ten.

Guy looked outside into the corridor to see all the sly, grinning faces of his colleagues. They’d all known he was about to be saddled with the new boy, even before he did. Leading the way down the corridor, he noticed an additional computer had been set up at his enormous desk, with space for Robert to work alongside him; typical Sheridan making ridiculous calls yet again.

Robert was generally pretty intelligent and seemed to pick up on what Guy was saying with little effort on his part. Professionally, he appeared no different to the genuinely ambitious young interns they had on the floors below. But, in reality, he was so far removed from them, starting a job at the same level that had taken Guy ten years to even qualify for; not to mention all the incredible hard work and many, many promotions and job changes to get where he was. Indeed, Robert’s privilege was obvious by the way he talked about his travelling and the numerous powerful people he had known ever since he was small. Perhaps, in some ways, that did make him better suited to fly up the ranks early. Robert wasn’t daunted by the bigger clients and there was a sharpness to his mind that was sometimes quite surprising.

“How’s the babysitting going?” asked Angela slyly during the brief time Guy was on his own.

Guy smiled back. He wanted to joke and tell her off for not giving him the heads-up about being stuck with Robert this week. But, to be fair, everything was going fine. “No complaints from me!” he replied, reminding himself that complaining about something that couldn’t be changed was a fruitless exercise at work.

They both stopped talking, watching as handsome Robert emerged from the bathroom looking as sharp as ever: the beautiful hair, the eyes, the strong jawline. Behind him, the female staff couldn’t help but get a peek at those tight glutes and imagine being the lucky lady who would one day get to marry such a fine, well-bred specimen as him. “Are we ready?” he asked Guy, pleased to be heading out to meet clients again; knowing that this was where he could excel.

Getting around London could be a nightmare at times. Occasionally, it was genuinely faster to walk; exactly what ended up happening after roadworks had made it likely for them to be late otherwise. The client was a man called Mr Geoge Evans, owner of an events space that the company wanted to acquire. He was tall and broad, with an immense, solid and rounded gut pushing against the large shirt painted across his torso. It was the feature that most people noticed first about him and the one thing Robert couldn’t seem to stop staring at the moment they started their meeting.

Guy remembered feeling embarrassed and wanting to kick Robert hard for the way he was looking across at the gaping buttons on George’s shirt. After everything he had said about being okay with having this young upstart shadowing him that week, the boy had to ruin it almost instantly. Guy thought on his feet, finding a reason for Robert to need to leave the room and contact the office. Then Guy quickly rounded the whole thing up as fast as he could.

“What the fuck was that?” Guy grumbled as soon as they were walking to the tube station, given that their car had still not been able to reach them.

“What?” Robert asked, trying his best to keep up as Guy stormed on. He didn’t lack self-awareness; he knew exactly what he had done and why Guy had felt the need to remove him from the meeting. “I wasn’t expecting him to be so…”

“Fat?” Guy finished for him. “That’s so ridiculous! You know that right?”

“I was just a little surprised, that’s all. When we spoke on the phone…”

“This is business!” Guy began lecturing him. “You can’t fall to pieces just because some guy doesn’t fit into your perfect world-view of what everyone should look like. You need to get your head out of those glossy magazines you and your girlfriend seem to spend so much time in!”

“Look, I’m not like that!” Robert tried to counter his mentor. “That’s not why I got a bit flustered.”

“Whatever,” Guy sighed, racing down the steps to the tube station. Ultimately, he wouldn’t be able to hang onto this misstep. Robert’s family were the majority shareholders and, no doubt, the twenty-two year old would one day take the reins of the entire company.  “Look… there’s no harm done. Just… just don’t ever let that happen again, alright?”

Robert nodded, tapping his card to head down to the Central Line. “I promise!”

Guy didn’t mention the staring incident to anyone when he got back. Robert had been exemplary the rest of the time and it was clear that he had a talent to make it far; especially given his Oxford education. As the weeks progressed, he began to shine more and Guy learned to genuinely appreciate his insight into certain things. Sometimes British etiquette eluded Guy, especially with the types of folks who had been born into extreme wealth, like Robert had.

Likewise, Robert appeared to be impressed with Guy’s talents in return. “You’re pretty smooth when it comes to the ladies,” he laughed as they came out of one meeting.

“Plenty of experience!” Guy joked back.

“I’m guessing that’s why you work out so much?” the pretty boy asked. “It’s not as easy to sweet talk a female client when you have a giant gut spreading into your lap,” Robert chuckled; not realising that his joke would fall so flat.

Guy tried to bite his tongue. It had been the second time Robert had been casually sizeist. “Actually,” he shot back, “some of the most successful business leaders feel being larger gives them more presence to take charge of things.”

“That’s not what my father says,” Robert replied.

“Well, your dad doesn’t know everything,” Guy grumbled back, deciding to shut down the conversation before he started getting annoyed.

At the end of that first month, Robert had offered Guy to come along and watch the international football match in the private box at Wembley Stadium. He would be there with his girlfriend, of course, but Guy was also welcome to bring along a date as well. Martha had been Guy’s instinctive choice. She was loud, greedy and extremely overweight: the perfect choice to annoy someone so superficial and quick to judge others for their weight. Guy called her up, pleased with his plan, but was disappointed to hear that she was back home in Glasgow that weekend. He needed to find someone else - fast!

Ben had been the next choice for Guy. Somewhat smaller and more reserved, but always fun to be around. They had met at a club night for bears about two years earlier, when Guy had been intrigued by the little chub’s confidence to stoll about shirtless through the crowds. Happily, still single, Ben agreed to the date and Guy was delighted to find the man looking so much heavier by the time he went to pick him up. “Look at you!” he marvelled, getting out of his sports car to open the door for the large man waiting outside his apartment block. “Someone has been eating well!”

Ben blushed a little. He knew that for many chub-lovers, seeing someone they had slept with getting even bigger was bound to be a turn on, and he patted his large tummy proudly on the vast shelf that had developed. “I’m pleased that you approve,” he smiled, knowing that he was always in for a fun night whenever Guy asked him out.

The young couples’ faces had been a picture when Guy strolled in with such a large bear as Ben. It struck him that perhaps Robert hadn’t realised Guy’s bisexuality, making it a rather more educational experience for the boy that he had perhaps expected. Ben played his part well, naturally gorging himself and failing to notice his belly peeking out of the bottom of his shirt as he got up and down to cheer at the performance on the pitch. As such, Guy lavished him with attention, proudly driving him back home for his reward. He’d more than made his point, hopefully putting an end to the way Robert would try to casually fat-shame others around him.

Back at work, Robert’s new office had been decked out just as he had requested, shunting Angela down to the floor below. Despite the slow start last month, even Guy winced at how much the new recruit was taking on.

“Wendy has come to me asking to negotiate her pay,” Robert explained, walking into Guy’s office and closing the door. “I’ve been told pay reviews only happen in April?”

“That’s bullshit,” Guy replied, trying to get on with his own analysis work. “That’s just a standard line that is thrown out to try and delay these types of things.”

“Well, either way,” Robert continued, sitting himself down in front of Guy’s desk. “Paying her more is going to dent the progress towards the quarterly profits.”

“Then what does your gut tell you to do?” Guy asked, determined not to spoon feed Robert out of these awkward situations.

Robert paused for a second. “I think we need to give it to her.”

Guy looked up and smiled. It was the call he had never expected Robert to make. “Exactly right,” he nodded. “Wendy is an asset. I know Wendy. She deserves it. And, if you didn’t give it to her, she’d be straight off to another company. Finding a replacement for someone with her responsibilities is time-consuming and costly.”

“I knew you’d view it the same way as me,” Robert smiled. “You always see the bigger picture. Sometimes I feel like my father can’t.”

Guy nodded gently, not wanting to commit to badmouthing the major shareholder in front of his son, despite all the many things he could have said.

“You see people for who they are. And you have the sort of relationships around here that most bosses would kill for. They all respect you and want to work hard because you inspire them.”

Guy almost felt embarrassed at the open compliments and he wriggled in his seat. “Thanks,” he shot back quickly. But there was something in Robert’s eyes; a look, or a feeling. Was the boy developing a little crush on him? All the signs were there and Guy had been in this situation many, many times in the past. He watched Robert walking away, unable to stop himself from checking out the handsome glutes and allowing his mind to imagine what it might be like to fuck the guy. He wasn’t above Robert in seniority around here; there was no major conflict to overcome; especially since he only saw himself staying for another year at the very most. But could he really go there?

It came as no surprise that Robert’s relationship with his girlfriend came to a sudden end very quickly after that. He’d been complaining for some time about the toxic ideals of social media and the constant requirement to be ‘seen’ out in public as often as possible in order to boost her career. “She’s more suited to some actor, or someone who does publicity for a living,” Robert had explained as he shook his head over the fact that their break-up had made it into the middle sections of the national tabloids.

“You’re young, free and single now!” Guy had smiled. “You can take some time for yourself instead.” He hadn’t meant to sound flirtatious, but he didn’t seem to be able to help himself once he knew someone was into him. It was the way he had always been, and he didn’t suppose he would ever change.

“What can I get you gentlemen?” asked the attendant, heading over to their table in the small cafe where they were debriefing after a client meeting. The man was large and broad, with a giant stomach that pressed out of his shirt in a way a lot of the men from Guy’s past would have loved.

“Just a mineral water for me,” Guy answered first. He looked across at Robert and sighed in frustration as the boy stared rudely at that large gut. 

This time, Guy didn’t waste any time, giving Robert a quick kick under the table.

“A latte!” Robert shot out, realising immediately that he’d been gawping. “And, uh… have you got any of those brownies left?”

“What the fuck is up with you?” Guy asked the moment they were alone again.

Robert shrugged as if he genuinely failed to understand why he fell to pieces around such obese men. “What do you think it’s like, carrying all that weight around?” Robert asked, still transfixed as the guy headed behind the counter. He glanced back at Guy who was dumbfounded by the question. “Oh, come on…” he sighed. “I saw you with that big guy that time. You must have asked him what it feels like to be so heavy?”

“It’s not something I think about,” Guy replied, seeing that Robert looked unlikely to drop the question unless he gave a more considered answer. “But, I guess I wouldn’t date someone unless they liked their body.”

“Really?” Robert asked. “You date people who actually like being overweight?”

Guy didn’t mind discussing his sex life, but it felt strange to do so with someone from work; someone he wasn’t completely sure he could trust just yet. Back in the early days of his career, it had been slyly advantageous to impress other guys with tales of his sexual conquests. However, as he rose up the ranks, he’d learned to keep these stories to himself, knowing that the expectations were very different up at the top. Now he shrugged, taking his time to reply and only say what he needed to. “There’s nothing sexy about dating someone who hates their body. When I’m with larger folks, it’s usually because they want to be that way. They get off on it.”

Robert sat up a bit and leaned in closer, stimulated by the conversation. “There are people who get off on being fat?”

Guy chuckled. “Of course there are!” There was still so much he could tell Robert; about the gainer boys he had fallen for in the past, and the multiple kinky encounters he had had with guys who were actively trying to fatten themselves up.

The water, and Robert’s brownie arrived at the table and the server promised to follow with the latte shortly. “How do they do it?” Robert asked, eyeing his freshly delivered treat. “How do they let themselves go like that?”

Guy frowned slightly. “Well, what you may see as someone ‘letting-go’ may actually be them building something better for themselves: a body that feels right for them and turns them on. It’s actually very empowering if you think about it.”

“And you think that’s sexy?” Robert asked earnestly; a sweet innocence shining through his bright eyes.

“Of course!” Guy nodded. “Someone loving the skin they’re in - there’s nothing sexier!”

Life at the office suddenly became a lot more relaxed as Sheridan started to take even more of a step back. Guy found himself with a lot more power to persuade the board without the older man’s old fashioned points of view tainting things. It also helped that Robert was so much more in-tune with him; they could present a united front and, although most of the others on the team still grumbled about Robert’s injection into the senior management team, they had to admit that things were running a lot smoother with him around.

Guy had seen so much more of the world since he had moved to work in the UK. It seemed like nothing to pop over to Italy to secure a contract, or fly over to Dubai to capitalise on a lucrative opportunity. Six months after Robert began at the company, the pair found themselves in Sweden, leading part of a business conference. At first, Guy had been frustrated to have Robert coming along, given that it was such a good opportunity to network and find his next career jump. However, it had also been easier having him to share the workload with.

“I didn’t know you were coming down here,” Guy smiled as he saw Robert arriving in the spa changing room just as he himself was dressed only in his tight speedos and pushing the last of his things into the locker. He saw Robert check him out and smiled sweetly to himself. He’d known for a couple of months now that if something was ever going to happen between them, then it probably already would have happened by now. As it was, Robert was very much in the friend-zone. “Are you here to use the pool?” he asked.

Robert shook his head. “I just wanted to try out the sauna,” he replied.

Guy scowled a little as Robert turned his back to start getting changed. In the last few weeks, he’d noticed a little softening of the guy’s jawline and, although it wasn’t always easy to tell under a shirt and dress pants, it did appear as though Robert had gained a few pounds since he’d started full time work. Guy should know, he’d seen more than enough pictures of Robert’s body in the celebrity gossip columns, back when he was dating socialites. So when Robert removed his shirt, Guy could immediately see that his suspicions had been spot on.

It was most obvious when Robert leaned forward to strip his pants; the way his stomach rolled up with fresh fat. He had love handles coming in, clear to see once he turned his back. And those glutes… well, they seemed a little more full that the pert buns Guy had admired when Robert first started at the company. Guy had to say something. He’d been staring too long. He reached out a finger and poked Robert in his stomach. “What’s all this?” he playfully teased.

Robert chuckled nervously and shrank away, turning back around to put his stuff into the locker.

“No, seriously,” Guy pressed on, poking both index fingers into the softness at Robert’s sides now. “Where’s all this come from?”

“I’ve just… not had much time for the gym lately,” Robert replied, stacking his clothes up.

Guy looked at Robert’s butt from behind and nodded in agreement. “Well, that’s pretty obvious!” he agreed. He’d seen lots of guys at the gym start to pack on a few pounds over the years. Often, all they needed was a reality check to get them back on the right path. “I think you need to start doing a little more cardio, buddy,” he declared, turning to walk out and into the pool area.

After a few decent laps, Guy pulled himself out of the water and headed into the sauna, finding Robert still in there, alone. His skin had turned glossy and oily, shimmering as his little roll of stomach fat started to peek over the waistband of his undersized swim shorts.

Guy knew how imposing his own body was: his large frame and well-trained, muscular physique. Even in his early thirties, there wasn’t an inch of fat to spoil his enticing abs and, if anything, he’d only become stronger as the years went by. He flopped down opposite Robert, unable to take his eyes off how chubby the pretty boy looked without his shirt on. 

“So, when did all this start happening?” Guy asked, knowing that he needed to address what he was seeing.

Robert wriggled awkwardly and pulled his rolled up towel to cover his crotch and lower half of his softer midsection. “A few months,” he mumbled. “I’ve just been enjoying my food a little more.”

“No kidding!” Guy chuckled, surprised now by how much he could see the extra weight, even in Robert’s chest. “What’re you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Robert shrugged. “I don’t have the time to go to the gym now I’m working so much.”

Guy smirked at this and shook his head. “You mean you don’t want to make time for it?” he asked.

Robert flushed with a little embarrassment. “I’m okay with how I look,” he replied. His attention seemed to turn to Guy’s body instead, given how much scrutiny his own had been under. “Frankly, I had no idea you were so extremely toned,” he nodded at Guy’s torso. “Obviously, I knew you were super fit, but…”

“You’ve never seen me without my shirt on before?” Guy asked, intrigued and surprised at how aroused he was suddenly feeling to be gazed upon by Robert. He sat up straighter and leaned on one arm, posing slightly. There was something so sexy about this dynamic, making Guy feel more powerful and dominant. “How come we’ve never fucked?” he asked, knowing that it was always best to be blunt with the boys who were a little more shy.

Robert’s eyes widened and he stuttered awkwardly, like the overeducated, pompous boy he could very often be. Guy had always loved Robert’s upper class, bumbling English accent and the uptight manners that had been trained into him. It made it all the more fun to tease and flirt with him so blatantly. But with a larger company openly trying to poach him at the moment, Guy knew there wouldn’t be many opportunities like this left to have some fun with the boy. After all, the full benefits package was going to be presented to him as early as next week. He could be gone by the end of next month.

“Well?” Guy asked, pretending to be impatient for an answer. “Do you want to fuck?”

Within ten minutes, the pair were upstairs in Guy’s hotel room, kissing and undressing each other once more. Now that the barriers had been smashed down, Guy was surprised at how keenly Robert’s hands wanted to rub up against and stroke Guy’s erection. The moment the pants were down, the cute boy sank to his knees and took as much of it into his mouth as he could.

Guy exhaled in delight. It was always apparent when someone was genuinely into giving the best blow job they could. It was obvious now just how much he had underestimated Robert’s quiet attraction to him all these months. Like a tightly wound spring, the boy had energetically set to getting them both off the moment the bedroom door had closed, lustfully thrilled by how thick and heavy Guy’s hardness was.

The pair fooled around some more, Guy enjoying the reflections in the large mirror as the pair kissed in front of it. Those doughy little glutes of Robert’s looked so good, Guy knew he needed to take them as soon as he could, squirting lubricant into his hand and sliding it up between Robert’s butt cheeks. He spun the boy around in front of the mirror and gently inserted himself. He knew Robert wouldn’t be fully ready to take him today. It was a gift and a curse being so well endowed, with lovers needing at least two or three sessions to be properly broken in. Instead, Guy contented himself by getting as much in as he could and holding it there, training the hole to stretch. Submissive Robert appeared to love every second as he was held there, in front of the mirror.

“Does this feel nice?” Guy asked the boy, reaching around Robert’s hip to stroke his concrete erection; Robert watching himself getting taken by the older jock in the mirror.

Robert moaned back, his G-spot stimulated, sending his arousal into overdrive.

“Look at us…” Guy whispered, nodding towards their reflections in the mirror.

“I’m so chubby compared to you!” Robert quipped back, making a huge surge of blood pump through his boner, held firmly in Guy’s hand.

Suddenly, it all felt so very familiar to Guy. Robert’s fixation with larger guys had never been about looking down on them. Yet again, had the universe delivered another kinky fat-lover? Guy pressed his oversized erection in deeper, making Robert’s knees almost buckle underneath him. With one hand working Robert’s hardness, Guy used the other in a more experimental way, wrapping his fingers around as much of the fresh blubber in the boy’s stomach as he could, then whispering “It’s a good job you know I like fucking fatties, huh?” he teased. “You’re going to make such a cute chub…”

However close Robert had been before, a surge of pleasure seemed to rip through him. Great jets erupted from between his legs, making Guy chuckle at just how much of it there was and how forcefully it was being expelled from his body. He could always tell when he had just given someone the best orgasm of their life. And, for the first time ever, Guy felt that he didn’t need to climax himself in order to feel completely satisfied.

It was sweet how Robert fell asleep next to him afterwards. Sometimes when the sex was too good, Guy found that whoever it was would tend to imprint on him and become a little possessive. Usually, this was a warning signal for Guy to detach himself as fast as possible. However there was something too intriguing about Robert to give him up just yet. At 5am, he woke Robert with a kiss to let him know he was going down to the hotel gym and promised to meet him for breakfast at 6.30.

“No wonder that ass is so fuckable!” Guy teased, gazing at the plate of fattening meats and carbs Robert returned to their table with. He slipped his hand under the table, rubbing Robert’s knee. His intentions were clear: they were going to go back up to the room before the first session that day. He watched the greedy boy eating, wanting nothing more than to stick his hardness into the salivating mouth. For the first time, he found himself almost captivated by it; the act of eating. Robert definitely had some little hidden kinks when it came to the diet that had added a few pounds to his frame, yet it wasn’t yet clear how conscious he was of them.

Back in Guy’s bedroom, it was obvious how much Robert had overeaten and bloated up his stomach. Despite wanting to get rough and dominant with him, Guy took it slow and made it sensual, noticing how much Robert seemed to love it whenever Guy’s hand drifted onto his rounded middle. The eventual climax was as good as it got, ensuring that Guy broke all his own rules and brought Robert back to his bedroom a further three times before the end of the conference.

Robert’s butt was becoming quite the distraction back in the office. With the guy’s pants getting so tight, the swollen glutes pressed with devastating allure to the material: wider, under-exercised, softening and expanding - was there a more fuckable butt than this in the entire world? Guy knew he was in trouble when Robert bought concert tickets for them both for that weekend. They were slowly morphing into a ‘couple’ despite the secrecy that surrounded everything. It was the point when Guy typically made his excuses and cut things off. Yet something kept him from doing this. When Guy’s job offer came in, he convinced himself that it wasn’t a big enough deal to leave London for; getting his teeth stuck into another major project that would see him wanting to remain in his current job for at least another six months.

“What’re you all laughing about?” Guy asked, diverting into the little kitchen area whilst he was seeing someone on the floor below.

A small group of six people suddenly looked alarmed and stared at him nervously. Guy had had to accept that his seniority in the company meant he would never again be invited along to nights out with the other staff, or be included in the way he had been when he was just starting out. It was just the way these things seemed to work; those nervous eyes looking up at him whenever he ventured out of his lavish office on the top floor. 

“Nothing,” shrugged one of them, who seemed to be in the middle of it all.

“Oh, come on!” Guy smiled back. “I could do with a laugh today.”

There was a sigh. “Alright,” the lady shrugged, stepping closer and holding out her cell phone so that Guy could see the screen. “It’s an article about that jumped-up little Oxford graduate upstairs,” she grumbled, referencing Robert; the nepotism of his hiring still failing to impress those lower down in the food chain; those who had to work for everything they achieved.

Guy stepped in to see as she scrolled down a celebrity-obsessed tabloid webpage that Guy had never paid much attention to. He scanned the text briefly, but it was obvious that the pictures were the main focus. There was Robert of one year earlier, looking toned and athletic as he shirtlessly strolled about on his father’s yacht. However, it was the pictures from only last night that provided the entertainment. Robert had been attending a socialite party with some friends, dressed in an unwisely tight shirt that failed to stretch with the addition of a couple of bloating beers. His pants had been a poor fit too, pinching in at his hips and accentuating new love handles that looked particularly unflattering from the angles they had taken. The double chin on Robert also came under scrutiny, with a close up shot from a low angle making it seem more developed than it actually was.

“I didn’t think fat-shaming articles like this still existed,” Guy exhaled in frustration.

“That’s the British press for you,” one of them chuckled; another American, like him. “Fucking ruthless!”

Guy scowled. He wasn’t laughing. He raced back up the stairs and tapped on the window of Robert’s office, beckoning for him to follow. Once inside, he rolled down the blinds and immediately jumped on his computer. “There’s something you need to see,” he declared to a bemused Robert. Once uploaded, he rolled his chair back and allowed Robert to step in front and see the screen for himself.

“What a bitch!” Robert laughed, recognising the name of the journalist. Everyone seemed to know everyone else in Robert’s world. “This is one of the most vicious things I’ve ever read about myself,” he smirked.

“Aren’t you pissed about it?” Guy asked, feeling exasperated at Robert’s laid back attitude. “We can send it to the legal team; see if there’s anything we can do to have it taken down.”

“And then sue them? For what exactly?” Robert asked back. “There’s nothing that’s not true in there. I really have gained about 50lbs since last year,” he pointed at the text on screen.

Guy sat back, staring at Robert’s chubby butt as the boy continued to lean down at his computer right in front of him. Having initiated a ‘hands-off’ policy at work, Guy was finding it hard to resist touching that big, bloated butt that had been captured so magnificently in the pictures. Robert was smelling great and his fresh love handles seemed to be pushing out even more than Guy had seen them before. He was turned on. For the first time in his life, he felt aroused in a way that he was unable to put into words. Despite his outrage at seeing the cruel article on Robert, he couldn’t deny the fact that it had turned him on. It was a feeling he disliked in himself and he had wanted to push it away. Sure, he had dated guys in the past who would have enjoyed the very much public disapproval of their weight gain, but how was he to know that Robert would appreciate any of that? Had dating those gainers warped Guy’s brain into finding all that public humiliation irresistibly arousing?

“At least the firm got a mention,” Robert smiled, stepping away from the screen at last. Was that a bulge he was trying to conceal? “You know what they say: all publicity is good publicity!”

Guy stood up and placed his hands on Robert’s rounder butt, pulling him into him. Fuck the self-imposed rules about not kissing in work; he was horny and so was his cute little chub. “You’re amazing, you know that?” Guy whispered seductively, safe in the knowledge that the blinds were closed.

“Even though the whole of London is laughing at me?” Robert teased back.

“Fuck everyone else!” Guy shot back. “You know I’d never ask you to diet,” he whispered alongside another kiss. “In fact, why don’t you let me take you out for dinner tonight; someplace with the lovely, greasy, high-carb junk food you can’t get enough of…”

Robert cooed with interest, allowing Guy to kiss him over and over again. “And I can eat as much as I want?” he asked, continuing the flirtation.

Guy smiled proudly and bounced the doughy glutes he was going to pound later on. “You bet!” he nodded. “You won’t hear any complaints from me!”

Guy wondered how much longer it would be until the all important conversation with Robert would happen. It had been almost five months since they’d hooked up on the business trip and, despite the secrecy around their relationship, neither of them was seeing anyone else. For Guy, it was a huge deal to have committed to sleeping with only one person in that whole time, yet it had all happened quite naturally. Sexually, it seemed that the pair of them were very compatible. Guy would swiftly move from a romantic, nurturing lover, into one with the fitness and stamina to fuck Robert all night long. In return, Robert liked to be seduced and tempted. There was a submissive side to him and he enjoyed being pampered and taken care of. Since getting together, it was obvious that his weight gain was speeding up and he’d pushed out quite the beginner-belly in that time. It was sitting, round and tempting in his shirts, making Guy appreciate how lucky he was that Robert felt so comfortable with him to just…let his appetite go like he had. The extra pounds felt like their own, quiet love language, despite the fact that it was clearly symptomatic of something much more erotic.

“Quit staring!” Guy laughed as a fat guy waddled into the restaurant behind his similarly obese wife. In the past, he’d found it embarrassing how much Robert would ogle; his fascination towards those extreme bodies getting the better of him.

“Sorry!” Robert replied, trying to refocus on his menu. Freshly shaven, his new double chin always looked so adorable when his head was in that position. Only a few minutes earlier, they’d bumped into a few friends of Robert’s ex; all of them staring disapprovingly at the little pot belly that was starting to make itself very well known.

Guy reached his giant hand under the table and stroked Robert’s knee, not quite knowing what was going through his head. “Order as much food as you like, okay?” he smiled sweetly.

Robert nodded and didn’t disappoint.

“You’re doing it again,” Guy laughed later on, as the pair of them were sitting in a bar near Soho, enjoying the buzz of the evening. “I’ll have to take you home to the US sometime. We have some of the fattest guys around, especially where I’m from, in West Virginia.”

Robert shook his head as if he was trying to restart his brain, apologising once more. “I don’t know why I do it,” he sighed. “I just…” he began, before sighing with frustration at being unable to put it into words.

“You just need to know what it feels like,” Guy finished for him.

Robert turned his head to look at Guy properly. “Yeah, that’s exactly it,” he nodded, seemingly delighted that his lover knew him so well.

Guy slipped his hand onto Robert’s little pot belly, rubbing it back and forth. “I saw the little boner you got, reading that mean article about yourself,” he teased.

Robert looked around, checking that no one else could see them. He smiled, turning back to Guy and allowing himself to be seduced; Guy’s lips getting aching close to his own. “Oh, yeah?” he whispered excitedly back.

“I’ve known for a long time,” Guy smiled, slipping his fingers under the slight overhang of belly fat and jiggling. “You want to be a real fat boy, don’t you?” His voice was almost cracking with arousal. He loved kinks in all their different forms, having experienced so many with the great variety of sexual partners he had had over the years. But this weight gain kink seemed like so much more; the physical transformation, the contrast; the confidence, combined with humiliation and submission. It ticked so many boxes for him. Best of all, Guy had had the time of his life these last few months, trying to gently tease it out of Robert. “It’s the reason why I’m taking you for more food after we leave here,” he smiled. “I know that you need to experience what it’s like to carry a much larger gut than this.”

Like putty in Guy’s hand, Robert kissed him. “I can’t believe you’re willing to put up with this,” he chuckled, lifting his arms higher so that Guy could jiggle his stomach even more. “Most people would just think I’m a freak!”

Guy smiled back. “Maybe I’m enjoying it,” he teased, grabbing a full wedge of Robert’s belly fat and just holding it still for them both to see. “Maybe I’m a freak too...”

Robert grinned with lust. “I ate so much before at the restaurant!”

“You did,” Guy smiled. He’d never particularly enjoyed waiting around as his lovers overate to satisfy these types of kinks. However, he at least understood how it all tied in with the erotic process of gaining weight; the greed, the gluttony, the deliberate bloating with calories. “...And you’re going to eat even more shortly,” he whispered back.

Robert raised his eyebrows. Was Guy really serious about that?

“You’re a gainer,” he stated frankly to Robert. “You do realise that, yeah?”

Robert looked around once more, checking that they were still unobserved. Somehow, putting a label on all this had suddenly solidified everything in both their minds.

“I’ve seen all this before. You need to keep pushing; keep overeating, again and again. Otherwise your weight will plateau and your belly will stop expanding.” He looked at his lover seriously. “And you don’t want that, do you?”

The chubby boy stared back with absolute lust. He shook his head, picked up his beer and drained the remainder of his pint. “Come on then!” he grinned. “What are we waiting for?”

The prospect of moving in with a lover was something Guy had never believed was right for him. Yet, there he was, unloading all his things into Robert’s city apartment, whilst the rest of his stuff had gone into long-term storage. It had been quite the gamble, releasing the equity in his home to further invest in the start-up AI company he had sunk a vast amount of cash into three years earlier. However, it was now or never if they were to corner the market like they needed to. Robert had agreed and been the one to suggest the cohabiting solution; his business advice being the one Guy trusted more than any other, having worked so closely for months now. As a couple, they worked well. They understood the joy they both got from their work and shared a similar mindset when it came to almost all other things. Stil, moving it had made Guy nervous, and it had taken him longer than his rational business brain normally operated in order to make a decisiona bout it. However, in return, Guy now had a majority 62% share in his own company, and had found that he could live more than happily alongside his doughy lover in North London.

With Guy around, Robert had seemed to double down on his weight goals and recommit in a way he had never allowed himself to before. Just like Guy was pouring protein shakes into himself after the gym, Robert was doing much the same with his own fattening concoctions; his kinks developing in all new ways. Within a couple of days, they had fucked in every room; Guy being unable to resist the fresh, plump broadness of Robert’s once toned and slender butt cheeks.

Now that Robert could be so open about his desires to gain weight, he actively enjoyed listening to Guy’s past experiences. Unlike most people, who didn’t want to hear about their partners’ previous lovers, Robert wanted to hear tales of Mikey and Dillon over and over again, and how Guy had sat back, excitedly watching them growing fatter and fatter.

“I don’t know what my parents are going to think about us being together,” Robert fretted, knowing that his family were soon returning for the holidays from their villa in Italy.

“Why?” Guy asked. “Because I’m the first man you’ve dated?”

“No,” Robert smirked cheekily back. “Because you’re an American!” he teased.

The pair laughed and Guy launched into tickling him for his playful rudeness. “Seriously, though. Your dad loves me. Before he stepped back from the business, we used to get on great.”

Robert nodded, but there was a worry in his eyes that didn’t abate as the big day arrived. Guy should have been aware that something was wrong the moment Robert slipped on the giant sweater that morning; the one with the huge roll-up neck. Black and loose fitting, it was clear that the man was trying to conceal the extent to which he had fattened up in the last twelve months. But in so doing, what he actually became was a dark, thick, shapeless block, with chubby thighs that strained against the smart pants he wore below.

Guy had had relatively little to do with Robert’s family since they had started dating. The pair had both had the sense that their relationship wasn’t being taken all that seriously. Robert had not long turned twenty-four and his dad had openly referred to his son’s romantic attachment as a ‘phase’ that Robert was going through. As such, Guy dressed smartly, cancelled all his plans for Christmas Day, prepared suitably expensive Christmas gifts and drove himself and Robert to the family home in Kent; a lavish country manner, handed down over generations.

Despite everything Guy had anticipated, he hadn’t been the focus of the day whatsoever. Gasps and horrified looks greeted them as Robert strolled in and removed his large winter jacket. The comments hit hard and fast. They were harsh, fatphobic and unjustified, setting Guy at odds with the family each time he called them out, unprepared to let their prejudices slide.

“I thought you guys video called every week?” Guy whispered to Robert the moment they had a second alone.

Robert seemed drained and exhausted from it all. “I may have told them my camera has been broken these last few months,” he replied.

Guy exhaled, now realising the absolute shock everyone must have felt. Despite the relatively good job the sweater was doing at masking a lot of the blubber, since September, Robert’s cheeks had been blowing up in a way that had altered the entire shape of his face. The gains had been further documented in a second critical article about his appearance back in October, however Guy suspected that such garbage hadn’t reached the family, safely tucked away in Italy, upon the shores of Lake Como.

“Mum and Dad are going to remove me from the company,” Robert fretted on the way home. “Especially now you’re leaving.”

“No they’re not!” Guy replied, trying to calm his boyfriend’s melodrama. “Even your dad can’t argue with the share price since you started running things. He’s just pissed and lashing out.”

“Dad doesn’t want ‘a fat guy’ to be in charge,” Robert grumbled next, quoting his father’s words exactly. “I was hoping today would be about them getting to know you properly, but…”

Guy sighed. The day had been disastrous. He could tell that he was going to be at odds with Robert’s family until he agreed to do what they wanted and insist that Robert dieted. They both felt flat for the remainder of the evening, making Guy wish he had cancelled his flight home to see his folks that week.

Upon his return, a very different Robert greeted him. A new personal trainer had been appointed and, together, the pair of them had cleared away anything in the cupboards that she felt was contributing to Robert’s ‘weight problems’.

“You’re not cross, are you?” Robert asked.

“Cross?” Guy echoed. “Why would I be cross?” he chuckled, hugging the man he had fallen so deeply for. “Gaining is your thing, not mine. If you want to quit, I’ll support you however I can.” In truth, he had never expected Robert’s gains to last forever. Sure, the man had caught the gainer bug, but it wasn’t quite as extreme or important to him as it had been for someone like Mikey, in Guy’s past.

Robert hugged him sweetly back, having made up his mind that a new year demanded a fresh start. He began eating better and taking Guy’s advice on nutrition; even joining him for a round or two at the gym. Robert was soon pulling out his older clothes from the back of his closet, replacing the large winter sweaters with more fitted t-shirts in time for the Spring. Yet, two cute and stubborn love handles remained at his sides; a testament to the kinky fun that he had once enjoyed so much.

Guy had never enjoyed work so much since he’d left Robert’s family firm to head up the AI company he had invested so heavily in. Now he was no longer just making money for other people, he could work hard, put the work in, and reap the rewards tenfold. There was so much potential with the technology, and he had been working closely with the British Ministry of Defence to showcase how they could use some of their adapted systems. It was exciting, that buzz of adrenaline from making things work, capitalising on successes and carving out new opportunities for an increasingly valuable and influential company.

Robert was busy with his work too. With his father and Guy out of the way, things actually became easier to manage and there was a clear leadership structure in place.

“Off out for lunch with clients again?” Guy teased him, looking over Robert’s shoulder and seeing the calendar on his cell phone screen. “Careful! You’ll be getting all chunky again!” he joked, sliding his hands over Robert’s chest and down to the small, remaining store of belly fat that refused to budge.

A bulge in Robert’s pants jumped to attention whenever Guy joked about his  yo-yoing weight. Now that Robert had relaxed a little, he’d wanted Guy to start the kinky talk in the bedroom once more, telling him how fat he could be and the things he would do to his body once he was round and blubbery. This was the thing Guy liked best about dating those with kinks; it was just so easy to turn them on and have them pumped up and ready for some sexy action. There were trigger actions and words that could flip any boring situation into something exciting and arousing, all with so little effort. And, once again, Robert was nursing quite the erection.

“For my birthday next week, I want to try pouring double cream down your throat,” Guy whispered to him. “Like we used to in the old days.”

Robert moaned in pleasure at the thought, clearly replaying those kinky memories from the past.

“You’d forget about your diet for one day, wouldn’t you?” Guy asked, sliding his meaty hand over Robert’s crotch.

Robert nodded submissively. The old habits were creeping back in; the longing to feel his body holding more weight again. The instances where he was willing to forgo his strict exercise regime were increasing. Guy knew that it was only a matter of time before the gains began anew. Perhaps it would be a fun life, this continuous cycle of weight gain and loss.

Taking Robert over to visit Guy’s family had been considerably less stressful than the Christmas in Kent. Guy’s mother had long accepted that her handsome son was a law unto himself, living a whirlwind existence that she could hardly comprehend. She liked Robert, thinking him handsome and much like the typical romantic, bumbling Englishmen of the many movies she had watched over the years. Guy’s aunts had agreed, never noticing once how much Robert was overeating the entire trip.

Surrounded by tempting, tasty foods around every corner, as well as fascinating specimens of obesity in Charleston, Guy’s home city, Robert had carried a lust about him the entire week. For Guy, it reminded him why he loved dating gainers so much. As Robert gorged himself on take-out in the hotel room, Guy could hold the man’s impossibly hard shaft, playing with it as gently and delicately as he could, for fear that it could, and would, explode at any second.

“I want to be a fat boy!” a horny Robert would exclaim, right before climaxing, time and time again.

Guy would then chuckle, nodding his head in agreement. “I know you do!” he’d shoot back, his eyes dancing with delight; the greatest of all pleasures seeing his boyfriend overtaken by his own lust. In truth, it would be easy. Robert had already fucked up his metabolism last time. The pounds failed to shift like they should in a normal, athletic, mid-twenties male and they packed back on with shocking speed. But when Guy told him that, there was no stopping the sudden surge from Robert’s groin, and the complete mess that was made all over the bed as jets flew in every direction. A simple week away had spiked Robert’s weight by an incredible fifteen pounds. 

“You look so fucking sexy!” Guy growled, admiring the large butt that had reappeared on his lover, filling his work pants right back up again.

Robert twisted his hips in the mirror to get a good look, smiling proudly. “I wish you were a proper feeder,” he sighed. “I know I would go so much further if I knew you were going to get off on making me gorge myself.”

Guy tried not to show how cut up he felt. He remembered how he had lost previous lovers for the exact same reason. They wanted more from him than he felt capable of giving. Sure, he loved bringing Robert to the absolute heights of lust, but he wasn’t in the habit of devising a food schedule, nor engaging in endless calorie counting; the true nuts and bolts of gaining. Guy considered how best to remedy this. No longer having an office to travel to each morning, he used the time to stock up the cupboards with all the things he knew Robert liked to feast upon when he was horny. And boy, during this most recent gainer phase, those fresh pounds certainly caused Robert to be horny! It was like a self-propelling cycle of lust, overeating and pleasure. In the time since Robert had last gained, Guy had developed a better knowledge of the kinky little pet names his lover enjoyed: Piggy, Fat Boy and Porker. He could throw them in whenever he wanted, and enjoyed messaging Robert at work to ensure he was wound up and horny by the time he got home, ready to eat.

The results were inevitable. Sexy, undiluted fat slid back onto Robert’s body with ease. His butt blew back up even more, but he was undoubtedly carrying more on his belly this time, making even his largest shirts requiring upgrades.

“Are these new trousers?” asked Robert one morning as he trotted about to get ready.

Guy, who had already returned from an hour-long session at the gym, smirked and nodded his head. “With a little extra growing room for my Fat Boy!” he whispered teasingly back. In truth, he knew that the same thing would eventually happen as last time: Robert would get put off and start his diet all over again, making himself miserable in the process. What he needed was a lover who would ease him into the changes smoothly and be there to show him how sexy his swelling body could be; similar to how a true feeder would; the ones who consumed Robert’s fantasies as he watched his body swelling up.

Now that Robert had been at his family’s firm for over two years, he didn’t worry about suddenly being replaced by his disapproving family. They needed him, as well as his sharp business brain, to keep bringing in the flow of wealth. Likewise for Guy, things had continued to go from strength to strength and there had been some decent press coverage of the technology his company was developing. They’d bought premises in North London and were expanding into the north with further development centers. The success was intoxicating, and when Guy felt happy, he certainly became hornier and hornier.

“Head back!” Guy ordered his boyfriend as he held the pot of cream aloft. He smirked, looking at how insanely hard his blubbery boyfriend got whenever Guy treated him to a feeding like this; never failing to explode at the prospect of greater amounts of deliberately fattening calories.

Down they all went, time and time again; the fat building into his waist, puffing up his arms and broadening out the glutes; each pound making Robert hungrier for more. Hitting 270lbs had been a huge thing for him, but Guy wasn’t sure the boy could make it to the full three hundred. Already, he had started to complain about how much he was sweating and a couple of his friends had dropped him from their groups. He now looked so contrasting in appearance to Guy. Whilst this was thrilling and exciting on good days; bad days, he felt self-conscious and low.

Guy had been thinking about it for some time as he set his computer up in his hotel room. Being so far away from Robert for six weeks had been challenging, but the business opportunities in California were unrivalled. Guy could see how much further ahead his own company’s technology was to any other. Of late, all they had to do when encountering issues was to question the technology itself, leading to massive creative growth, developing at a faster pace than any of them had ever anticipated. It was the whole reason why he knew it wouldn’t fail him with Robert that evening. The computer knew the objective: getting Robert as horny as possible by making him eat the most calories that it could.

The deep-fake version of Guy came on the screen. It really was remarkable seeing Guy’s own mannerisms and voice reproduced so flawlessly. “Are you ready to eat for me, Fat Boy?” it asked.

Immediately, Guy could see the naive Robert responding. He began to eat to the gentle teasing of the software. As Robert replied to it, the computer seemed to learn more and more about him, soon branching off-script and generating its own responses that it knew its target would better appreciate. In a matter of minutes, it was speaking to Robert as if it had an even more in-depth knowledge of the man’s kinks than Guy had acquired in the last three years. And just look at Robert go! He was gorging himself like an absolute pig, rubbing his fattening belly and jiggling it in a way that Guy had never witnessed him doing before. He didn’t need to track the calories that Robert was eating, the computer was scoring it all at the bottom of his screen; the number steadily increasing towards the target. “Come on, Fatso!” the software teased, prompting whenever required. “Get it all down for me!”

By the time Guy got home, he knew that Robert’s pants were going to be completely busted. There was no way the man could cope with encouragement like this every evening and not pack on a staggering amount of fat. How exciting it would be, knowing that his lover was about to be a lot softer the next time he touched him…

Looking at the data from these sessions, Guy picked up a lot of tips by the time he made it home. He reconfigured the software, generating full reports and connected up the bathroom scales into the system so that he could gather even more information. It was clear that the trial was making a huge impact, especially when it started messaging Robert at work, reminding him of the importance to eat; using the trigger words it knew to be the most effective. When Robert’s watch would feed into the system that he was feeling stressed or low, the software would generate further kinky messages and even purchase food to be delivered that it knew would spike Robert’s dopamine. But in the monitoring of what Robert ate, the computer soon learned which foods promoted Robert’s weight gain the most. Unlike many fatties, heavy carbs, like pasta, failed to have the impact that meats and cheeses appeared to generate. 

With such immediate effects, Robert had rapidly surpassed his previous high weight, entering into all new, blubbery territory. For Guy, it was incomprehensibly erotic to be able to touch or grab any part of his lover’s body and have the man turned on to such a wild extent. Using buzz words or phrases from the software reports made Robert instantly hard. Wafting a sugary treat under his nose, or commenting on the disastrous fit of the man’s clothes created a sexual arousal like nothing Guy had seen before. It was as if Robert’s entire sex drive had been trained to activate upon even the gentlest jiggle of his fleshier body. In Robert’s own words, the system had been ‘the best gift’ he had ever received. Even as he surpassed 300lbs, all thoughts of dieting appeared to be completely off the table.

“That’s Rachel Rivero,” Robert pointed out a few weeks later as he and Guy attended a charity event in The City.

“So, that’s her!” Guy smirked, gazing upon the journalist who had written all the critical articles about Robert’s weight gain. The most recent piece, only last week, had been the most savage of all as she even chased up quotes from members of Robert’s family to comment on how significantly obese he had become. “She’s hardly slim herself!” Guy grunted disapprovingly at the middle aged woman sipping champagne by the large ice sculpture.

Guy bided his time, leaving Robert with some mutual friends before he slipped back to find the journalist in question. He had the instinct to try and protect his lover, wanting nothing more than this fatphobic, judgemental woman to simply back off from picking on Robert.

“My name is…” Guy began, holding out his hand the moment there was an opening to introduce himself to her.

“I know who you are,” the lady sighed back, as if she already knew everything Guy was going to say. “The answer is ‘no’. I get good numbers on my articles about your little boyfriend.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Although, maybe the real story is why such a handsome man as yourself would even go after someone who struggles so much with his weight?” She eyed his powerful body up and down. “You are quite the specimen!” she smirked, as if smelling a potential story.

“Or, maybe the headline should be about you,” Guy stated, smiling confidently. “Picking on Robert by writing mean articles about him, simply because you'd ended your secret, extra-marital affair with his father… it doesn’t exactly smack of professional integrity, does it?”

Rachel stiffened, sensing a challenger. “Darling, no one’s going to believe that!” she smirked, starting to walk away.

“They will with all the evidence I have saved on here,” Guy returned with an equally condescending smile as he lifted his cell phone. “Pictures, documents, receipts, CCTV footage,” he nodded. “It’s amazing the things you can dig up when you set your mind to it…”

The woman glared, understanding that this was no bluff. Ten minutes was all it had taken for Guy to access the software to complete a deep dive into everything about this woman. What would have taken a personal investigator five years to amass had been automatically downloaded onto Guy’s cell phone, all whilst having a glass of mineral water at the bar.

“You don’t want to start something with me,” Rachel warned, retreating nonetheless.

“I’m sure I won’t need to,” Guy threw back, smiling victoriously. “Just leave Robert alone!”

Pleased with himself, Guy walked back over to Robert, gazing upon that thick, chubby ass with pride. Ever since he’d introduced the virtual feeder tool, Robert had been piling on the blubber like never before; those soft, squishy glutes showcasing every last calorie that had been desperately consumed. Robert never would have worn pants so snug to come to an event like this before; having also chosen a shirt that stretched so unflattering across his love handles. To Guy, it seemed so thrilling; like Robert’s kinkiness was being harvested and controlled; he desired food and sex in equal measures and had become more submissive to his lust for Guy than ever before. When he held the fat boy's little dick in his hand, it was so devastatingly hard, and always pathetically easy to bring keep it teetering on the very edge of an extreme orgasm.

Guy snuck up behind him and rested his strong arm over his lover’s shoulders, turning and seeing Rachel eyeing him coldy from afar. She really had been a hateful presence these last couple of years. Although the AI software had recently seemed to find a way to make Robert enjoy the humiliating content and pictures in those articles, letting her know that she couldn’t push them around had still felt every bit as satisfying as Guy had hoped. Now they could at last live their lives in peace.

“Oh my goodness!” Guy exclaimed four weeks later, seeing the article the moment he woke up, having had it sent to him by three different people in his circle. He could feel the dread consuming him as each paragraph made for more and more damning reading. Not only was this new article providing the most extreme pictures of Robert’s over 360lb body to date, but that disgusting journalist had clearly set out to ruin Guy himself. There he was, being outed as: ‘The world’s most prolific feeder.’

For the first time in years, Guy’s first love, Mikey, was staring up from the screen at him; comparison pictures of them both from when they’d started college, alongside a recent picture of Mikey with an additional four hundred pounds filling up his body. There were quotes from people Guy had known in college, twisted to back-up the case that Guy had fed and ‘destroyed’ a promising young academic with his devious kink.   

Quite a few paragraphs were devoted to Dillon too. That bastard had even provided Rachel with quotes, speaking openly about how much Guy had enjoyed his greedy appetite and lust for his expanding body. “Without him, I never would have ended up at 500lbs,” he’d stated, right before the article went on to detail, in quite devastating detail, the timeline of Robert’s own transformation; gaining weight pretty much as soon as he had met Guy and started dating him.

It didn’t take a genius to work out that Guy’s reputation was in tatters. The comments section alone was enough to show just how cleverly Rachel Riverto had twisted all those little facts to make him seem like the most evil being to have ever walked the Earth. The timing couldn’t have been more disastrous. It had been a sting operation, ensuring that the Ministry of Defence would pull out of the major deal they were about to sign with Guy’s company that very afternoon, destroying years of work that had led up to this moment. Guy felt sick to his stomach. In his whole career, he’d never experienced such a personal, calculated attack.

It was ironic; in all those years, Guy had never considered himself a feeder. He’d simply enjoyed sharing in these guys’ kinks and admired their confidence as their bodies expanded in ways that most of society disapproved of. There was no crime in that; was there?

Having built up more and more shares over the years, Guy was able to refuse the wishes of those in his company who wished for him to step down; though he had to fight hard and argue well for that privilege. With every setback came a further opportunity, Guy had decided, looking at his enormous, lardy boyfriend getting hard by reading all the comments on the new pictures of his 360lb body. With the complete shit storm that had consumed Guy’s life, it was cute how Robert seemed to care so little, and how incredibly hot he appeared to find it all instead. The Robert of old would have run a mile the second a scandal like this broke out. Now, it was all part of the erotic play that was his life.

“So, what are you going to do now?” Robert asked, feasting upon a large pizza and stroking his giant, fat-filled stomach in front of the TV, much like he did every evening.

Guy smiled, feeling, in a strange sense, like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. There was no way he could have watched Robert grow like he had in the last six months and not realise that there was a serious business opportunity in all this. However, he never would have had the confidence to go for it had his name not been dragged through the mud like it had been that week. He rubbed his finger proudly across his lover’s enormous double chin. The AI had prompted Robert to keep it well shaved and it really had helped to make him look more obese than ever before.

“I may not be a feeder,” Guy began. “But I’ve somehow created the most effective motivation tool in the world,” he smiled. “And I imagine that’s not the only thing this technology could do,” he nodded, enthused by the untapped potential of what he had developed. “I believe that there are billions of people with other fun, playful kinks; just like this, too embarrassed to share it with another human being.”

Robert pulled a sceptical face, like he hadn’t even realised how much his own behaviours and physical appearance had been transformed by the technology that had been brought into his life by Guy.

Guy grabbed a giant wedge of Robert’s belly fat as he continued to make his point. “The technology was already good, but you realise you’ve packed on almost 40lbs since we introduced your brain scan data into the system six weeks ago? You wake up in the night to eat ice cream, you can’t seem to get off unless you’re stuffed! You’ve turned into this great big, fat ball of kink!” he nodded proudly. “If I market this slowly, collect more neural data…” he explained, more to himself than anyone else. “I could get better at mapping these kinks; all the different fetishes out there! Then I could provide people with the most erotic experiences of their lives; unlock desires they never even knew they had!”

“It’s still only a face on a screen,” Robert replied, seeming to cautiously accept some potential in what Guy was saying.

“Then we take it off the screen!” Guy smiled. “We put it in ear-pieces for bored husbands and wives, wanting to spice up their love lives. We use it to create bespoke AI erotic movies for folks to enjoy. We develop androids that can pleasure their targets like nothing else on the planet. By the eightieth generation of this software, the possibilities will be limitless!”

Robert stacked another two slices of pizzas and bit down on them both, nodding. “Alright,” he nodded. “It’s a pretty lucrative idea,” he agreed.

Guy smiled proudly and kissed his fattening lover, admiring the vast contrast between their bodies as they made love later that evening.

“Do you think this is going to happen to more folks then?” Robert asked as he pinched his belly fat. “Your AI systems have learned so much about my fat kinks, it’ll uncover it in more people?”

“Without a doubt!” Guy grinned back, taking hold of Robert’s fat himself and jiggling it joyfully. “Hundred of them. Thousands. Maybe even millions! Delicious, kinky little fuckers, growing their bellies out, just like you!”

“That journalist was right,” Robert smiled, feeling himself starting to climax at the touch. “I really am in way over my head!”

“You think so, Fatty?” Guy asked, having learned from the neural data how much Robert’s arousal spiked at that name.

Robert nodded, his eyes rolling back into his head. “...I really am dating the world’s most prolific feeder.”

Guy smiled, watching as Robert could hold back his orgasm no longer. He was about to bring this pleasure to everyone, across the entire world. Again and Again. After all these years, perhaps he was feeder after all…

[raven-dor]

you took my breath away

in which gwayne hightower reunites with his wife at the battle of rook’s rest

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x fem!reader, gwayne hightower x wife!reader, rhaenyra targaryen x SISTER!reader

WARNINGS: angst, typical HOTD violence, kissing, arguing, VV FLUFFY ENDING

WORD COUNT: 4.9k

🎶 : Fallingforyou - The 1975

AN: the children’s names are ALYSSA + GAEMON!! heavily inspired by a comment on my masterlist!! saw it and absolutely ran with it, hope you guys enjoy!!

“Alyssa, the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you may wake up and ride Morning.” 

The young girl smiled, burying herself into her blankets. “Do you promise, Mother?” 

“I promise.” Her voice broke as she spoke, smiling quickly. “Now go to sleep.” 

“Is that a new riding dress?” Alyssa’s eyes lulled shut as she spoke. 

“It is..” She laughed, kissing Alyssa’s forehead gently. “Try and get some rest.” 

“I love you, Mother.” 

“I love you, my darling.” 

The woman stood up, tucking her daughter in before walking out of the room, smiling at the maid that passed by. “Please see to it that the children have their favorite breakfast made.” 

The maid nodded. “Of course, my lady. Is that all?” 

“Yes, thank you.” She waited until the girl rounded the corner to start running. She hadn’t wanted to alarm anyone or make any of her servants think that she’d left her husband.

Not that the corridors she walked down were populated. It had been hours since dusk, the last servant she’d seen had been by her children’s rooms. 

After living in Oldtown for longer than she cared to admit, she knew this tower like the back of her hand. In the early years of her marriage, she admitted that her knowledge of the castle was lacking, which is when she discovered that her husband had made a servant help her find her way, worried she would get lost. 

He was always so thoughtful. 

So thoughtful, she knew it was only a matter of time before he realized she’d spent too long putting the children to sleep, and he would leave their shared chambers with the sole purpose of finding her. She picked up the pace, pushing the side door open that led to the dragon pit. Not many knew of its location as it was out of sight of the fortress. Only the Hightower family and its few dragon keepers knew where it stood. 

It wasn’t large by any means, but Gwayne had built it for her. When they’d taken Daeron to ward, and Alyssa had claimed her dragon, he’d had the best dragon pit lords brought in to aid with the addition process. It was nothing compared to the dragon pit she’d grown up with, but it was large enough to house the three Hightower dragons, and it was perfect to her. 

She had been beyond proud when her daughter claimed her dragon, Morning, at her last family visit to King’s Landing. Alyssa had only been eight, the second youngest dragon rider after her Aunt Rhaenyra. Alyssa’s grandfather had been even prouder, hosting a celebration feast in her honor, much to the Alicent’s dismay. A deep groan echoed through the pit, Silverwing’s snout peaking from her cave. Y/N’s hand fell to her stomach, caressing it gently, before approaching her dragon. “Lyka, ñuha prūmia.” (Quiet, my heart.)

Climbing the saddle, she wrapped her arm with the reigns like she had a hundred times before. She leaned forward, laying her cheek against the dragon’s scales, humming lightly. “Īlon're jāre lenton, Silverwing.” (We're going home, Silverwing.)

Silverwing practically purred, stretching her wings beneath the light of the moon. 

“My love.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened, straightening her spine, her husband’s deep blue eyes meeting hers. Silverwing purred yet again; she had loved him husband since the day you had. 

“Gwayne.” Y/N’s tone was cold, colder than it had ever been while addressing him. 

“I heard you telling the children goodnight. When will you return?” His voice was wavering as if he was forcing himself to remain calm, but she could tell he was itching to tell her to stay. “They will-” 

“Do not bring them into this.” She looked down at the reigns. “The children will be fine.”

“And when they ask where their mother has gone? What then?” His calm facade had faded, he sounded tired, and ragged with grief. Her heart ached to hold him: he had told her the stories of his mother, how she’d left him so young. While she did not want the same for their children, she had to help her sister. “Stay, and I swear to you we will fight for your sister.” 

“When? In two years time? Gwayne, I cannot continue the way we have. I am loyal to the true heir, to my sister. Surely you can-” 

“Have you truly been so miserable? My heart lies with you, as it always has. I cannot stand that usurper king either, and yet I continue on. For your sake, for our children’s sake. You know he would not hesitate to kill us all.” 

“So you cower? You cower when Rhaenyra needs you most? When I need you most?” She tightened her pull, preparing to flee. He had always been her weakness, and she could not back out. Not this time. “You are not the man I thought you were.” 

“How-” He stumbled backward as if she had stabbed him in the heart. “I have loved you with every bit of my being-” 

“And it is not enough!” She yelled, an uncomfortable silence falling over them. 

His voice was quiet, a mere whisper that was only carried by the night’s breeze. “Then I am sorry I have let you down.” 

“Tell the children I love them.” Gwayne watched as his wife flew away, his hair flying out of his face from the force of her dragon’s wings. That had not hurt him, not sent him into shock or despair. The pain of knowing that she’d left them rang through him, and he turned away, stalking back toward the castle a broken man.

“I love you, Mother.”

“I love you, my darling.”  

Her mother was elegant, standing quickly before gently tucking her in before leaving the room. Alyssa waited until she heard her footsteps turn into nothing before rolling out of bed. She ran to her wardrobe, pulling on her flying robes with ease. Alyssa had known, as hard as her mother had tried to hide it, that she was leaving. 

The Lady Hightower was a proud woman. Of course, she was. Born a Targaryen, she had every right to be proud, everyone always said that Targaryens were closer to gods than men. Alyssa liked to think she was more Targaryen than Hightower. She loved her father, but she felt alive when she flew her dragon.

When she sat in the sept like her Aunt Alicent taught her, she felt as if she could fall asleep. 

Opening her door as quietly as she could, she tiptoed down the hallway, following the path to the dragon pit. She’d almost reached the door that led outside when her brother’s voice called after her. “Lyssa? What are you doing?” 

She sighed, throwing her head back in annoyance. “Gaemon, go to bed.” 

“Not until you tell me where you’re going.” 

She turned around, hissing. “I’m following Mother.” 

His eyes grew teary. By the gods, he was tiresome. “Is she leaving us?” 

Alyssa clenched her fists. “She doesn’t want to leave us, she wants to help her sister.” 

“Aunt Helaena?” 

Her brother needed to visit the library. “Aunt Rhaenyra. The true-born Queen.” She felt proud when she said it, but Gaemon only looked lost. “Swear you won’t tell Father I’ve gone.” 

He nodded. “I won’t tell because I am coming with you.” He puffed his chest. “I want to help.” 

She laughed. “You? With what dragon?” 

“I can claim one, just like you did.” His bottom lip jutted out, and she fought the urge to groan. 

“Fine, fine. Just promise you will stay quiet.” 

She’d always loved Oldtown at night. It was quiet, peaceful compared to how busy it was during the day. Her favorite time to fly was late, long past dusk when no one could see her or judge her for her choice of clothing. 

“My love.” 

Alyssa’s heart stopped. There stood their father, confronting their mother. Gaemon whined. “I hate it when they fight.” 

“They have not even begun to fight, Gaemon.” 

“That is why I hate it.” He squeezed her hand. “It is starting.” 

“I heard you, telling the children goodnight. When will you return?” Their father continued. Alyssa’s eyes welled, she hated seeing her father so upset. “They will-” 

“Do not bring them into this. The children will be fine.” 

“And when they ask where their mother has gone? What then?” Their father’s voice sounded upset, angry with their mother for leaving. Alyssa could feel Gaemon pulling away. 

“Stay, and I swear to you we will fight for your sister.” 

“When? In two years time? Gwayne, I cannot continue the way we have. I am loyal to the true heir, to my sister. Surely you can-” 

As much as she wanted to listen to her parents, Gaemon was young and fragile, hearing this talk would only upset him further. She grabbed his hand, pulling him further into the dragon pit. “Come, Gaemon. There is a tunnel that leads to Morning’s cave.”

“But Mother-” 

“We will see Mother soon.” 

“And Papa?” 

Her heart twisted, pretending she had not heard him. “Morning has missed you. If you behave, I will let you feed her first.” 

Dragonstone was so beautiful in the early morning, the way the sun hit the sea just so. Not long ago, she had accompanied her sister to retrieve their brother’s egg. She had even brought Gwayne mere weeks after their courtship had begun. No one inhabited Dragonstone then, and they had fully taken advantage of the fact. 

Her cheeks grew red thinking of it, that this had been the first place they’d kissed. 

Now her sister resided in their ancestral home. 

She knew that the Queen’s council would be wary of her arrival. Being the Lady Hightower, many expected her to be loyal to the new King. The lords who advised her sister had forgotten that she was a Targaryen, a Princess of royal birth, the youngest daughter of their beloved King Viserys and Queen Aemma. While she loved her husband deeply, she remained loyal to her sister, as she always had been. 

Silverwing dove, landing gracefully on the clearing adjacent to Dragonstone. Sliding off her saddle, Y/N laid her forehead against Silverwing’s cheek, whispering her thanks before approaching the soldiers that stood guard.

“Who goes there?” 

“Princess Y/N Targaryen. The Lady of Oldtown.” The guards looked at each other suspiciously. She couldn’t blame them, the Hightowers were the entire reason this war had started. She sighed. “I am the Queen’s sister.” 

“Aunt.” Her niece emerged from the shadows, dismissing the two men. “How wonderful you could join us.” 

“I sense you are less than happy to see me.” She walked past her, straight into the castle. “That will change.” The castle was dark, the candles doing little to illuminate its halls. 

“You are mistaken.” Baela laughed. “I fear we need your help now more than ever.” 

“Oh?” She frowned. “What has happened?” 

“The small council,” Baela whispered, the servants in front of them pushing the great doors open, their ancestor’s Painted Table coming into view. “They grow tired laying in wait.” 

“I see.” She allowed a faint smile to grace her face, showing her niece she had no ill will. “Then I am glad to be of help.” 

“Y/N?” 

Her eyes welled, her arms widening as her nephew ran to her. “Jaceaerys.” She hugged him tightly. “You are a man-grown.”

“I am glad you are here-” 

“My Prince.” Sir Erryk interrupted. “Another dragon has landed.” 

“Another?” Jaceaerys looked near murderous. Y/N could not blame him, her half-brothers were erratic, never stopping to think about what their actions might do to others. However, Aegon was not stupid enough to show up alone, and Aemond was too proud to let Aegon confront their sister. 

“Allow me to accompany you.” Y/N hooked her arm through her nephews. “I should like to see my dear little brother again.” 

Jaceaerys laughed. “I will enjoy you humbling my mother’s council.”

The sun had fully risen by the time they left the castle. The dragon was far back, far enough so that they could not make out the face of its rider. Even from a distance, both could tell that it was neither Vhagar nor Sunfyre. It was not small by any means, but its build was quainter than that of Vhagar or Sunfyre’s. Not to mention, its scales were pink, a color neither of the older dragons possessed. “Whose-” Y/N’s blood went cold. The only pink dragon she could name was- 

Jaceaerys looked over, tilting his head. “Is everything alright, Aunt?” 

“That dragon is my-”

“Mother!” 

“Mama!” 

She raced down the path, grabbing her children and holding them close, inspecting them for injuries. Jace just laughed, a hand covering his mouth. “Baela will enjoy this.”  

The council, as her niece had said, was power-hungry by nature. With her sister absent, they seemed to pounce at the chance to silence Jaceaerys and her aunt. She turned away from the fire, setting her hands on the table as she brazenly interrupted. “I must say, Ser Broome, you are quite comfortable interrupting the heir to the Iron Throne.” The older man sat back in his chair, silent. “Have you recently come into a title that allows you to do so?” 

He shook his head. “No, Princess.” 

“Then I suggest, in the future, you hold your tongue.” Her smile was curt, looking back to her nephew.  “As you were saying, My Prince.”

“We must send a dragon.” 

“Where?” The council stood, bowing their heads as Rhaenyra walked into the room. 

“Sister.” 

Rhaenyra’s once sullen face grew joyous as Y/N approached her. “How long have you been here?” 

“I arrived only yesterday.” Y/N leaned forward, whispering. “Where have you-” 

Jaceaerys cleared his throat. “To support the war your vassals have been fighting in your absence… Your Grace.” 

Rhaenys interjected. “Cole’s host has grown since riding abroad. He raised the levies of both Rosby and Stokeworth and with their combined strength sacked Duskendale.” 

Ser Darklyn stepped forward. “Duskendale?” 

“The city has fallen. Many Darklyn men declared for Aegon. Those who refused were put to the sword.” 

“What of my father?” 

“He kept his oath. Cole took his head for it.”

“Where have you been, these last days?” Y/N could tell her nephew was getting tired of his mother’s antics, eager to prove himself to her as they both had been with their father. “You vanished without so much as a word.” 

“Well I apologize for my absence and the secrecy, but such was necessary. I went to King’s Landing.” 

“To what possible end?” 

“To meet Queen Alicent and sue for peace.” 

“You saw Alicent?” 

“I did.” 

Y/N did not know whether to laugh or to stop her nephew.

“You could have been taken or slain!” 

“I inherited eighty years of peace from my father. Before I was to end it, I needed to know there was no other path. And now I do.” 

Y/N smiled, placing a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “He would be proud, I know it.” 

Rhaenyra looked melancholy at best. “Only one choice remains to me: either I win my claim or die.” 

“Cole’s victories have only emboldened him. He marches on Rook’s Rest.” 

“His host was just hours away when Lord Staunton’s ravens took wing.” 

“Why Rook’s Rest? After Duskendale? It is but a small coastal keep.” 

Y/N nodded. “A small coastal keep that is mere leagues from Dragonstone.” 

“Lord Staunton is a member of this council. His castle is small and vulnerable and there for the taking. Cole knows that we have no army on the mainland.” 

“He is brazen.” 

“He is daring us to act.” 

“We need to send a dragon.” Jace once again insisted.

“There are those who have mistaken my caution for weakness. Let that be their undoing. I will go.” 

“You cannot.” Jace looked tired. 

“I will not lose dragons to the war whilst I hide here in my castle.” 

“Our ally raise their banners for you, Mother. If you die, all is lost.” Jaceaerys puffed his chest. “Send me.” 

“No.” Rhaneyra laughed. Y/N laughed as well, but it had been for a different reason. It had not been long ago when Rhaenyra herself had drove her father mad, now her son did the same. 

“I will burn Cole’s lines and withdraw before King’s Landing could even raise the-” 

“You lack the experience.” 

“Then send me, sister.” Y/N interrupted. “They will be caught off guard by the Lady Hightower attacking. I am sure of it.” 

Rhaenys nodded. “Send me as well, Your Grace. Meleys is your second-largest dragon and no stranger to battle. I will meet Cole.” 

“Mother-” Alyssa whispered, pulling on her sleeve. “Please do not-” 

“Alyssa.” Y/N hissed. “What did I say?” 

“Do not interrupt,” Alyssa whined. “But Father-” 

“Alyssa.” Y/N knelt, holding her daughter’s hands in hers. “You must know I would never harm your father. Trust me, everything will be fine.” She kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Swear to me you shall stay here and look after your brother.” 

“I swear.” The young girl smiled, her eyes watering. “I swear, Mother.” 

The soldiers cowered in fear at the sight of Meleys and Silverwing flying above them. They began to scream in terror as they both rained fire on them. Y/N pat her dragon’s back, tightening her harness. “Sȳz, ñuha riña.” (Good, my girl.) Her eyes flickered to the tree line, her blood curdling when she saw her husband’s armor glimmering in the mid-day sun. Her heart beat faster as she watched her Aunt fly straight toward Aegon. 

Sunfyre had always had a sweet disposition, and it broke Y/N to know that by the end of this battle, the dragon would not be with them. It had not, however, broken her to think of her half-brother’s death. 

A deep roar echoed through the air, the hairs on her neck raising instantly. Vhagar’s head broke the clearing, heading straight for the pair of wrestling dragons. Y/N pulled the reigns, racing toward the older dragon before it could attack Meleys. “Dracarys, Silverwing, Dracarys!” A great stream of fire left her mouth, hitting Vhagar’s side. The older dragon let out a pained cry, erratically flapping her wing, desperately trying to rid herself of the pain. 

Y/N flinched, gasping as she helplessly watched the wing smack Silverwing, knocking the younger dragon out in a single moment. “Silverwing, daor! Wake bē riña, wake bē!” (Silverwing, no! Wake up girl, wake up!) 

Silverwing began to plummet, straight into the forest. She screamed, cried, anything to wake her dragon before they both met their deaths. “Sōvegon! gaomagon mirros, uēpa riña!” (Fly! Do anything, old girl!) The dragon remained gone to the world. Y/N sobbed, slapping her hands on her dragon’s side. “Wake bē!” (Wake up!) 

Silverwing’s eyes cracked open, frantically slapping her wings, fear evident in her movements. Y/N cried, reassuring her. “Mirre kessa sagon sȳrī, Silverwing. Mirre kessa-” (All will be well, Silverwing. All will-) 

Gwayne could only watch in horror at the battle that played out before him. Even during his days as a mere foot soldier, they had been civilized and honorable. There was no honor in this fight, in this war, in the men leading it. Criston Cole, who treated his soldiers with disdain, also treated his new position as Lord Hand with equal care. Now here the Dornish man stood, ordering Gwayne around as if he was just a mere foot soldier once more. Not to mention, his wife left him and had planned to leave without so much as a letter. He would have thought after their many years of blissful union, she would have thought to tell him of her plan. That had hurt more than her departure. 

In the end, he was not shocked she had gone. His wife was loyal, and he could not blame her for her actions. He would have done the same for his own sister. 

When the servants had told him his children had also left, he had truly become a wreck. He had been sitting at his place at their dining table when they’d told him. Their favorites had been already placed on their plates, now cold, while he sobbed in the dining hall. And there he stood, feeling just as empty, when he saw his wife’s dragon emerge from the clouds. 

By the gods. 

He swore then not only to his family but to himself, that he would be with her again, with his children again, even if that meant betraying his family. Not that his sister’s children or his own father had acted as a true family in the first place. Family was a system of connections to them, to the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms. He and his wife, the woman that she was, had together made it much more. 

She was, in his eyes, perfection itself. 

He remembered, not long ago, she had convinced him to fly to Dragonstone. When they had been there, laying on the lawn in front, she’d told him what she wanted for the future. She swore to him, mere weeks into their courtship, that if they married, their children would be good, instead of the spoiled nobility they’d come to know, spreading greed and hurt. 

That had made him surge forward, kissing her soundly. 

He kissed her as often as he could after that moment. That moment, that promise, had been what made him ask the King for her hand in marriage days later. 

She was too good for this world, a world that was constantly fighting. And her family, he told himself, she was too good for them too. 

The same went for his children. 

And now, as he watched his wife’s dragon fall from the sky, one thing raced through his mind. He needed her like the very air that filled his lungs. He left his men without a second thought, racing across the battlefield, his only goal to reach her. 

“Y/N” A voice rang through the clearing Silverwing had created. “Y/N?” 

She groaned, her ears ringing. Her entire body ached from the impact, her head felt pulsing as she rolled over. “Who-” Everything came rushing back, the battle, her aunt, Silverwing falling. Forcing herself up, she reached down, grabbing her dagger from her leg holster. “Whoever you are, think twice before-” 

“Y/N!” Gwayne jumped off his horse, running toward her. “I saw you falling, and I-” 

“Get back.” She glared. “I do not need your assistance.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “You just fell from-” His arms flailed toward the sky. “I thought you were dead!” 

“I am sure you would have been thrilled.” She turned her back, scanning the woods for any sign of Silverwing. She loosened her harness while she was falling, scared that Silverwing would crush her, would crush- 

“I feel sorry for you.” 

“You feel sorry for- Ah!” Her stomach twisted, and she winced, caressing it lightly. “It’s alright, darling.” 

Gwayne’s voice was a mere whisper, so close that his breath grazed her neck. “What did you say?” 

“I said-” She whipped around, glaring. “You-” 

“Are you-” He looked hopeful, excited even.

“Gwayne, do me the courtesy of not revealing my location to your precious Lord Hand.” 

“Do you truly think so little of me?” He sounded desperate. “I love you, I have for as long as I have known you, and it-” He grabbed her hand, laying it over his heart. “I have only lived for you and for our children, you must know that?” 

She ripped her hand from his hold, her eyes tearing up. “I apologize for assuming otherwise. I should have told you, but I did not, and you cannot fault me for that!” 

“I am not faulting you! I have not held it against you, even when our children flew after you! I knew in my heart, that you were right, that you were doing what your heart led you to do. It is one of your best qualities, the very thing that drew me to you in the first place.” His eyes were tearing up as well. “You- you make me-” 

“What?” She yelled. “What exactly do I make you? Angry, upset, murderous?” 

“Crazed!” He yelled back, walking up to her and grabbing her face with his hands. “I love you, desperately!” 

Tears fell from her eyes faster than ever, she could not tell what exactly had caused it. It could be the exhaustion, or the adrenaline hitting her all at once. Or perhaps it was because when her eyes met his, she felt as if she was a young girl again, being wooed by the handsome knight. “Gwayne…” She grasped his hand tightly. “Come with me. Leave this all behind. I know the loss of your seat in the Lord’s Council will hurt, but you’ve never loved the pressure it brings you. Our children…” She smiled. “Will be happy around their family, around the very people who will never judge them. My love-” She took a deep breath, her eyes full of desperation. “I need you.” 

His arm wrapped around her waist. “I-” 

“If you do not wish to come with me, just say it.” Her eyes were red by now, there was no doubt. “Perhaps we should go our seper-” 

“I will do anything you ask of me. Anything.” 

“Then come with me.” She pleaded. “Come wit-” 

Gwayne collided his lips against hers, pulling her closer than she’d ever thought possible. Her heart began to pound, harder than it ever had during a kiss, and the next thing she knew, the world was going dark, a dragon’s snout nudging her side before everything went black.

Bright orange light shone through the curtains, a warm breeze dancing through the room. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her heart beaming at the sight in front of her. She groaned, pushing herself to sit up in her bed. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke. “My darlings.”

“Mother!” Alyssa all but jumped out of her chair. Gaemon, her perfect boy, was peacefully asleep in the seat beside her, his little fingers reaching out for hers. Her eyes watered, grabbing his hand gently. 

Gwayne was pacing on the terrace, his auburn hair glowing in the sun. He looked like an angel, a worried angel indeed. 

Alyssa hugged her mother tightly, her face buried in her neck. “You’re awake!” 

She nodded, grinning. “Alyssa, will you please take your brother on a tour of the castle?” 

“But-” Y/N raised an eyebrow, caressing her daughter’s cheek. “Yes, Mother.” Alyssa groaned,  walking around the bed and impatiently tapping her brother’s shoulder. “Gaemon, wake up.” 

“But what if Mother-” He rubbed his eyes, jumping onto Y/N without a second thought. “Mama!” 

“My boy.” She kissed his temple delicately. “Run along with your sister. I will be here when you return, I swear it.” 

She waited until they’d left the room to stand. Walking across the cold stone floor, she stood at the threshold of the balcony, leaning her head against the archway. “Gwayne, there’s something I must tell you.” He made no effort to face her, her stomach curling. “It’s rather delicate…” 

“I know.” He stopped, staring at her, his eyes wide. “I know.” 

“How?”

“The maester.” He stepped forward, his voice steady as he gestured toward her stomach. “May I?” 

She nodded, words refusing to leave her. He knew. During the fall, she wasn’t sure the babe would survive, but with the nauseous feeling in her stomach, there was no longer a doubt. He knelt, leaning his head gently against her. “Hello, little one.” Y/N’s eyes began to water. “You are quite the brave one, going into battle with your mother so young. When you leave her womb, we shall exchange battle stories.” 

She laughed, a tear falling down her cheek. “Please, do not be upset with me.” 

He looked up, tears falling down his cheeks. “Upset? My love, another child with you is never a reason to be upset.” He stood, leaning his forehead against hers. “I am a truly blessed man. To be your husband is the closest a man can be to the heavens themselves.”

She smiled, kissing his lips gently, her heart almost breaking all over again as she pushed him toward the door. “You must leave before my sister knows you are here.” 

He laughed at her, actually laughed at her. “My darling girl, how do you believe you got here? I carried you into this room myself.” 

“So-” Her lips tickled against his as she spoke. “My sister-” 

“I pledged my support to her as soon as I knew you would survive. I am a man of my word.” He leaned down, pulling his lips to hers. “I will never leave you.” 

Y/N smiled into his kiss. “I love you.” He grinned, spinning her around. She laughed, smacking his arm playfully. “Gwayne, put me down. The babe-” 

“The babe?” The couple looked over, smiling at their children. Alyssa stepped forward. “What babe?” 

“I-” Y/N hid her face in her husband’s neck. “I’m embarrassed.”  

Gwayne laughed, shaking his head as he addressed their children. “Your mother is with child.” 

Alyssa groaned, even as she smiled widely. “Again, Mother?” 

Gaemon’s head fell to the side. “What does with child mean, Father?”

taglist: @beebeechaos @i-padfootblack-things

[k1ssuu]

SADDLE UP, COWGIRL 𐚁₊⊹

bull rider!abby x farmer’s daughter // word count : 1,086 // not proof read

Abigail ‘Abby’ Anderson, otherwise known as the best damn bull rider in the West. She’d been in the rodeo as a bull rider since she was old enough to do so. She was decent enough at first, but within a few seasons she managed to dominate all the other competition in town, and even in the state. She was the top rider in the women’s division, but managed to effortlessly beat the scores of the top ranking men as well.

Before you and Abby had gotten together you would admire her silently from the stands. You would drag your friends with you every Saturday just so you could see that girl ride. You never left disappointed. Now that you are together you continue to show up every weekend, supporting your girlfriend loudly from the bleachers.

There she was now, on the back of the bucking steer, her face furrowed in concentration. The way she moved her hips and the sight of her muscles flexing through her slightly too tight button up shirt had you captivated. Her skill was both impressive and so, so hot. Her dirty blonde hair shone in the afternoon sun, tied back in its usual neat braid. Counting down the timer in her head, you could see her look of concentration turn to one of triumph. The stands cheered loudly as the eight second timer buzzed, signifying that she had done it once again.

“Another incredible run for Abby with a score of 90 points! Each and every day she gets closer to a perfect score! Will next Saturday be the day she finally hits that big 100!?” The announcers said excitedly over the speakers, and the crowd only grew louder after hearing her score. You, of course, cheered along with them.

You watched as the bullfighters helped her off the bull, her smile wide as she waved to the stands. Quickly making your way down to the side of the arena, you met her as soon as she walked out. You met her halfway and wrapped your arms around her, burying your nose into her hair.

“That was incredible.” You pulled away, taking a second to admire her. A bead of sweat ran down her temple and her freckled cheeks were flushed a rosy pink. The smile that you loved so much had not left her face, and likely would not for the rest of the night.

“What, you surprised?” She asked sarcastically, her eyes wandering across your frame.

With a scoff you replied. “Obviously not.” To which she laughed and pulled you in for a quick kiss. Her lips were always soft and tonight she tasted like coffee and a hint of chewing tobacco. She always tasted like chewing tobacco after the rodeo. You both pulled away, stupid smiles on each of your faces.

She took a step back and wrapped her arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to her. “Come on, let’s watch the rest of the rodeo.” She said as she steered you into the direction of the stands.

You stayed for the remainder of the night, watching all the other bull riders (none of which were as impressive as Abby) and the barrel racers. The sun started to sink behind the mountainous horizon, painting the sky various hues of pinks, purples, and blues. Abby was a constant presence of warmth next to you, an additional layer of heat in the already humid air.

By the time the rodeo was over, Abby had maintained the highest score in the bull riding division, not that anyone was surprised to hear. She walked away from that arena with her chin held highly and you tucked under her arm. You walked amongst the crowd of people back to Abby’s car. Many offered their congratulations to your girlfriend as they passed, saying things along the lines of “you did it again!” and “nobody has a chance with you as their competition”.

She thanked each of them, her smile growing just a little bit bigger each time. Her arm tightened around you just slightly, keeping you close to her.

Everyone was covered in the reddish dirt, blue jeans and button ups were covered in it, which was normal after a night at the rodeo. The sound of everyone’s footsteps on the soft ground sounded like a herd of cattle traveling down the path. By now the sun had set and the stars had begun to twinkle up above.

Abby led you to her beat up old truck and opened the passenger door for you, ever the polite lady. Her truck was unmistakable. It was an old, worn down Ford that had rusted bumpers and holes in the seats. It smelled like her, too. All in all it was rough around the edges but comfortable enough.

Once you were situated in the passenger seat she joined you, sitting in the driver’s seat. However instead of turning the car on she just sat there and gave you a dopey smile.

“You did really great tonight, I’m proud of you, Abs.” You said, giving her a smile in return.

“Thanks. I love that you’re always there to cheer me on.” She said as she grabbed your left hand, holding it in both of hers. Your smile only grew wider at the gentle touch.

“What happened to that ego of yours? I was expecting some smart ass response.” You laughed.

“Well,” She laughed, not being able to come up with an excuse, which only made you laugh more. She laughed along with you and she cupped your face gently. She pulled you in for a kiss that started out gentle, your lips barely touching. It soon grew heavier and more passionate, her hand slipping to the back of your neck. You were practically over the center console by now, but you pulled away before she managed to pull you completely into the driver’s seat.

Her freckled cheeks were flushed, her lips were still parted, and her eyes were searching for your lips again. Her hair that was usually neatly braided was now messy, strands falling out and onto her forehead.

“Want to… head into the backseat?” You asked with a smile, motioning your head to the backseat of her truck.

She smiled back, and nodded. The both of you climbed into the backseat and you ended up on top of her, quickly ended up in a heated kiss once again.

Pulling away just slightly she mumbled against your lips “I think it’s your turn to ride, cowgirl.”

tag list : @brackishkittie @nombreuxx @ichokedonmyoreo @homelandofthegods @my-w0-rld @blondehya @bambishaven @elr-ology @abbysgymbro @oceaseaa @idiotuvu-blog @sophsstarsxm @giuliaexe66 @abyssgf @nelzooo @bootyfartsmylove @gays6968 @colbyweirdo @foreingersgod @rougesquadron9 @delusionalvioleht @aouiaa @kisssssessssssyj @sunflowerwinds @burgundyredworld @starlight-savegery @nybueckers @prettybratsworld @madame-grimdark-blog @forgetdisturbance @redcherrytea @prettymuchboodup @h00d-tr4sh @skzhoiic

©k1ssuu’24

[serpentface]

A non-exhaustive selection of flowers of value or interest in Wardi culture

(not to scale)

Tantlami - a small bluish or purple flower in the aster family. The origin of its name is uncertain.

It blossoms in early to mid spring, being among the first blooms of the season. The flowers and leaves are edible (though rather flavorless and bitter respectively), with the former often being used as a garnish for food or wine. The flowers are appreciated for their blue hue, associated with wealth and royalty. Its flowers can yield a bluish-gray dye.

In fairly recent history, has been saddled with unfortunate baggage in being used as joke innuendo for the anus, largely in mockery of the figuratively and literally flowery tendencies of love poetry (the idea being 'some of these poets would compare an asshole to a goddamn flower'). The word has not been Fully absorbed into scatological humor, though it is now more common for people to refer to it as 'a yachouy tantlami' (the tantlami flower), and being a child named Tantlami is a more difficult experience than it used to be.

Janaët - a native flowering tobacco. Its name almost certainly stems from or is related to a color word for 'white' (jana).

It contains nicotine, though at substantially lower concentrations than tobacco cultivars first brought from Bur (which do not grow as well here and are very valuable trade goods). It is one of two native plants with notable stimulant effects, either cured with the milder-tasting broülje to chew or smoked on its own. It has significance in herbal medicine, with its effects of energizing the body and mind being attributed in part to regulating proper blood flow and strengthening the heart. It is smoked as a supplement to many medicinal procedures, and its juice and fresh leaves are thought to assist in cleaning wounds and healing snakebites. It is also used recreationally, chewed by laborers and travelers to keep energized and smoked for a calming effect.

The flowers are given some degree of phallic associations due to the shape of their projecting unfurled petals, which in turn grants them association with protection and good fortune. Imagery and actual garlands of the flowers are considered to be lucky. The janaët is a standard well-wishing offering for weddings, expressing hope for vitality and protection within the union.

Camnina etsisima - This flower's name just means 'bleeding bush', owing to the color and the way the petals are initially green and appear to slowly 'soak' red. They are also sometimes likened to the appearance of fire, with its second most common name being a similar 'burning bush'. The plant comes into full bloom during the mid to late spring and is regarded for the beauty of its vibrant red color and sweet scent.

Camnina etsitsima is well adapted to dry conditions and most populous in the semi-arid parts of the region. Its leaves are thick and store significant quantities of water, though are toxic to consume by humans and can be fatal in very large doses. Small amounts are used as an emetic and laxative. It is also a known herbal abortifacient, though is one of the less favored methods due to its side effects, causing severe stomach pain (in addition to the aforementioned) in large enough doses to be viable. Its flowers can yield a red-brown dye.

Camiche - flowers of the camiche tree. Its name is very ancient and of completely uncertain origin.

The flowers have a strong sweet smell and mildly sweet taste. They are used in teas and wine mixes (or to make wine in some cases) and can be eaten raw or cooked. Almost the entire rest of the tree is edible as well- young leaves and shoots can be eaten raw, mature leaves are boiled, dried, and powdered to supplement other foods, the seedpods can be eaten raw young and can be powdered into flour old, and the seeds are edible in all phases and can be pressed for oil. The bark is edible but rather bitter and unpleasant and considered a desperate famine food, but is used in herbalism to ease stomach pain and bring down fevers. The tree itself is among the more abundant sources of wood available, poor for woodworking but valuable as fuel, and the majority of camiche trees you'll find near human settlements show evidence of coppicing or pollarding. It is also highly resistant to drought conditions (though is Not resistant to rarer flood years, and suffers in particularly harsh winters), and can be a fairly reliable source of food in famines.

This tree has monumental historical significance to the diet, and its presence is often indicative of longstanding human settlement and passage (especially given its seeds were also an early form of currency among a wide range of peoples south of the Viper). Both ancient and modern land travel routes by nomads can be identified in part by the concentration of camiche along the way. An unusual density of camiche in the far northwestern Highlands (contemporary White Hills People land) marks the location where the last of the ancient cairn-builder proto-Wardi people died out almost two millennia ago, with many of the trees still growing on their mound graves.

In Wardi culture, the trees are regarded as sacred and notably beautiful as well as useful, and are heavily cultivated in urban settings (also at least in part because their flowers help mask the smells of these urban settings). The camiche is sometimes given the 'gaibenyo haidem' ('great/peerless provider') epithet otherwise mostly used for cattle, God, and/or land to denote something's intrinsic ability to sustain a majority of basic human needs. Like the slaughter of a sacred animal, cutting down a camiche tree is regulated by (though not Prohibited by) taboo and requires additional ceremony and for part of the yield to be given back in sacrifice. Coppicing/pollarding or mass-harvesting of living flowers or leaves requires an offering of sprinkled milk, or your own blood if you're low on milk.

Nyari - nyari is just the word for lotuses. There are two species of lotus naturalized here, but this orange-yellow one is native across lands east of the Mouth seaway and was first given this name.

The native nyari is fairly hardy and its root system can survive periods of drought (though not completely dry conditions), emerging seemingly out of nowhere from near-dry mud when the water returns. In any environmental condition, their blooming signals seasonal return to a time of plenty. Lotuses are potent symbols of creation, rebirth, seasonal abundance, and fertility. They also have associations with cleanliness and purity, as they are perceived as only growing in clean water and are intentionally cultivated in manmade water sources. They are important items as offerings and are garlands for brides, kings, and animal sacrifices. Lotuses are also standard gifts for the well-wishing of a marriage, expressing hope for abundance in the couple's life and the birth of healthy children. Symbols of lotuses are extremely common in decoration, and fabric faux lotuses are frequent features of men's hair ornaments. In most variants of the creation story, God and the first people emerged from the primordial sea either like, from, or as lotus flowers, with the first man Hounyari's name effectively being 'first of the lotuses'.

Their primary value is ornamental and spiritual, though their roots and rhizomes are also edible when cooked thoroughly. Their primary use in herbalism is to assist in female fertility, and their roots are an ingredient for the partly medicinal anaebi soup used to encourage and maintain the health of pregnancies.

Suömitsima - a type of poppy with red-orange or orange petals. Its name is straightfowardly a contraction of 'blood poppy'. In some traditions, the first suömitsima bloomed where the blood of Erub's sons and grandsons spilled in their grisly murders after Imperial Burri conquest. It also appears in a very old animal folktale shared in South Wardi and Cholemdinae oral history where a clan of hyenas and a clan of aurochs fight viciously over a drying spring, with the poppies blooming from the blood of the dead when both parties finally agree to truce in times of scarcity.

It is among the earliest and most prolific springtime blooms and beloved for it, being a mainstay for garlands made for spring ceremonial occasions (or for fun). The likening to blood is also an association with vitality, livelihood, and renewal, and imagery of the flower is highly favorable for decoration and jewelry. Its seeds are used in herbalism as a sedative and painkiller, though their concentration of morphine is fairly low.

Ibriya - this is a type of cat's ear flower. Its name has no obvious origin, though was likely derived either a solar term or the word 'hairy' (rijade) due to the texture of its leaves. It adapts well to a variety of environments and can be seen in bloom well into late summer, when most other flowers have long gone to seed. It has an epithet as the 'beloved of the sun' and is a common figure in romantic poetry as a symbol of long-lasting love.

The entire plant is edible and its roasted roots are appreciated for teas, though its leaves are generally considered famine/peasant food. A yellow dye can be derived from its flowers. In herbalism, its roots are used for digestive issues and are thought to improve the health of the liver.

Cabouri - This is a species of wild rose, and the only one native south of the Viper seaway. The name cabouri is of uncertain etymology but Might relate to the word for 'testicle' (awourim), possibly referring to the swollen rosehips. It fares well in a variety of habitats and is Relatively drought tolerant, though it is less common in semi-arid conditions in which it requires a permanent nearby water source to survive.

Its petals, roots, and leaves can be used for tea, its hips are very nutritious and eaten raw, in teas, or in preserves. Rosewater is a favored beverage, either for drinking on its own, mixing with wine, or to flavor deserts. Perfumes derived from roses are very popular and tend to be considered a more masculine scent, often added to oils used for the beard and hair. Its thorns are sometimes used for bloodletting. In herbalism, its hips tend to be used as a cure-all, especially for inflammation and colds. A mixture of fermented honey and crushed rose hips consumed in wine or tea is taken for illnesses affecting the lungs and throat.

Roses tend to be associated with masculine beauty and and vitality, with the sharp thorns and lovely flowers being compared to favorable qualities of handsomeness and strength. It's also a very common motif in Wardi folktales and poetry for secret lovers to hide themselves from their parents/spouses/etc within rosebushes (often injuring themselves in the process, or leaving torn shreds of clothing behind as evidence), as a symbol for foolhardy love/lust or just as a comedic setpiece. This actually derives from an old Burri myth about the conception of a minor god of flowers and crossroads, whose deity mother and human father had an adulterous tryst hidden in a rose bush and stained the white flowers red with their blood.

[cloversnstrawberries]

Can I request a platonic yandere Stars members (Wesker, Jill, Chris, etc) with a fellow stars member

If won't/don't do multiple people, could you do Wesker or Chris

All of your work has been very good and I love the layout of your blog and the actual work

Have a good day or night

platonic!yandere!S.T.A.R.S & S.T.A.R.S!gn!reader headcanons ! !

masterlist !

includes albert wesker, jill valentine, chris redfield, and rebecca chambers !

additional notes; hello!! i absolutely can do multiple people, and thank you so much for dropping this request, i had a lot of fun writing it :) and aaugudhg,,, i literally died when i read this,, you're so sweet (˃̣̣̥ ︿ ˂̣̣̥) i'm sorry i took so long to finish this!! i really wanted to make sure they all had a lot of content/were equal (more or less) in word count :D i also hope i got their characterizations correct,,

the dynamics for this is fatherly albert, big sister jill, big brother chris (+sister claire, because i find myself incapable of not including her), and little sister rebecca!! yandere found family dynamics.. yandere found family dynamics save me...

warnings; Overprotectiveness, possessiveness, jealousy, (very slightly) implied kidnapping(?), manipulation, guns, light violence/mention of, Reader being left out of the loop, isolation, and probably more that i may have forgotten :[ if you think there's any I should add, please let me know!! :D

w/c; Albert (3.0k) | Jill (2.6k) | Chris (2.9k) | Rebecca (3.3k)

Albert Wesker

Even if you weren't qualified for it, he'd have you on the Alpha team. You’d been shooting for a position in the Bravo team, but somehow-- someway, you managed to charm your way into the captains good graces, enough for him to put you in the Alpha team,

Don't get me wrong, that doesn't mean you're going on missions with them. There were a few times where you did-- only because his higher ups (Umbrella, though you didn’t know that’s who he had to answer to) forced Wesker's hand, saying that you'd need to be demoted if you weren't actually going out in the field.

No, you were usually stuck behind, doing paperwork. You weren't complaining-- not usually, anyways. Yes, it often got boring and repetitive at times; but it's leagues better than the chaos you'd had to endure on the few required missions you went on every now-and-again.

And even then, your captain claimed they were some of the more mild missions the team had gone on. If that was mild, you sure as hell didn't want to see what the extreme could possibly be.

All in all, you were pretty alright with being saddled with all the technical things-- there were some you couldn't do, like the personal recounts that members had to fill out after a particularly high-stakes mission; but you did a good chunk of it.

One time, when you were heading to the break room for your lunch-- passing by Wesker's office, you heard him being... unusually loud. Animated, you're sure; the frosted window giving way to the interior obscured the finer details, but you could still see how he paced back and forth.

His hand was pressed to his ear-- no, his hand was holding a phone; the kind that can detach from their bases, that he was pressing to his ear, and you could practically feel the agitation that was just radiating off of him in droves.

It's not your fault-- that your curiosity got the best of you. That you tucked yourself against the nearby wall and pressed your ear to the door. If Wesker ever found out that you'd been eavesdropping, then he'd surely demote you-- or fire you entirely, was the more logical conclusion.

Which gave you all the more reason to not get caught. Despite it all, you liked this job. You liked the people you worked with-- you couldn't bare the thought of losing this job, if only because of your beloved co-workers.

The door was thick, but your captain was loud enough that you could catch most of the conversation.

It seemed like he was talking to his higher-ups-- strange, the thought of him having to answer to anyone but himself. It makes sense, though-- now that you've come face to face with it.

"I'm not sending them with the others," was what you heard first. You wondered who he was talking about-- and what he wouldn't be sending this mysterious person to, that seemingly, all other S.T.A.R.S members were going to.

...Quickly, you realized the only logical conclusion was that he referring to you. Maybe it was a high-stake mission, and whoever held authority over him (God, that never stops feeling like a strange concept to you) was saying you hadn't met whatever mission-quota required to stay on the Alpha team.

Which checks out, seeing as you were trained for the Bravo team-- graduating in the same class as Rebecca Chambers, not a single lick of real-world experience under your belt; you got the job on the basis that it'd be smaller stuff. Easy stuff, something a rookie like yourself could easily do without much trouble or personal harm.

For some god-forsaken reason, Captain Wesker was certain you'd make a fantastic fit for the Alpha team.

Whoever his higher-ups were, didn't seem to agree with him at all. And you wouldn't blame them! The last mission left you so shaken that Wesker told-- no, demanded-- you to take PTO. Reluctantly, you'd gone along with it. he sent you away with a pat on the shoulder, telling you to relax-- not worry about work for the three days he'd allotted you.

You weren't even sure if he could do that, just hand you PTO out of the blue. But then again, he is your boss-- and you have no personal experience in being such a thing to anyone, so who's to say.

Suddenly, a crash sounded out behind the door-- you jumped, leaning just a little further forward to make sure nothing seriously bad happened--

One of the chairs opposite from Wesker's own, the ones he'd tell anyone from interviewees to employees to have a seat in-- had somehow tilted over, and the loud crash was from when it collided with the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume that Wesker had, in a fit of uncharacteristic (to your knowledge) and explosive anger, shoved the innocent piece of furniture over.

A funny though— your captain, usually so calm and collected, doing something as silly as shoving a over a chair because he was having a tough time with his boss(es),

Really, you should've pulled yourself back-- but you felt rooted to the spot, watching as the clouded, but still recognizable, figure of Albert Wesker was absolutely just seething inside the office-- even through the barrier, you could see how tightly he was gripping the phone. Any harder, and it'd probably turn to dust in his palm.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration-- but he was holding it very, very tightly; his jaw clenched so hard that you worried for his teeth. If it'd been you, your teeth would've cracked ages ago with how tightly he grinding them together.

"I don't care what the execs want, Birkin! They're not going. I'm not sending them in like the others." Huh. That was the first time you'd ever gotten a name to the mysterious, possible higher-ups of your captain. You don't recognize the name from the precinct-- or any branch of Raccoon City law enforcement.

Maybe not a higher-up, then? Perhaps an acquaintance, or someone on a similar level of work hierarchy as Wesker? Maybe even a friend, if you were feeling so inclined.

But that didn't explain why they appeared to be talking about something relating to S.T.A.R.S, about a mission that you (you assumed he was talking about you, but you could be wrong) were being completely barred from for seemingly no reason.

Then, Wesker laughed-- an incredulous sort of noise, equal parts angry as it was mocking to whoever was on the receiving end of this phone call.

"What's got him so riled up...?" You mumble to yourself, unable to keep in your confusion-- as soon as you realized your mistake, Wesker paused. You darted back, heart pounding-- you should just head for your lunch break already. you were afforded a generous 30 minutes, but you'd probably used 1/4th of the time allotted,

If you weren’t careful, you'd waste half, or maybe even the entirety, of your break; if you didn’t restrain your curiosity soon,

And yet, you didn't leave. Didn't turn on your heel and run away like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Warily, you stared at the door-- willing the knob not to turn, praying to whatever would answer you that your boss hadn't heard that little question you'd intended entirely for yourself.

When you pacing started up again, his heavy boots thudding against the scratched hardwood floor of his office-- you breathed a quiet sigh of relief, and continued the task at hand.

This time, you didn't dare lean forward to see what he was doing. Having learned your lesson, you stayed far from the window; but just close enough to hear clearly.

A heavy, heaving sigh came next-- and you could practically visualize it now, your captains ever-present sunglasses pushed up to rest on his head, disturbing his perfectly gelled hair just a tad-- fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"What am I going to do with them, huh?" He... was repeating what the other person, this Birkin, said over the phone-- you think. That's the only way you could make sense of why he could've possibly said that.

A few moments of silence followed, before Wesker-- tone eerily calm, such a stark contrast to the irritated-- no, dare you say enraged-- demeanor he'd had less than five minutes ago.

It was giving you whiplash-- Wesker didn't make much sense with his emotions and personal actions on a good day, when he was actively trying to make himself understandable to you and the other S.T.A.R.S members.

He must be pretty damn close with this Birkin person-- making no attempts to hide his strangeness, the almost cryptic and archaic way he experienced and expressed his feelings.

"Well, you know better than to think I'll spill it all over the phone, Birkin." The name was said more fondly, supporting the idea that this Birkin was a friend of your captains-- we all get annoyed with our friends form time to time, yeah? Maybe that was it.

Maybe... this wasn't even about S.T.A.R.S at all? Would that be considered a stretch? You aren't too sure, the nerves eating away at you eased at the thought-- the idea that Albert was simply speaking about his own personal affairs.

In the absence of your anxiety about being involved in whatever he was talking about, you felt an immense guilt settle, heavy and suffocating in the back of your mind.

You had half the mind to just turn on your heel and head back to work-- to eat lunch at your desk, and work twice as hard on your assignments that day. Either because you wanted something to take your mind off the fact that you butted in on your Captains personal life (something he's obviously very cagey about in the first place, god knows how he'd react knowing that you'd pried some information about it from listening into his conversation, while he stayed entirely unaware to your presence) -- whichever made the most sense. Both, if you were feeling like being honest with yourself.

But, the next thing he said made your blood run cold-- your muscles lock up and your spine straighten. You're sure you resembled a rabbit ready to bolt than a trained (albeit new) member of S.T.A.R.S.

"But I'll let you in on a little secret," His voice wasn't as loud as it was clear-- precise, and it felt as if he was directly addressing you-- but you knew that couldn't possibly have been it.

"I've grown rather fond of them, and I don't feel like giving them up to be one of our little lab rats.” After that ominous bit of information was dropped like a bomb on you, Wesker went quiet.

The person on the other side of the phone must've been responding-- within half a minute, Wesker continued speaking himself.

"I wouldn't call them a pet, Birkin. More like a companion. To call them a pet would suggest they're so much lower than me; which isn't true at all." For a split second-- despite all the... strangeness of his other words, and the context of it all (no matter how disjointed and incomplete it was with you), you let warmth curl around your heart and ease any aches and pains.

For a second, you'd imagined that-- minus the clear superiority complex, he could've been giving you this odd compliment. Could be complimenting you to his friend.

You knew it wasn't so, but you couldn't help but dream for it. You always craved Wesker's praise and approval, no matter how pathetic it'd be to admit that, it was the truth. Honestly, you're surprised you haven't accidentally called him dad before.

And if you did let something like that slip without catching yourself, you'd hand in your two-week notice yourself-- given that you don't die of embarrassment before you had the chance to.

He laughed-- you'd never heard him do that before. Sure, he’s chuckled before; and he'd snickered a few times, but never laughed.

You were shocked by how he laughed-- it seemed more fit for a cartoon villain rather than a specialized police force captain. Maybe that's why he didn't do it often? Previously, you'd just assumed he found very little amusement in most things; or was just physically incapable of laughing for some unforeseen reason.

He'd stopped pacing a little while ago-- you'd been far more focused on his words, that you hardly saw a point in keeping track of his movement, or lack of such.

But, oh god, did you realize it when he started moving again--

It sounded like he was heading toward the door.

"I know, Birkin." Your captain said-- his voice closer. Fear gripped your heart; you had to move, you had to move now, or he'd find you out and you'd be absolutely done for-- That's something you can't really get past in this line of work, eavesdropping on your bosses private conversations-- whether or not he was speaking with a higher-up or a personal acquaintance.

No matter what, if that door opened and he saw you-- then you could kiss your job goodbye, and probably any chance to get a different job in this field ever again.

Nobody liked a Nosy Nancy, did they? Especially not Wesker-- who'd snapped at nearly everyone (noticeably, everyone but you) who'd had the misfortune of even entering the goddamn breakroom while he was in there and taking a call.

He laughed again, far too close for comfort-- you had enough wits about you to stumble back; if he were to open the door now, your position wouldn't as incriminating as before. No longer bracing against the wall, ear pressed to the door of his office.

But still, not a very good look; you just standing there. But your curiosity would be the end of you-- it made you stay stuck to the spot, wanting to catch the last bit of the conversation, even if you didn't understand it at all.

"Yes, yes. I'll be sure to keep them out of your work. As long as you keep your work from them, You know how I feel about my things getting damaged." The knob began to turn-- and as the door began to creak open, the beep! from his phone signaling that the call was over--

You still didn't move, not until the very last minute; turning on your heel, you barely got a few steps forward before your heart dropped your stomach, at the sound of--

"How long have you been out here?" He... didn't sound mad. A strange undertone of... amusement, you think, colored his tone. Fear and relief flooded your body at once-- relief at the idea that he didn't know any better,

And fear that you'd have to either fess up, or lie to cover your ass.

"I just got here, sir." You said, lying through your teeth. It's moments like these, where the fact he's always wearing sunglasses makes you feel even more nervous then if he wasn't-- because, as it was, he was absolutely impossible to get a read on, expression wise.

Then again, there's no real telling if him losing the sunglasses would help at all-- but it still gave you immense anxiety. Not being able to see the look in his eyes, not being able to see any possible emotion he may hold in them.

A few seconds pass by, spent by internally queueing up your goodbyes to your fellow co-workers-- bracing yourself for the worse, for him the reveal that he knew you were lying; because obviously, he'd know. You were an awful liar, and he'd told you so numerous times before,

Though, always with a sort of fondness in his tone-- the kind he never seemed to spare to anyone besides you. At least when you're present, that it-- could be a completely different story while you out of the room.

...Probably not, given how your colleagues always seem to surprised by how 'soft' Wesker was with you-- it'd gained him the nickname 'momma bird', only whispered when you all know that there's not chance of him finding out about it.

"Hm," He said-- before stepping to the side, pulling the door with him, his arm outstretched, silently inviting you inside. You didn't take it, still so nervous-- had he seen you? did he see through your lie?

"Well then, aren’t you going come in? There is something you wish to speak with me about, yes? Or were you just checking in on my well-being?” Finally, you felt the pressing weight of absolute hopelessness lift from your shoulders, the tension visibly leaving your body all at once.

He quirked a brow at your silence, at your immobility-- you jolted, and nodded enthusiastically, scanning your brain for anything you could possibly talk to him about. You'd just been on your way to lunch-- that was it, you had nothing to speak with him about.

But he seemed... expectant. And you swore you saw a smirk on his face--

Well, it was better not to overanalyze it. You followed his 'invitation' (more like a command) and headed into his office; he gestured to the two chairs opposite of his own bigger, fancier one-- he hadn't picked the chair up from the ground yet, you realize.

You stood there for a moment, before picking it up for him. However, you sit in the other one. He gave you a token "Thank you." Before walking around the desk and sitting in his own chair.

Never in your life had you been so quick to bullshit some random, silly question-- that strange little smirk never left his face, but you opted to ignore it in its entirety. If you kept thinking about it, that'd only serve to make you even more anxious.

You didn't know it-- you didn't know how he was looking at you from beneath the sunglasses, like he was studying you. Like he was planning something-- and maybe if you had, maybe if his eyes hadn't been obscured and you would've somehow caught the concerning glint in them, then maybe you could've saved yourself a hell of a lot of trouble down the line.

Jill Valentine

When you first joined S.T.A.R.S, you and and Jill hit it off in an instant-- getting along like a house on fire, Chris jokingly remarked.

You could either be on Alpha or Bravo team, but no matter what, Jill latched onto you like nobodies business. Showing you around the office-- at times hijacking the tour your boss was giving, just so she could give it herself. She always got away with it because she was so enthusiastic about it.

If you were on Alpha team, she'd constantly be pairing up with you during missions; no doubt about it, she's keeping you as close as humanly possible. You don't have a choice in it.

Now, if you were apart of Bravo-- she'd definitely try to change that, to put a good word in for you to Wesker... only to get shot down, and for him to tell her that you were right where you were supposed to be. And unless you showed a 'great deal of talent he otherwise hasn't seen', then you would stay with the Bravos.

Suddenly, after that conversation, she started to drag you from your desk and take you to the shooting range-- like, daily. She'd try her best to help you improve anyway she could, including (but certainly not limiting) how to handle a gun, how to properly utilize a melee weapon against both an unarmed and armed perp, hand-to-hand combat, how to pin someone bigger than yourself down and keep them down,

and of course, her Specialty, lockpicking. You took to it like a fish to water, she said-- it was by far what you were best at among the things she tried to teach you at the point, and she could barely contain her glee at that fact.

However... it was a completely different story for the other things she tried teaching you. The kinds of skills that you develop naturally over an extended period of time, over multiple missions. Something you can't just... learn.

You weren't skilled enough in aim to hold a gun like she tried to teach you to, and in the same vein-- you weren't skilled enough in handling the gun to use the tips and tricks she gave you for aiming.

It was like a never ending cycle, where you couldn't do one thing, and when she tried to target it form another angle-- that didn't work either, because you couldn't do the first thing.

It was extremely frustrating for the both of you, particularly Jill. She did great at not showing it, though. She was all smiles as she gave you a pat on your shoulder, and said you'd get it eventually.

Eventually was the keyterm-- but Jill refused to believe that'd it'd take any longer than two weeks tops to get you up to Alpha team status.

That, evidently, did not happen. She had to switch tactics, and came up with the idea of doing more joint missions with Bravo.

Jill is very... protective, and at first, you thought nothing of it. You saw it as normal for this line of work, for her to be watching your back-- always checking in on you after missions, trying to push you to be your best, so on and so forth.

But then, you started to notice just how... far she could go with it. Apparently, if she was in the office and you were out on a mission-- she wasn't able to get anything done, and all she could do was just wait for you.

Her captain-- the head honcho, someone you don't like interacting with all too much out of pure, unexplainable primal terror at his very presence, often referred to her as 'your dog', 'your guard dog', your 'lap dog', or something else along those lines.

You wanted to tell him to stop, that it was degrading to Jill and just plain rude-- but you were too scared to stand up to him. It was silly, how a S.T.A.R.S member-- even if you were apart of the secondary team-- could go on missions and be just fine, but tremble at the idea of asking your boss to 'please stop calling your employee, my co-worker and friend, a dog'.

However, when he'd say it in front of Jill, she never seemed too bothered by the title.

If anything, she looked proud to be labeled as your guard dog-- one time, you asked her about it. Asked if it bothered her, and told her that if need be, you could probably sic the regular RPD police captain on Wesker if she was too afraid to speak up against it (God knows you were).

That conversation... didn't go how you were expecting it to. Actually it didn't go anywhere, not by your measures at least.

Jill laughed, said "Oh, that's just how he is!" and then completely switched topics, asking you if you'd watched Blade yet-- and if you wanted to tag along to the theaters with her to see it.

You didn't have the heart to steer the conversation back, so you just let her dodge it. But hey-- at least you got to see a movie out of it? Granted, she was probably going to ask you anyways, but still. It takes away a bit of the guilt you have for not pushing the issue, weirdly enough.

At some point, whether or not you get on the Alpha team doesn't matter anymore-- because somehow, for a completely archaic reason that nobody (including yourself) but the two main people involved could figure out, Wesker begins planning and executing more joint missions between the two teams.

It'd be a good thing, if you could just believe that this was entirely the A team captain's doing-- of course with the involvement of your captain as well, but he was much less involved from what you could tell.

But the thing is-- you just couldn't bring yourself to believe it. The proud, almost victorious looks Jill kept giving you on the first few joint missions-- like the cat who caught the canary, or a gladiator who just won the match of the century-- made you question if the decision had laid solely on Wesker.

During this joint missions, Jill was hard-pressed to let you out of her sight. Even when your captain suggested the teams go opposite ways; you always stuck behind. Maybe because you didn't want to worry Jill,

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because of the way her grip tightened on your hand, arm, shoulder-- wherever she was holding you-- tight enough to bruise (if you didn't have your tactical gear on, of course).

Whatever the reason was, whether it be one of the two, or an unseen third option, you never split off with you team on these joint missions.

Neither captains said anything of it-- sure, Marini would give either Wesker or Jill a strange, almost suspicious, look-- but he never commented on it. At least, he never commented on it with you.

It was strange, yes, but you chocked it up to her history in the military-- for lack of a better reason. Maybe she saw a rookie in need of help, and took it upon herself to help you any way she could; that much was evidenced by her rigorous training sessions she'd been subjecting you to until the joint missions started up.

But still, it didn't feel like... that. It didn't feel like she was simply a co-worker-- you saw her as a friend, and you're sure she felt the same about you; she never seemed to have viewed you as her subordinate, like you'd viewed her as your superior for a(n albeit short) amount of time.

You and Jill hung out all the time outside of work, completely unrelated to S.T.A.R.S at all-- movies, skating rinks, and carnivals; anything and everything interesting happening in and around Raccoon City, Jill was always sure to drag you along.

Then, it escalated to hanging out at each others apartments/homes. More often than not, it'd be her place-- it was nicer than yours, an actual home and not just a residence. There were pictures and posters hung up all over the place, her own personal touch having reached every corner of the apartment.

Sometimes, you'd forget how you met her-- that she was really just a co-worker, at the end of the day. You were fresh out of training, slapped right in the workforce, where you'd met Jill. You don't know how these things work, in all honesty, you never quite understood how to make friends past the kindergarten way of going up to someone, hand extended, and straight-up asking "Wanna be friends?"

Eventually, you progressed to practically living with Jill. It was unofficial-- but with how many sleepovers you two had, you were barely at your own place anymore. Hell, you had your own toothbrush at her place!

She didn't comment on it much-- the one time she did, you two were camped out in her living room; the couch pushed back, chairs pulled from her kitchen table and various sheets and blankets draped over them; pillows and cushions below, along with more blankets.

A pillow fort, to say the least. Right in front of her big CRT TV-- you were watching X-Files, something Jill had expressed interest in started, but only wanted to if you started with her.

You were dropped right at the start of Season five-- there was a marathon going, preparing for the new season that was preparing to release 'soon' (it never said a specific date, just an ominous 'soon' was all the network could afford at this point), but you two picked up on the little bits and pieces pretty quick, piecing it together with things from previous seasons that'd you'd hear here and there from others.

both of your were laying on your stomachs, propped up by pillows so you could 'sit up' comfortably, your arms braced against the floor, while Jill was more or less laying down, her chest resting on her folded arms as she watched the TV diligently.

When it cut to commercial, she turned to you, and out of the blue, just...

"When I was a kid, I always wanted a sibling, y'know?" You turned to face her, and hummed in acknowledgement, "Oh?" You said, prompting her continue the thought.

She turned back to the TV, mindlessly staring at the Mr Clean ad playing at the time-- but it was obvious her mind was elsewhere, she probably didn't even register when the ads switched, or what it had switched to.

"Yeah," She started off with, as the ad transitioned to Taco Bell "A little one, specifically. One I could share clothes with, give advice to," She turned to you again, a sly little smile on her face as her arm reached out and lightly-- playfully, barely any force behind it-- pushed you.

"Sleepovers in the living room-- all that jazz. The stuff they showed on TV and I read about in Babysitters Club." You felt a smile break out over your own face-- a warmth blooming in your chest.

Maybe this wasn't normal for co-workers-- to view each other as family, just like you two did; but you didn't care. Whether or not it was a normal thing remained unseen by you, but even if it wasn't...

You wouldn't trade it for the world.

...Even if Jill got a little too protective at times-- acting more like those dads in films, that'd come to greet their daughters prom date with a shotgun in hand and a violent threat on their tongue than the sister figure you viewed her as.

On one of your more low stakes joint-missions, one where you all had to track down a group of lost frat boys from the local university (who'd gotten turned around in the local forest while high, and cried about zombified dogs hanging around when you'd found them), one of the aforementioned frat boys had the grand idea of hitting on you.

His bad pick-up line was cut short as a gun shot whizzed by you two-- just narrowly missing his head, and loading itself into a tree about 30 feet back.

Understandably, he started freaking out-- he pointed to Jill, and yelled about how she tried to kill him. Wesker shot her a glare-- you think he did, couldn't really tell with the sunglasses, but the way he tilted his head gave you that vibe-- and Jill just shrugged her shoulders.

"I thought I saw a wolf." Was all she gave for an answer-- flimsy at best, an obvious lie at worst. Wesker let it go, though-- to your knowledge. Sure, he told her "This'll have to go in the report.", but when you read over the report later-- there was no mention of the shot Jill took at a 'wolf' during that mission.

After the mission was over and you'd got the group back to where they were meant to be, she threw her arm over your shoulder-- pulling you close and saying "That's why I don't like dealing with these college-types all too often, they always do this. Don't let 'em walk all over you though, 'kay? You deserve better than that." before she pushed off, leaving you with that... cryptic piece of advice.

It was a good piece of advice-- don't get me wrong! Jill was just... like that sometimes, giving you cryptic, almost archaic in nature, pieces of advice before bouncing off to somewhere else-- smiling like nothing was amiss.

maybe to her, it wasn't. But to you, these behaviors of hers weren't getting rather concerning. Maybe because they were becoming more frequent, or maybe because they were getting more intense. A mix of the both, honestly.

Still, you didn't confront her about it.

You kept having sleepovers with her-- to the point where you like, actually lived with her. You don't even remember what color your bedroom walls in your apartment were-- or even what the kitchen looked like.

Eventually, she asked you to move in with her. Saying it'd be easier, since you were basically wasting your money-- paying rent for a place you hardly ever visit anymore. Not many of your things remain, most were packed up and placed in Jill's guest/storage (or, what was once her guest/storage room, but you'd now taken it over) room. You could probably get all the stuff left in one trip-- except maybe the furniture, but even then, the furniture wasn't too much of a loss.

You'd be surprised what college students will put out on the curb at the end of the school year-- or, to be more specific, the private university students. Still, you were a little proud that nearly 95% of your furnishings had come from that method-- walking along the alleyway of streets with a lot of rental places for the local university's students.

It was a logical step and you knew it, officially moving in with Jill, that is. But the way she worded it was... odd.

"C'mon, what am I good for if I don't help out family?" She could've meant that figuratively-- if anyone else said it, then you would've defaulted to that;

But knowing Jill, that just wasn't the case. Hell-- you got called Rookie Valentine by one of the regular cops just a couple weeks ago, and when you went to correct them-- they just laughed and brushed you off,

"Fightin' with ya sister, huh? I used to do that-- with my dad, 'a course. Deny my last name 'n all that." Then, the cop gave you a pat on your shoulder and walked by you "Whatever you're upset about, it'll blow right over; trust me, bonds like you's two have don't go away like that."

Maybe it was stupid-- how quickly you folded, simply nodding your head; within a second or two, Jill had practically flown into you, her arms outstretched. She pulled you into a tight embrace. You reciprocated it-- no reason not to, after all.

But... hey, at least you don't have to deal with your landlord anymore, yeah?

Chris Redfield (and claire)

In some ways, Chris and Jill act pretty similarly when it comes to you. In others, they were near opposites.

For example, If you happened to be on Bravo Squad, he would much rather have you stay there indefinitely. He knows how mentally and physically tiring the Alpha team's work can be compared to Bravo's, which were pretty much just backup, in simplest terms.

He'd want to distance you as far away from Alpha teams work as he could manage. There's not point in putting you through that-- his way of protecting you is shielding you from it all by keeping you uninvolved, where Jill would much rather prefer to have you involved, by keeping you right next to her at all times.

You two hit it off the moment you stepped into that office- of course you did, who didn't get along with Chris? He was a literal ray of sunshine, and every morning, you couldn't help but look forward to that beaming smile he'd always give you once he spotted you.

It was normal-- run of the mill. You two were just friendly in a way co-workers were friendly; you saw yourself as no different then everyone else, when it came to how Chris treated you.

But it was small things-- at first, but they began to pile up, and up, and up-- until you couldn't help but notice them. It's not like you're painfully oblivious to everything,

...Just this, you reason with yourself. Listen, it's not your fault you didn't realize you were a special case to Chris! You thought it was normal, how he'd always drop by your desk when you both had morning shift, and slide a muffin, danish, a doughnut-- whatever he'd gotten that day, over to you.

He'd always check up on you, make sure you were eating properly-- he didn't try to cover it up either, didn't try to pull the tried-and-true "You need the proper nutrients to do your job well!", he just straight up admitted that he wants you to be healthy. No ulterior motives-- just... wants you to take care of yourself, because that's what you're supposed to do, for your own good.

He's a very caring person-- you assumed that he had this same level of caring for everyone in the office.

One time, when Claire swung by the office during her winter break-- she immediately beelined it to your desk. It was a little intimidating, because for a split second, you didn't know who she was; to be honest, you were a little afraid she was here to yell at you for messing up on a mission somewhere along the line; either as a civilian or a higher up, even though she didn't seem too far in age from yourself.

But as soon as it clicked-- right before she got up to your desk, that she just had to have been Claire Redfield, Chris' younger sister, you relaxed just a bit. She was probably just introducing herself to the newest addition; after all, most everyone else seemed to know her personally, or have at least met her once or twice before.

She was pretty nice, actually-- you two had a good conversation, and you're pretty sure you left a good first impression on her. But meeting her-- how she greeted you for the first time, was what tipped you off to the fact that no, Chris does not go out of his way to make sure all his co-workers are eating well, or keeping up with a solid sleep schedule like he does to you.

"Hey, you're the new addition to the family, right?" is what she said, word for word. At first, you thought nothing of it; thinking that she was referring to S.T.A.R.S as a family-- Jill did that pretty often, and you'd caught Chris doing the same a few times before.

You nodded, and you two got to talking. She was nice to talk to-- lively and animated, and you found yourself falling into a comfortable sort of routine. It was as if you'd known each other your whole lives-- she knew a lot about you, but just stuff that you'd told Chris, or he'd picked up on in passing.

"Does he talk about me a lot?" You remember asking, anxiety tinging your tone. Claire clocked it immediately, and leaned over slightly, from where she was sitting atop your desk; and gave you a pat on your shoulder, as you sat in your office chair.

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's all good things, and you sure as hell live up to how much he hypes you up during our calls." Yeah, you remember Chris saying he called his sister as often as he could. You were always impressed by how family oriented Chris could be. It was sweet, how often he'd talk about his sister.

A little bit of weight eased off your chest, as you let out a breathy little laugh "Hah-- that's good." You felt a little silly for being worried about it. Of course Chris told Claire about you, he's proudly boasted before that he tells her everything-- you were sure he treated the others no differently.

Even if you weren't on the same team as him. Even if, more often than not, he had to go out of his way to interact with you. You're sure Claire heard a lot more about the newest Alpha recruit-- you'd never spoken in depth with them, just passing "Hello"'s and "Good morning"'s as you pass each other on the way to your respective sections of the S.T.A.R.S office.

When there was opening in the conversation, you casually asked "Do you know anything about the new Alpha team recruit? I think their birthday is soon, and I want to get them a card." You were trying to take a page out of Chris' book-- being nice to everyone, going out of your way. It was a small operation in the grand scheme of things, S.T.A.R.S. It was best to try and make everyone feel at home.

Claire paused, her brows furrowed "...There's a new Alpha recruit?"

Why did that give you such a bad vibe? Why did it feel like an ill omen, you'd asked yourself at the time-- you quickly responded, unease curling in your gut for a reason you couldn't quite place at the time.

"Uh-- yeah, his name is... Mark, I think. He joined about a month ago, from what I know. Tall guy, ginger hair, seems to be in his mid to late 20s." Even as you described the man-- a very distinctive person, you think; there was no flash of recognition in Claire's eyes.

Claire seemed to think it over, before shaking her head slowly "No-- I don't think Chris has ever mentioned a Mark."

"Huh..." You said under your breath-- never mentioned him? They work together, on the same team-- you haven't been here much longer than Mark has. It set off alarm bells in your head, that he told Claire so much about you, and yet... she didn't even know Mark was with you guys in the first place.

There was a beat of tense silence between you two, then another-- until Claire suddenly said "How do you feel about roller skating?", obviously trying to divert your attention from the matter at hand.

You let her-- and you two fell into a conversation about roller skating, that eventually progress to ice skating, skateboarding, surfing-- those kind of activities/sports.

It had to have been at least an hour and a half before Claire got pulled away-- Marini approached you two, and shooed Claire off, like, literally. Made the motion with his hands and everything, as he told her "Redfield, you're distracting my team member. Go bug your brother."

Claire huffed, rolling her eyes as she pushed off your desk "Yeah, yeah. I'm going." It surprised you-- how casual she was with Marini, and disrespectful. But, she doesn't work under him, so you guess she has nothing to fear with upsetting him, since he isn't her brother's superior either.

...You just hope she's a little more delicate with Wesker.

Before leaving, she gave a quick little side hug, and told you "Catch you later, okay? It was nice meeting you.", you nodded and smiled, returning the hug best you could "Same goes for you. It was nice talking to you."

Claire laughed as she pulled away, giving you a light, playful punch in your shoulder "Hey, no need to be so formal. We're family now, I won't gut you for talking like an actual person.", Marini cleared his throat, and Claire rolled her eyes again-- leaving without another word to either of you.

She did, however, give you a little smile a wave, before she headed over to the A team's part of the office.

'we're family now', she said. Did that mean anything, or were you just overthinking it? She was just being friendly, you told yourself-- the Redfield's did this with everyone, you assumed.

After that, you and Chris started to go from work friends-- co-workers who were friendly with eachother, to actual friends. The first time you two hung out outside of work, was in a quaint little 24/7 diner near the RPD station.

The two of you had gotten off at the same time, 10 PM-- and Chris had dragged you along with him, saying that he wanted to get to know you more, without Marini or Wesker showing up at any given moment and telling their respective members to get the hell back to work, or for the member of the other team (often Marini to Chris) to leave the other alone, so they could do their work.

Chris always took it with a laugh and a smile-- but... well, it was stupid, you think. That look in his eyes couldn't have meant anything-- you'd never seen him look like that, but it was scarily close... hatred? No, irritation, it had to be. You don't think Chris is capable of hatred directed towards anyone short of a war criminal, in all honesty.

But at any rate, it's still an odd idea-- Chris being irritated at someone who isn't in the wrong. Objectively, Marini was doing nothing wrong; he was your boss, and he wanted you working while on shift.

But the way Chris would look at him suggested otherwise, like Marini had just kicked his dog or burned a belonging of his.

It was weird.

You forced yourself to-- well, not get used to it per se, the weirdness of it never went away, but you tried not to dwell on it too much. Tried to ignore it best you could, and while it was difficult, more often than not you could manage just fine.

Anyway-- it went well, hanging out with him at the diner. It was fun, and light-hearted; no imminent threat of the fun being broken up by a mission for work (while the chances weren't necessarily zero, they were very low while you two were off the clock-- unless it was like, a world ending sort of deal. if that was the case, then you'd have more problems at hand then getting called into work abruptly...), just you, Chris, and the local family diner that was done-up to look like a time capsule of idealized 1950s Americana.

He dropped you off back home-- insisting that you don't walk home so late. After that-- after he learned that you walked home after every shift, come rain or shine, and despite the time of day (or night), you always walked.

When Chris realized this-- every time you got off shift together, whenever he was available; he'd drive you home. You thought it was sweet, but... confusing to say the least.

Surely, he'd do the same for anyone else, right?

As the months passed and your friendship progressed-- where you hung out almost every weekend, completely unrelated to work in any capacity, it hit you like a ton of bricks that Chris wasn't just like that. Not to the level he was with you-- yes, he was kind and accommodating to everyone, but wasn't going above and beyond for anyone but you.

But... why? What was so special about you? How come he didn't do this for other new recruit-- that joined not so long after you, who was on his team. He definitely naturally sees/runs into the guy more then he sees you in passing.

It just didn't make sense, and no matter how much you thought and thought about it-- it never managed to get any better. You never understood it any further, and you all but gave up on trying to understand the reason behind it.

You could ask Chris about it, but then that'd be awkward, and you don't want to deal with that-- you don't want to seem like you're coming at him or anything. It might just be because you're younger, so assumed that sort of mentor role because he was in that position one?

By now, you've come to terms with that. That it doesn't make sense, and you'll probably never be able to make sense of it on your own-- and you were too scared of upsetting Chris to actually ask the guy.

So you kind of just... stuck in a loop. But that's fine-- because you had things to distract yourself with! Like your hobbies, and work, and hanging out with your friends;

...Maybe not the last one, thought. For some reason, all of your other friends have all but dropped off the face of the earth. You tried reaching out to one--

Only to find out that they were... in jail. It was a minor offense, but still. That wasn't like them at all-- it'd been their sister to pick up the call, and you'd been subjected to a very, very heated telling off by her.

She seemed to think it was your fault, that you sicced 'your brother' on them for some perceived slight-- one that you couldn't think of, and neither could she.

You tried calming her down, but it only ended with the call abruptly ending-- her screaming at you to "Leave my family alone! Yours has done enough damage to ours ot last a lifetime!"

Then it was over.

Whether or not you have brothers-- you know that couldn't be right. If you did have brothers, then you know they wouldn't-- or just didn't have the means to-- lock your friend up in jail for... whatever it was, you think it was some traffic related violation.

Something that you know can be easily staged-- Marini had told you so before, as you sorted through some old cases. These sorts of violations were usually a dead giveaway that the recipient had pissed off a cop, who wasn't above faking an offense to get back at them.

You could only think of one person who'd possibly fit that weird description-- Chris was sort of a brother to you, in loose terms. He acted brotherly with you, is what you'd like to call it.

Really, you want to confront him about it, but you don't have enough evidence.

He wouldn't do something like that, yeah? He's a good guy, he wouldn't fuck up someone's life by wielding his position of power over them for no reason at all. It had to be unrelated-- just a weird set of coincidence. You don't think you've ever told Chris about that friend, so how would he even know about them?

You didn't bother reaching out to your other friends-- hoping they'd reach out to you. It was stupid, your fear of getting an earful from a pissed off family member again-- or getting blamed for whatever happened.

So you just... well-- you wouldn't call yourself a coward, but Chris couldn't be it. He just wouldn't have done something like that, especially without clear reason-- it couldn't have been him.

Again. Nothing made sense-- it hurt, knowing you'd probably lost a treasured friendship for something you don't know anything about,

But at least Chris is there to ease your ills, right? At least he answered your phone call at 10 PM, and stayed with you for an hour after that, comforting you as you cried and told him that you didn't know what was going on.

he was so genuine as he comforted you-- even over the phone, which you knew had to be harder to do than comfort someone face to face-- that you ended up letting it go.

You ruled out the idea that Chris had been behind it all-- maybe because you really didn't think it'd ever been a viable explanation,

Or maybe, deep down, you know Chris could-- if pushed far enough-- probably be capable of something like that. Despite how you interact with each other, how you talk like you've known each other your whole lives, you'd known each other for under a year by that point.

But you selfishly hoped-- and presented this hope as fact to yourself-- that he didn't do it, because he really was one of your closest friends; especially since everyone else drifted away from you.

You couldn't lose him too-- or Claire, because you know that if a falling out happens with one, it's sure to follow with the other. They're like that, the Redfield siblings, as you've come to learn.

And you'd rather not be caught on the receiving end of Claire's world-ending death glare, thank you very much. You don't think you could handle it-- emotionally wise, that is.

Rebecca Chambers

Surprisingly, You'd probably be better suited on Alpha team when it comes to Rebecca.

Still, you probably graduated in the same class as her; however, you weren't a child prodigy like she was. You being older then her gave you leg up in the recruitment process, which landed you in the Alpha team and her in the Bravo team.

You may not have interacted with each other a whole lot during school-- no real reason, you two just never crossed paths all that often.

But after joining S.T.A.R.S at the same time, you two made a sort unofficial pact to stay together; despite being on two different teams, you'd try to look out for each other. For one, you were a little worried about hazing.

Was it a silly thing to be afraid of in workforce? Well, yeah-- but there was still a possibility. If any field of work would incite some sort of frat-esque hazing ritual, it'd be law enforcement!

So you exchanged landline numbers, and kept tabs on each other as much as you could. You took initiative a whole lot, and kept watch on both your and Rebecca's co-workers.

In the end, nothing happened. Obviously-- since there was such a miniscule chance it would, but the 2-3 week period of this, of constantly checking in each other (usually you to Rebecca, since Bravo members tended to be a little less mature on the basis of the less real-world experience and such; and she was young, an easy target in the eyes of people who didn't quite know her), built up a pretty solid rapport with the younger rookie. One that couldn't just easily fall to the wayside.

Even though you're on different teams, you still encounter each other pretty often. At first, it was a practical thing-- you checking up on Rebecca,

Until Rebecca started seeking you out for more normal things. Like to tell you about her latest mission, or a funny thing her captain did-- to exchange stories of your respective team members being absolute goofballs, so on and so forth.

it was nice, these little chats you'd have. They were never very few and far between, not even at the start-- Some were accidental, like bumping into each other in the break room, clocking out at the same time and having a little chat before heading out, so on and so forth.

But as the weeks went on, turning to months of working under the same roof-- If there was ever a moment where she could come find you, you better bet your ass she was there.

From the moment you stepped in the building in the morning, to whenever you came back from a mission; when you were getting ready to leave, Rebecca would do whatever she could to be near you. Sometimes they were conversations-- where you put your own thoughts and whatever into the topic, but sometimes it was just Rebecca explaining something she was interested in, or telling you every single tiny, microscopic detail of a story she'd already told you before.

You never stopped her-- it never hurt anything. Due to her being the youngest, people let her get away with it. As long as both your reports were turned in on time and done well, then what does it matter that you talk to each other while you were at it?

At some point, Rebecca would definitely just pull a chair up and do her work at your desk. Her own desk at the section with the other Bravo members went unused for long stretches of time-- you were fine with it.

Again, it was nice having someone to hang out with. She didn't talk to whole time, most of the time, you two lapsed into a comfortable silence as you did your own reports/paperwork at your own leisure. Sometimes, one of you would pop up with a little comment, spurring a response from the other-- but it never went much further then that, in those moments.

...That's when Marini cut in though. Saying it'd be better for Rebecca to head back to her own space-- to stop bothering you. You tried your damn best to reiterate that "No, she's fine. I swear, I work even better when she's here--" But a quick, withering glance from Marini made you reluctantly shut your mouth.

Rebecca looked heartbroken-- you met her eyes, and tried to convey your apology that way. She didn't look angry or upset with you, just sad about the circumstances. Understanding, that you'd done all you could in the moment, as she grabbed her papers and went to push the chair-- that'd you'd known as her chair for a few weeks by then-- into where it was actually meant to be, in an unused desk right by yours.

Marini was watching the whole time, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. You saw how Rebecca's hand trembled ever-so-slightly under her captains scrutinizing gaze, and you reached out to pat her hand comfortingly; stopping her in her tracks. "Hey, it's okay. I'll get the chair, you go to your desk, okay?"

She looked up, and you gave her a reassuring little smile. She looked kind of like a kicked puppy-- it tugged on your heart, made you wish you really could do more.

She nodded, and softly said "okay.", and you'd expected her to pull back, to straighten up and walk off. Soon enough, you realized that, for whatever reason, she wasn't moving as long as you kept contact with you.

You removed your hand-- she looked saddened by the loss, but took it in stride, as she turned and trailed after Marini as he (presumably) led her back to Bravo's section of the S.T.A.R.S office.

it's not like they were really separate from each other-- or even blocked off per se, not in a purposeful way. You were just stationed on the far side of Alpha's side, the little dividers interspersed here and there primarily blocked your view of most Bravo team desks.

However, Rebecca's was right on the edge between Alpha and Bravo's unofficial-official sides of the room, and you were able to still look over at her from time to time.

After that-- you considered going to Wesker about it, but you were certain he'd either do nothing, or throw thinly veiled insults your (and indirectly, Rebecca's) way. Something along the lines of "Do you think this is grade school? That I'm a teacher you can negotiate a seating chart with?"

No matter how much you cared for Rebecca, you couldn't bring yourself to face that possibility of the utter mortification that talking to Wesker would undoubtedly bring you.

Two weeks passed, before Wesker pulled you into his office. He told you to sit in one of the two chairs opposing his own.

You bit your tongue, stifling the burning question of "Am I in trouble?" and waited for him to start on his own.

Apparently, Rebecca's performance had been experiencing a sharp decline during you two's times apart. Instead of firing her, Wesker sought to find another route to it.

"Would you say you two are close? Chambers and you?" He asked, and you had to question that yourself-- do you? You certainly see Rebecca as a friend, but a work one. Separate from a 'full-fledged' one, since you only see each other during work.

Finally, after a few suffocating seconds-- sat across from Wesker, his elbow resting on his desk as he held his face in his hand. You could feel him staring intently, even if you were unable to actually see that that was the case.

"Yeah-- I'd say we are. Why?" And then, that's when he told you about her performance, and presenting you with an opportunity that you took readily;

"How about you take a sort of mentor role for her? It seems she's having trouble acclimating to the workforce, which I wouldn't quite blame her for. She may be a child prodigy academically, but ultimately, she lacks the experience someone of your age does."

Immediately, you nodded-- before pausing, and asking "Have you talked to Marini about this?", and Wesker shook his head "No, I thought it'd be best to discuss this with you before going to him. Knowing Marini, he'd probably be less then stoked by this. I wouldn't want to go through the trouble of readying him only for you to decline the offer."

"...Yeah, makes sense." Was all you said-- You stayed there for about 15 more minutes, before being excused.

As you opened his door, a question crossed your mind. On a whim, you turned and asked "How long will it take, do you think?" You feared you might've been too vague at first, but Wesker seemed to know exactly what you meant, answering with his own "It shouldn't take too long at all, perhaps a few days at the most. I'd like to have this system integrated as soon as possible, before Chambers' performance rate drops low enough to where I have to consider letting her go."

You nodded, internally praying to whatever could be out there that she could keep it up for a little longer- long enough for your captain to talk to hers, to get this sort of mentorship up and a running so she can get back on track.

True to his words, three days later, and you walked into the precinct with your desk having been moved around; the empty desk besides yours had been moved, your desk turned sideways and the unused desk pushed to meet with yours.

It was set up to have someone there, no longer empty, it had a lamp, a computer, and some organizers and office supplies on it. Obviously, Wesker had gone through with the mentorship-- and when Rebecca came in a few minutes after you, her bus having been a little slow than usual, she was absolutely ecstatic.

She was talking a mile-a-minute, saying she didn't actually think Wesker would go through with it. In the end, she gave you a celebratory little hug; and you didn't hesitate in returning the favor, wrapping your arms around her and giving her a light squeeze before releasing her,

She took a few moments longer to unwind her arms from your waist, but you didn't mind. You were sure she was happy to be sat next to you.

Wesker never called you in about Rebecca's declining report quality/performance again, and that led you to believe that the issue was completely resolved.

Marini would come over sometimes, pull Rebecca off for a mission or something that needed the entire Bravo team present to hear. Every time, you would see her off with a little encouraging gesture. At first, it was a simple smile or squeeze of her hand-- then, the occasional hug.

But now, she borderline refused to leave with anything less than a hug from you. It wasn't bothersome-- it was comforting, actually.

And all was well and fine for a while-- until Alpha started to be called away for more and more missions, leaving your desk unoccupied more often than not.

While it didn't seem to be taking a toll of Rebecca's work performance, she was looking a little worse for wear. She was always so worried-- you didn't understand it, but you tried your best to be accommodating. The missions you went on were hardly dangerous, sometimes you'd be pulled in to answer a larger scale call about nuisance-- it always got like this around this time of year, Chris had lightheartedly told you before.

Move-in day for the local university brought a lot of traffic offences, and RPD usually outsourced some of these to S.T.A.R.S; rush week brought about a lot of nuisance complaints, frat parties obviously needed to be broken up from time to time-- things that the RPD were meant to do, but their hands got so full that S.T.A.R.S ended up stepping in where need-be.

But what worried you was, as weeks passed by with this uptick in missions, Rebecca was starting to seem so tired. Like she wasn't sleeping properly, and she was stiff and jerky in her movements.

Like she was sore. like she overexerted herself, and you asked her about it. She gave you the same bright, cheery smile as always-- and just said she was training harder than usual.

You didn't have the heart to go any further with it, just telling her "...Okay. Just make sure to take care of yourself, and don't push it, okay?", and she'd eagerly nodded, promising you "I will! Don't worry about me."

That didn't help anything, because she seemed to get worse-- during her off day, you bounced on over to the Bravo team's side of the room, and asked one of her teammates "...Hey, have you noticed anything strange with Rebecca recently? Has she been doing okay on missions?"

And Forest, the one you'd approached-- didn't look too worried at all. "Huh? Oh, yeah! She's been doing great! better than usual, actually." You made a questioning little noise, thinking over what that could possibly entail.

"...Has she been doing a lot of overtime, too?" And Forest paused, thinking about it "Uh... Yeah, I think she has."

"And has she told you why she's doing this?" Forest shrugged, giving you a little smile, none the wiser to Rebecca's less than stellar state, no doubt. "I think she wants to get on your team-- I know she's been hitting up the shooting range more than usual. Probably aiming for a different position than medic, 'cause Alpha doesn't really have a need for it."

Okay that... explained a lot, but did nothing to ease your worries. You thanked him, before heading back to your own desk; you made up a plan to confront her on it the next day, but the right chance never presented itself.

The first time you two hung out outside of work, was after she collapsed right before heading off. Just... fell right into yourself arms-- exhaustion and overexertion having taken its toll on her. You hadn't been able to ask her about it, before she keeled over from it.

You bit your tongue, preventing yourself from mumbling a little "i told you to take care of yourself..." but decided against it. And you'd stood there for a little while, just holding her-- then, you shook her awake, gently.

"mm?" She questioned, her eyes fluttering, and you asked "Rebecca, how do you get home? Do you walk or take the bus?" You don't feel good about leaving her on the bus like this-- hell, you don't even know if they run this late, the clock hung on the wall shining proudly, proclaiming it to be 11:07 PM.

But if she walked, you literally wouldn't ever forgive yourself if you made her go through that in a state like this. She mumbled her answer-- Walk.

Goddamnit.

"...I'm gonna have to drive you home, you okay with that?" She huffed, and leaned further into you. "'Kay." It's not like you feel good about this either, per se, it was just the best option at the time.

So, you carefully set her in the passenger seat of your car, buckled her in, shut her door and headed to your own side. You managed to get an address out of her-- a better part of town, thank god, so that made you feel at least a little better.

Through the whole thing, you had to keep yourself from trying to poke and prod about it all. About her pushing herself to her limits-- seemingly to join your team. It made you feel bad, guilty; as if you were the cause behind it.

Realistically, you probably were.

When you got to the quaint little one-story rental Rebecca resided in, you were just as careful to get her out of the care as you had been to get her in.

You helped her along and up to the porch; she took out her keys, but just before inserting them, asked you to stay. That she'd feel more comfortable if you stayed. You got a closer look at her face, under the glow of her automatic porch light, and realized how she was a little... thinner.

"Yeah, but I'm gonna make you some food. That okay?" You tried to frame it as a command at first-- but went back on yourself mere moments later. This was her house after all-- if she didn't want you cooking, then you couldn't do much about it.

She gave you an almost... mischievous little smile before chirping back an "Okay. That's fine by me." Before inserting the key and letting you two in.

You ended up cooking her something simple-- it wasn't a problem of she didn't have the food, that she wasn't eating. She just either forgot to between all the training, or didn't have the energy to make anything. That's okay-- you suppose you understand it, even if it was to such an extreme that you worried deeply for the younger S.T.A.R.S member.

And then, she asked you to stay the night. You two set up camp in the living room, with you on the couch and Rebecca on the trundle-esque pullout below; and watched some late-night TV (namely Murder, She Wrote; which put you right to sleep no matter what). When you two woke up-- you'd been the first to rise.

You were stiff from sleeping in your work clothes; it was off day, thank god, but it wasn't Rebecca's. Despite any apprehension you might have about it, you got up and set yourself to getting a good breakfast ready for her. You let her sleep as long as possible, before nudging her awake, a plate of pancakes in one hand, and some maple syrup in your other; since she had the half-used bottle on her countertop, beside of ready-made pancake mix, your assumed she was pretty fond of the breakfast food.

her eyes lit up, and sprung up to hug you-- the plate almost slipped from your hand, but you managed to narrowly escape tragedy as you readjusted your grip, and hugged her back best you could, with your hands full and all.

You pushed the trundle bed back into the couch while she added syrup to her hearts content, then you two sat down.

Really, you wish you could've just let her eat in peace-- but you had to confront her about the cause behind your impromptu sleepover. You two had a long, productive talk about it; about how she should care for herself more.

It ended in a truce, where she wouldn't do so much overtime or train so much it exhausted her, if you two hung out outside of work hours. Because at the core of it, that's why she'd wanted to get on Alpha. So she could be with you, even on missions.

You thought it was sweet.

And in a way, it was-- but... maybe not as textbook sweet as one would assume. You two were nearly inseparable, joined at the hip less than a month later. You stayed over at each other's places a lot-- and you started to view her as more than a friend, far more like family than anything.

You had silly fights-- bickered over dumb stuff that didn't mean anything in the end, you play fought, you poked fun at each other; really, it was no fault of passerbys to think you two were a pair of siblings; that you were her older sibling as you helped her tie her ice skates before you two went out on the rink.

That wasn't the problem-- you didn't mind it. However, you did start to notice how people seemed to... swerve you two. How you became more and more isolated, little did you know, that was entirely on purpose.

Rebecca cared for you a lot-- cared for you like an older sibling. She just wanted to keep you safe-- can't get hurt if she's the only one you interact with, right?

[photo1030]

Leather and Lace - Chapter 26: Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

Summary: You get caught up in town with Micah when running for supplies, and Arthur is none too pleased about it. 

*This image is not mine but comes from Pintrest, posted by Duknan

Word Count - 14, 290 (Sorry this is a long one!)

A/N: This one took me awhile and I was about to post it, and then decided to rewrite and reorganize some passages. I know there are strong opinions of Micah Bell out there, but don't hate on me. This will have some sympathies towards our favorite antagonist. Just trying to delve into his character a bit.

Special thank you, as always, to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my cheerleader and beta-reader.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter - still in progress but there are a handful of future chapters that were posted ahead of time

The convoy of wagons and horses carefully snakes its way down the narrow mountain path from Colter. The crisp, frigid air is filled with the sounds of creaking wood and squelching mud as the horses plow through melting snow and sludge underfoot. The last remnants of delicate snowflakes dance in the wind, skipping about like crystalline winter fairies before landing on riders and wagons alike. 

Dutch has decided that you all have been hiding up in the wicked winds and snow of the Grizzly Mountains for long enough and it is now time to leave due to several factors. The robbery of the train belonging to Leviticus Cornwall was a success, there is a new addition to the group with Mrs. Adler (who is still recovering from the loss of her husband and home), John is slowly on the mend from the wolf attack, but most importantly, there are O’Driscoll’s afoot in the area. While Dutch is not intimidated by Colm O’Driscoll, he is certainly well aware that his own gang is wounded and not up to snuff as they usually are. It’s best to move the group while he can, getting you all to a more temperate area, and regroup with a new plan for the gang’s future. 

While Arthur is still a little cantankerous about what happened in Blackwater and, of course, the events after, you and he have at least reconnected to some extent, which has calmed your nerves a bit from the calamity that led to the gang’s abrupt escape to the mountains. It is hard enough to deal with what has happened without having to fret over your still fairly new relationship with a man who has spent years barricading himself off from anyone else. 

Sometimes, you can steal Arthur away and get him to relax with you, finding comfort in warm embraces and delicious kisses, to feel warm, strong hands holding each other when it seems like the world around you is about to fall apart. But it doesn’t take much once Arthur is away from you to ignite his vexation once more. 

Dutch currently leads the gang through a shallow end of the frigid river and across the rocky riverbed, which wreaks havoc on the wheels of the old wagons. This is probably not the most pleasant path, but it is a more direct route to your destination and the sooner you are off this damn mountainside, the better. 

But of course, as luck would have it, the wagon that Arthur and Hosea are driving barely makes it to the other side of the bank before one of the wheels breaks. The vehicle groans and wobbles before the wheel pops off entirely, causing it to lurch, the axle stubbornly planting itself into the gloopy, frigid mud. 

“Ah, shit!” Arthur hollers, tossing the reins down in a heap at his feet in frustration. 

Upon hearing the loud snapping of wood, and Arthur’s even louder cursing, the convoy stops. “Everything alright back there?” hollers Bill from up ahead, twisting in his saddle to try to get a better view. 

“Does everything look alright to you?” Arthur shouts sarcastically, losing his patience by the second.

“Well, what’s going on?” Javier peevishly asks, curious as to how long this will delay them as he’s eager to get out of the cold and on to the new camp.

“I broke the goddamn wheel!” Arthur’s breath huffs sharply out of his nose like a bull as his burly frame jumps down from the wagontop and he lumbers around the side to assess the damage.

A grunt of aged exhaustion bubbles from Hosea’s weathered lips as he too climbs down from the driver seat where he’s been sitting next to Arthur for the last several hours. The old man works the stiffness out of his joints as he moves to stand next to Arthur, blowing warm air into his hands and flexing as he adjusts his gloves. “Well, no sense grumbling about. Let’s get it fixed, then.” 

At this point, Charles Smith has sauntered over to see if he can lend a hand. While Arthur, Hosea and Charles toss playful banter at one another while fighting with the unwelcomed repair, you eagerly capitalize on the moment of reprieve to climb out of the back of the wagon to stretch your legs and back. Taking advantage of being in his close proximity, you opted to ride with Arthur rather than riding your own horse or up with the girls in their wagon, but your butt is not thanking you for that decision at the moment. 

Rolling your neck as you rub the tired muscles nestled there, you catch sight of the O’Driscoll that Arthur had caught up by Mrs. Adler’s place. Curious about the new arrival, you take a moment to study him as he stands tethered to the chuck wagon. He seems skittish and frail like a baby duckling trying to stay close to its nest. He doesn’t seem to be all that impressive and even though Dutch thinks this young man may have some valuable information, you are more inclined to think he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Arthur is convinced that this little man is trouble, but you are not so sure. To Arthur, the only good O’Driscoll is dead O’Driscoll. But something in the man’s terrified and untrusting eyes tells you that he hates Colm O’Driscoll more than anything. 

While the torture has not ensued just yet, the gang has not exactly been hospitable to this hostage. With the others distracted, you take the opportunity to approach the O’Driscoll yourself. You observe him with a piqued interest as you get closer to him. He doesn’t seem to be that dangerous as he shutters and shakes, nervous of every move around him. The hazel eyes nest in deep sockets, ringed with dark circles, and continually dart all around him. And it dawns on you that he is not looking at the convoy of people who hold him captive, but at the treeline and distant hills. It’s as if he’s more worried about the outside threat from someone else than he is about being left with the Van Der Linde gang. 

“Hello,” you say softly, your voice low so as to not startle him. The man doesn’t reply when you catch his attention, but just stares at you with wide, distrustful eyes.

But you meet his uneasiness with your usual gentle smile. “I brought you some bread and water.” He watches your hands float to the canteen around your shoulder and then to the linen napkin in your palm. His eyes widen even more with a spellbound awe, the gurgling sound of his painfully hungry stomach filling the awkward silence as you push the items into his cold hands. “It’s okay. Here.”

His hands are still bound, but at least Bill tied them in front of him and thankfully, he is able to hold the food and canteen on his own without you feeding him. You hand him the items, but quickly step back, mindful that this is still an O’Driscoll in front of you. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles, his voice feeble as he swallows the bread down. His eyes are sunken and dark from lack of food and his clothing is tattered and ripped. He is a sad sight, indeed. “This is m-mighty kind of you, ma’am. I know you all don’t have reason to trust me. But I-I appreciate the kindness just the same.”

A chuckle crosses your lips as you watch as the O’Driscoll quickly shoves the bread through his chapped lips. “Well, we may be a group of outlaws, but we’re not heartless. But if you do know something, it would be wise of you to tell them.” His chewing slows as he takes in your warning, nodding slightly in acceptance of his fate. “You’re Kieran, right? That’s your name? I’m Y/N.”

“That’s right. Kieran.” A small smile begins to bloom across his dirty face, a shred of relief fluttering in his chest like a butterfly at the act of mercy. But he is soon distracted from your kind face to the commotion going on behind you. 

“That man.” Keiran nods past you, eyebrows raised in apprehension at the individual who is still ranting and cursing while fixing the broken wagon. “That’s Arthur Morgan, isn’t it?” 

Your demeanor instantly drops at the idea that this potential enemy knows Arthur’s name, alarmed at the mere thought of Arthur being endangered. Your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Why do you ask?” 

“Nothing! I-I don’t mean nothing by it,” Keiran quickly yammers. “It’s just-”

“Just what?” You take a slow, deliberate step closer to him. He cringes when he sees your fiery eyes darken and your shoulders set defensively. 

Kieran casts his fearful eyes downward, afraid he may have offended the one person who has shown him any kindness in this situation. “It’s just…I’ve heard talk of him, is all.” 

“What kind of talk?” Your once pleasant and sympathetic tone has turned hard and untrusting now that Arthur is threatened. 

“He’s just…an enigma of sorts.” Kieran risks a cautious look up at you again, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he wobbles in the cold air. “I heard talk of how he’s bested men when he was way outnumbered, against the odds. H-how he has what’s been told a “dead eye”. You know, where you can aim your gun and…and kill a man with such accuracy that it’s unreal. I heard he can beat a man to death with his bare hands within five minutes! That he once wrestled a wolverine-”

“It wasn’t a wolverine,” you interrupt Kieran’s nervous rambling with a sigh. ”It was a bobcat.”

“Oh.”

“And yes, he is all of those things.”

Kieran nods at your confirmation of his fears. “It’s just funny to see somethin’ you’ve been warned about in the flesh. Like seein’ the devil in person, you know?”

“Well, let that be a lesson to you, then,” you warn, crossing your arms over your chest, tucking your jacket closer to you. “I wouldn’t piss him off.”

“He seems real kind to you, though.” A shred of hope glimmers in Kieran’s eyes that maybe this demon he’s heard so much of is not so bad. Or, that this angel of mercy standing in front of him may be the key to calm that demon. 

“Yeah, well, he likes me. There aren’t too many that can say that.”

“Y/N!” Suddenly, you hear Arthur’s gravelly voice calling out your name. Turning your head in his direction, you see Arthur standing with a look of concern plastered across his weathered features. “Get away from that piece of shit and get back over here. C’mom, time to move!” He sharply waves his arm at you, impatient to have you back at his side. Arthur still doesn’t trust this O’Driscoll, which means he wants you nowhere near him. 

“Well, Kieran, it was nice chatting with you.” You give him one last tired smile before collecting the canteen and turn to head back to the wagon. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Kieran calls to you, his fitful eyes following you as you retreat back to where Arthur looms in the not-so-far-off distance as he eyes the prisoner with a cold and hateful gaze. Arthur’s countenance doesn’t waver when you smile up at him, placing a loving hand on his forearm. The only crack in his angry, rugged wall is when he gently places a large gloved hand to the small of your back, ushering you into the back of the wagon once more. 

Hosea wants to stay in an area called Horseshoe Overlook and with no other idea readily in mind, Dutch agreed. It’s still a bit of a journey from the base of the mountainside so it is suggested that the gang takes a brief stop while someone heads over to the nearest town on the way to the Overlook. Supplies were low before you even left Blackwater all those weeks ago, and you’ve been scrounging ever since for the duration of your stay in Colter. Pearson needs his food stock replenished, and you need medical supplies as everything you had stockpiled has gone to caring for John after being attacked by the wolves.  

Safest to travel in small numbers, you offer to go yourself. You know what to look for on both the food and the medical supplies. But Arthur is not about to let you go anywhere on your own in an area he is unfamiliar with, so without question, he will be escorting you. 

“Micah, why don’t you head over there with them?” suggests Dutch, puffing away on a cigar, the smoke encircling his dark curls like a vaporous crown from where he sits perched upon his horse, observing the small group of you that has collected in front of him to discuss what the next move will be. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with around here, best to send backup just in case.”

The mere idea that Micah should ride along with you makes Arthur bristle. “I don’t need any ‘backup’, Dutch. Certainly not from him,” he growls, waving a flippant hand towards Micah.

“Fine with me, I don’t want to be baby-sittin’ you anyway, cowpoke,” sneers Micah in response, his hands instinctively settling upon his gunbelt. The gang hasn’t stopped for more than twenty minutes and the air is already charged with the animosity between the two men. 

“That was not a suggestion,” Dutch muses back at the two pouty overgrown children. “Now, get going and be careful. We don’t need any attention right now.”

“We’ll be fine, Dutch,” you quickly interject before either Arthur or Micah can launch another insult. “Come on, you two. Let’s get this done, shall we?” Shaking your head playfully at the two bickering outlaws, you head over to saddle Blue for the quick detour.

The lemon-yellow sun of the late morning dodges between rolling clouds as the three of you head out, riding in silence, with Arthur along your side and Micah trailing behind you. The nearest town is about an hour’s ride and is more of a trading village for those like yourselves, traveling between the mountain pass and down into the more populated territories. Upon arrival, you are quick to notice that there is no flourish or panache here. It is a series of rows made up of simple buildings, each marked with their specialty. The outlying area is littered with small houses and cabins nestled into the hillside for the full-time residents. But the trading post is meant for in-and-out traffic, a quick stop between destinations. 

“Huh, seems…’quaint’,” you hum, looking over the dusty little village, watching the people lumber about their tasks. 

“That’s one word for it,” mutters Micah, clearly unimpressed with the destination. His mustache twitches as he sucks his teeth in disappointment. 

“Let’s just get what we need and get outta here,” reminds Arthur, his gaze skimming over the open area. He sits rigid atop Buck, his worn gambler’s hat pulled down over his crystal-blue eyes and assesses any possible threats. “We don’t need to be lingering too long out in the open.”

“You’re such an old woman, Morgan. What could possibly happen in a shitty little town like this?” complains Micah, waving his hand impatiently at the small expanse of buildings.

Arthur pitches back an equally bitter glare. “This old woman will put her boot right in your ass if you keep running your mouth, Micah.”

“Boys!” you snap sharply, raising your hands up at each of them to halt their childish bickering. “Let’s play nice just for a bit, hmm?”

A mocking grin rolls across Micah’s face as he urges Baylock forward past the two of you, causing Arthur to roll his eyes in annoyance. 

“Come on, handsome,” you coo sweetly to Arthur. “Forget about that fool and let’s find ourselves some food.”

He turns towards you, tilting his head up just enough for you to catch a lifted eyebrow from under the brim of his hat. “Should I be offended you use the same pet name for me as you do that damn horse of yours?”

A cheeky grin decorates your face, making your eyes glitter mischievously. “Considering how much I love this damn horse of mine, you should be flattered.” You reach down and pat Blue’s neck, drawing a knicker from his wide chest.

Arthur absolutely adores your playfulness, but the mirth slowly drains from his eyes as his gaze returns to Micah who is heading over to the gunsmith. “It’s a good thing you’re here, Y/N. Otherwise, I’d tear that weasel a new ass the minute I get my hands on him.”

“I know, I know,” you muse as you follow his line of sight. “But like you said, let’s get this done and then you don’t have to deal with him for awhile, yeah?” Arthur only nods in agreement as he nudges Buck to follow you down the narrow street to the nearest hitching post outside of what appears to be the closest thing to a general store. 

While you and Arthur go about securing some canned goods and clean bandages, Micah has been busy procuring more ammunition from the smith. Reconvening at the horses, the three of you pack the saddlebags with the new supplies. You casually walk around to the other side of Blue to stuff the last bit of goods into the dusty leather bag and you let your gaze wander, taking in the simplicity of the little town.

As you scan the front of the post office, which sits next to the general store, your eye catches something. You do a double-take as the blood drains from your face, eyes wide as saucers. 

“Oh hell,” you whisper under your breath. Your blood runs cold as ice when you see a sketch of your likeness and your alias scrawled upon a browning piece of paper that is nailed to the bulletin board of the post office. 

Noticing your change in mood, Arthur follows your sight-line and sees the object of your trepidation. He cautiously walks over and yanks the poster down, reading it over as he returns to the horses where you and Micah are standing. And Arthur is none too happy about this, either. You give Arthur a worried and guilt-ridden look as his lips flatten into a hard, angry line as his hands fist around the parchment, crumpling the edges. 

Bounty to be paid of one hundred dollars

By decree of Sheriff Franklin Langston, be on the look out for this woman known as Mrs. Evageline Callahan. Wanted for robbery of the Red Rock Savings and Loan and the assault of a law officer. Wanted alive. 

The bounty notice details the robbery in Red Rock where you had planted yourself as a decoy before helping Arthur crack the locks and safes, and the local Sheriff there has targeted you as an accomplice. But what the notice does not go into detail about is how the sheriff tried to play on your supposed vulnerability. He had escorted you to a hotel room under the pretense of “protection”. But it quickly became obvious to you that his protection was the furthest from his mind.

While locked in a room with the scoundrel, you secretly drugged him before he could take advantage of you and you slipped out from under his unconscious nose, walking right out the front door with no one the wiser. No doubt the respected lawman’s pride is hurt that not only was he fooled by a woman, but a woman who got the best of him in the end. 

Anger and worry swirl violently within Arthur’s chest, making his heart beating rapidly. He has tried to keep you out of harm's way, but it seems he’s failed. He stupidly thought that he could be an outlaw and still keep you innocently protected from the life that comes with it. You are the one thing that he holds most precious, like a delicate flower in the cold morning frost, to be safeguarded at all costs. 

He had asked you not to do that job. Begged you, in fact. But how could you tell Dutch Van Der Linde ‘no’? And with you there to pick the locks of the vault at the bank, Arthur and the others were able to come away with a hell of a lot more cash than they would have without you. And, with no casualties, too. But that has also opened the door for you to be implicated as an accomplice and now on the law’s wanted list. 

Micah looks over Arthur’s shoulder at the offending paper being fisted in his gloved hands. “Well, what do ya know, she’s an ’outlaw’ now,” he chuckles. “Shit, this day just keeps getting better and better. Don’t look so glum, there, cowpoke.” He lands a teasing swat along Arthur's arm. “Thought you’d be happy knowing you two really are made for each other.”

“Shut up, Micah!” you and Arthur both yell in unison.

“Arthur? Arthur, I’m sorry,” you mutter sheepishly as you place your hands on his bulging forearms. But your plea only makes his teeth grind in anger at himself even harder. 

“What you got to be sorry for?!” His nostrils flare slightly when he turns his flashing eyes to meet your anxious gaze.

“Well…”

“Hey!” 

Before you can finish your thought, someone’s sharp voice cuts through the crowd. Whipping your collective heads in that direction, the three of you see an older man standing outside the general store, pointing his bony finger at you, his bespectacled eyes wide with shock. 

“That’s her! That woman they’re looking for!”

Your whole body freezes, paralyzed with fear as the man’s voice carries through the dusty street, announcing your presence to everyone. A crowd of curious onlookers descends upon the square at the noise. Arthur quickly places himself in front of you like a shield and you shrink behind him, cowering as your hands come up to grasp at the back of his coat as if you could draw courage from his sheer bulk.

“We don’t want no trouble.” Arthur addresses the crowd, holding one hand up in peace. “But if anyone makes one move towards her, there will be trouble.” Your breath catches in your throat as Arthur draws himself up to his full height, widening his stance and shoulders pushed back to make himself even more massive than already is. His neck tightens as his chiseled jaw clenches painfully. His hand instinctively hovers over his holstered gun, a clear warning to those around him. Likewise, Micah takes a defensive position flanking Arthur’s side to hide you from the crowd, both hands just itching to take hold of the weapons on his hips. 

It’s as if time stands still, not even a bird making a sound, as a breeze flits through the street, rolling dead leaves about like discarded paper. Arthur can feel your fingers trembling through the thick material of his coat. Your terrified eyes dart in all directions, waiting for someone to make the next move. The bitter, coppery taste of blood creeps into your mouth as you bite down on your bottom lip in anticipation. But you don’t have long to wait. 

A single gunshot rings out, planting an ill-aimed bullet a mere yard from your feet. Gasping in panic, you jump backwards into Blue’s side, causing him to whinny loudly as he rears up in fear. Arthur’s arm immediately spins as if of its own accord to find the source, the offending shooter instantly crumbling in a heap with a red weeping hole in his chest. 

A woman’s scream cuts into the tension-charged air as things explode into chaos everywhere. Arthur and Micah pull their weapons, firing in a whirlwind of motion with you placed behind them.

“Move!” Arthur roars, shoving you to your feet as you scramble in frantic movement.

The three of you sprint through the streets, trying to elude the townsfolk. But shots are fired from all around, causing you to constantly change directions. Shots ring out, whizzing past your head, and you let go of Arthur’s jacket to cradle your head, but by doing so, you eventually get separated from him. 

You get a glimpse of Arthur as he throws himself behind a stack of barrels seeking shelter from the onslaught while you and Micah tuck yourselves behind a wagon on the opposite side of the street. But every time Arthur tries to make a break to you, a spray of bullets knocks him back, holding him in place. 

“We gotta get outta here!” hollers Micah over the deafening pandemonium, grabbing your shoulder and trying to pull you towards himself. 

“Not without Arthur!” you scream back, shoving his hand off of you. 

But you watch in horror as a group of men descend on your outlaw. With the townsfolk distracted with Arthur, Micah grabs your arm, pulling you to your feet. “We gotta go! Big man can take care of himself!”

But you dig your heels in like an obstinate horse. Your eyes shoot back to Arthur, his keen scrutiny moving between the mob and your petrified face. He lifts his hands and begins to fire at the men coming down the street, trying to keep their attention away from you and Micah.

“Get the hell out of here! Go!” he yells at you, waiving you to move on. Too numb with the fear of leaving Arthur to move of your own accord, you absentmindedly allow Micah to drag you away from the square. 

Micah leads you down the narrow street amongst the shouting of everyone around you, keeping along the buildings and firing into the crowds to ward off any following. Shards of glass and wooden splinters cascade into your hair as a rain of bullets from all directions ricochet off of the buildings and fills the air with choking clouds of smoke that burns your throat every time a shriek of panic escapes your lungs. Your feet scramble to keep up, desperately trying not to lose your footing and drag Micah down with you. Your head ducks into Micah’s side, blindly following wherever he leads you as your hands maintain a death-grip on his jacket.

You and Micah bolt in various directions, your worn boots zigzagging in the dirt, trying to elude the mob, but it seems there are guns pointed at you at every turn. This may be a tiny town, but they do not tolerate any trouble here, the whole town arming themselves to protect against any threat. Shop owners, the blacksmith, any able body pops out with a gun in hand and aimed at you. Micah skids to a halt more than once to change directions, seeking out an escape route. 

The spray of bullets pushes you down yet another alley between the saloon and the small hotel, dodging between smaller barrels and crates that litter the ground. You lost the mob by ducking down this corridor, but dread freezes your breath when you find yourselves at a dead-end. You pause gasping for air with your hands on your knees as your head swivels, scouring the alley for a way out. Off in the distance, you can hear the shouts of your pursuers all around you. And they are getting closer by the minute. 

Micah’s back rounds like a cat getting ready to pounce, his shoulders hunched and coiled tight like a spring. His eyes narrow and dart, assessing his surroundings.

And then the damnedest thing happens. Surprisingly, Micah pushes you behind him, holding his arm protectively over you and places himself between you and the oncoming crowd. 

“Get ready.” His voice is low and serious, not carrying the usual arrogance and tasteless jokes that spill from his filthy mouth. “Here.” And he pulls another gun from his belt, shoving it in your direction. You stand there staring at the piece in your hand as if it is a foreign object, its cold metal almost burning your skin, before looking to him once more for more explanation.

Micah holds his two guns, both hands angled upwards and ready to fire at the first person to breach the corner, expecting a full-on shootout to erupt in the narrow alley at any moment. 

“When they come, bullets will fly and you gotta be ready to move,” he says over his shoulder to you. “You shoot the first thing you see comin’ round that corner and don’t stop. We’ll push our way out. We need to cut a path and make a run for the horses.”

But being separated from Arthur, you suddenly become dizzy and short of breath. “Wait, there’s got to be another way!” Your voice elevates in pitch and volume with a vehement shake of your pounding head. “We’ll get gunned down for sure if we go out there!” 

“No time. I gotta get you out of here, princess.” Micah’s sudden concern for your safety confuses the hell out of you, silencing your protests. “Unless you know how to hide in plain sight?” 

In a split second, his comment causes an idea to form in your mind. A crazy idea. How do you hide in plain sight? And before he can even comprehend what is happening, you wrap both hands around Micah’s face, drawing him to you and crash your mouth into his. You pull him along with you as you backpedal towards the side of the building. 

Taken off guard, Micah stumbles a bit as you pull him overtop of yourself when your back hits the hard wood-siding of the saloon. His eyes shoot wide open with shock, but he quickly reciprocates your actions. Micah doesn’t question your plan or motives in the slightest despite the danger you find yourselves in and, taking full advantage of the close proximity to you, he thrusts his tongue into your mouth. You whimper at the sudden intrusion as the stale tobacco scent that carries on his mustache fills your nostrils. You can taste his foul breath as his saliva mixes with your own and you try not to gag. 

Almost immediately, you begin to second guess your little scheme and your trembling hands land on his shoulders about to push him off of you, but the sounds of the encroaching crowd right outside the alley halts your decision. Your eyes split open and look past Micah’s shoulder toward the street and you begin to see the blur of running men, the sunlight glinting off of the guns in hand in their attempt to hunt you down. So instead of pushing him off of you, your fingers quickly fumble as they pull Micah’s jacket and hat off him, tossing them to the ground at your feet, for he’d be recognized for sure if anyone sees that white hat and coat of his. 

The hollering and commotion of your pursuers gets louder and louder. Your heart pounds in your ears, sweat beading at your temples. While you are in a panic about being found and gunned down like dogs in the alley, Micah seems to have completely forgotten about the mob on his heels. Having dropped his own guns at his feet once you were pressed against the building, his rough hands are now free to grasp and pinch at your hips as he pushes his pelvis into yours, grinding into you. 

The crowd of people are at the end of the alley now and in desperation to sell the facade, you lift your leg up over Micah’s hip, pulling him in tighter to you and cover his face with your hands to shield him from the hoard of men that run past the alley entrance. Thankfully, the mob surges past you without so much as an afterthought, thinking that the two of you are just another drunken lot behind the bar who are too impatient to get a room.

The wave of commotion eventually recedes, the shouting and hollering slowly getting more faint as the mob moves down the street. As soon as you feel you are in the clear, you instantly try to push the disgusting outlaw off of you. 

“Stop.” The muffled demand pushes past your lips which are being devoured, Micah’s tongue swirling around your mouth. You shove his shoulders, but he doesn't move, his face still smashed against yours. 

You try to turn your face away from him in an attempt to break the sloppy kissing that Micah is desperately trying to prolong. “Stop it.” You push at him again, but his greedy hands clamp down painfully on your hips, refusing to give you up. 

“Okay, that’s enough!” you holler, using your anger to summon all of your strength and roughly shove him from you. Heat flushes throughout your whole body as you try to draw slow, calming breaths into your lungs. Micah stumbles backwards a bit at the change of direction, with a huge, smug grin plastered on his dirty face. 

Just the mere sight of the greasy man makes your skin bristle with goosebumps. A hateful, contemptuous scowl spreads across your heated cheeks as you spit into the dirt. “You’re a bit of a lunatic, you know that?”

Micah licks his lips as if he’s just tasted a most delectable dinner, his tongue dragging along that repulsive mouth of his as he rocks back on his heels. “I prefer the term ‘eccentric’. Besides, that little performance was all your idea, Y/N”. He waves his finger accusingly at you. 

“Ugh, what the hell is wrong with you?” you groan, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as a choking sound erupts from the back of your throat.

“So many things, sweetheart...so many things.”

“Let’s just get the hell out of here, please. We need to find Arthur.” Micah’s conceited grin instantly drops from his face at the sound of Arthur’s name, his sullen eyes following you as you shove past him and stomp your way back towards the street. 

Sticking close to the shadows and hugging the storefronts, you carefully make your way out of the village, scanning for Arthur or any of your pursuers. 

“There! Over there! There’s two of ‘em!” Your blood runs cold and your heart nearly stops when the shouts of one of the townsfolk alerts anyone within earshot to your and Micah’s location.

“Fuck!” Micah immediately clamps down your hand and sprints, dragging you to your horses which are only a few yards out of your reach now. Upon reaching the hitching posts, Micah hurls you in front of him towards Baylock who is nervously pawing at the ground. The horse tosses his head in agitation, his haunting blue eyes rolled and ears pinned back.

Suddenly Micah lets out a stifled grunt, lurching forward when a bullet bites into the flesh of his shoulder. Like a bear that has been provoked, he angrily spins around, roaring at the top of his lungs and rapidly firing into the oncoming cluster of men, mowing them down in a spray of red to buy you time as you frantically climb into Baylock’s saddle. 

With one last defiant shot into an unlucky local’s skull, Micah swings himself up behind you and you take off, heading for the obscurity of the woods and leaving the dirty little town behind. 

Your heart thunders loudly in your ears as Micah’s horse pushes hard through the woods to head back to camp. The sunlight peppering through the trees is like a kaleidoscope of color, blurring and swirling and making you nauseous as Baylock races through the brush, snorting heavily as he carries his burden. Your hands are white-knuckled as your fingernails dig into the leather of the saddle horn. 

In your adrenaline haze, you vaguely feel Micah pressed against your back. Your body begins to go limp and Micah wraps an arm around your waist to secure you from falling and getting trampled under the horse’s hooves while his other extends in front of you, hand fisted around the reins and urging the horse on. 

You’ve been riding for thirty minutes with no other riders on your heels when you finally pull your mind together. “Stop! Micah, please stop!”

“Can’t stop now, princess!” He shouts from behind you. 

“Please!” You grasp his hand in yours, squeezing desperately. “I have to stop!”

Your touch instantly resonates with Micah, the feeling of your fingers along his skin radiating through his arm like electricity, and he immediately pulls back on the reins. The horse skids to a halt, dancing in agitation at the abrupt cease of motion. “Woa, boy, woa”, Micah snaps sharply. 

You desperately try to catch your breath, your chest heaving for the brisk air as you fold over the saddlehorn. For once in his life, Micah mercifully sits quietly behind you, waiting for you to regain control of your breathing and taking notice of how your body moves pressed against his. 

“We have to go back,” you finally manage to breathe out.

“What?” he snaps. “Have you lost your mind?! Ain’t no way in hell we’re goin’ back there!”

“But we left Arthur back there!” A mixture of fear and pleading infuses your voice, matching your tear-rimmed eyes that shine in the fractured sunlight of the trees as you look over your shoulder at Micah.

“He can take care of himself!”

“But what if-“

“Look, you want to go back there, Y/N, be my guest.” He waves his arms back in the direction that you just escaped from to emphasize his point. “But you’re goin’ on your own! I already got my ass shot getting you out! Or did you forget that?” 

You bite your lip at his statement, guilt flooding your chest.

“Best thing to do is head back to camp and wait for Morgan there.”

You hate to admit it, but Micah is right. Arthur had a crowd on his tail but nothing worse than what he’s had before. With you out of the way, that leaves him free to worry about his own ass. You know Micah won’t help you find Arthur, and you will be of little use to Arthur now, anyway. And to his point, Micah does have a bullet in his shoulder right now because of you. You both need to get back to camp safely so you can assess the damage. That is where you will be the most useful.

“Alright. You’re right,” you brokenly whisper, casting your eyes to the forest floor in defeat. “Let’s head home.”

“Now, you’re making some sense,” he smirks, his dirty blonde locks swaying over his shoulders as he nods in victory. Micah digs his heels into Baylock’s side and the horse spurs forward once more, heading into the thick of the woods. 

The idea of leaving without Arthur is like a knife in your chest and feels so horribly wrong to you, like a betrayal. The trees begin to blur again and seem to be almost suffocating as they surround you, offering you coverage, but also yet another obstacle to your heart's desire. 

You twist your neck to look past Micah and back towards the town. There is no sign of the townsfolk, but no sign of Arthur, either. Your heart sinks as you slowly turn to face forward again, a silent prayer on your lips. 

—--------------------------------------------

*This image is not mine, but was posted on Pintrest by Len

You and Micah ride into the makeshift camp, quickly dismounting and make your way into the circle of wagons. You are met with looks of confusion and a cacophony of questions from your fellow gang members when they note your frazzled state and Micah’s bleeding shoulder, not to mention that Arthur is not with you. But before you can even string coherent thoughts to answer your friends, the sound of hoof-beats fills the air. Your head snaps back to the tree line and you see Arthur barreling through the trees at full speed with your horse in tow. His eyes, bright and shining, dart in every direction, scanning the group of people, hoping to find your face.

Trembling hands cover your mouth as your eyes flutter with the wave of relief to see him safe. Letting out a huge breath, your wobbly legs sprint towards Arthur. Buck hasn’t even come to a full stop yet before Arthur springs from the saddle, his worn boots barely touching the mud-packed earth before he strides in your direction.

As soon as you are close enough, you hurl yourself into his large frame and throw your arms around his shoulders, your face buried in the crevice of his neck with a choked sob, his heady scent of sweat and leather engulfing your senses. His arms immediately wrap tightly around you, lifting you clean off the ground, relishing the feeling of your warm, able body against his once more. 

“Y/N! Are you alright?!” Arthur finally puts you down and leans back, holding you at arm’s length to get a good look at you, his keen eyes skipping around and taking in every inch of you from head to toe. 

“Yes, I’m fine, Arthur,” you laugh incredulously. “Are you alright? What happened? How did you get out of there?”

But Arthur just shakes his head, waving off your question. Because it doesn’t matter to him if he is alright. It is you that is his sole focus. “‘Bout lost my mind leaving you with this idiot.“ He throws a nonchalant wave in Micah’s direction. 

Your lips press together in a slight grimace. “Well, to be honest, Micah saved my life. If it wasn’t for him, I would be in jail or gunned down in an alley right now.”

Arthur’s body freezes, his head tilted slightly to the side as if he didn’t hear you correctly. “Come again?” He turns to look at Micah who just grins, arms crossed over his puffed-out chest. 

“Don’t look so surprised, Arthur,” Micah gloats. “Although, a little gratitude for saving your woman’s life would be nice. But, don’t worry.” He holds his hand up as if to halt any further argument on Arthur’s part. “Y/N thanked me enough already.” He shakes his eyebrows suggestively with a knowing curl of his lip.

Micah's hungry gaze sweeps over you and you feel Arthur's entire body tense. “What the hell is he talkin’ ‘bout?” He spins on you now, eyes flashing and demanding an explanation. 

You can feel your cheeks burn red-hot and your chin drops to your chest to avoid looking at either Arthur or Micah. And with a deep, regretful sigh, you relate the story of your escape to Arthur, including how you had to kiss and paw at Micah in hopes of blending into the background behind the saloon to evade the town’s attention. 

Arthur stands there listening to your story without a word. His whole body radiates like lightning in a bottle, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathes deeply, the muscles in his jaw twitching. You watch him carefully as he processes this unwelcome information, his fists clenching open and closed like a pump. 

You can see Arthur’s thoughts flashing like a roaring wildfire across his face. You're not sure if he’s going to punch Micah in the face, or tear into you for pulling such an outlandish stunt. He can’t be jealous, as that was certainly not the intent of your actions. But then again, Arthur doesn’t want anyone else even looking at you, let alone touching you. Least of all Micah goddamn Bell. 

Seeing Arthur’s clearly visible disdain for the situation, Micah cannot help himself but to twist the imaginary knife in the outlaw’s gut right now. “What’s a-matter, Morgan? Jealous?” His beady eyes twinkle with a sinister mirth that would make the devil himself blush.

Arthur shoots a death-stare back to Micah. “What the hell do I have to be jealous of you for?” 

Micah simply shrugs, the smugness just oozing from his very being. “Maybe ‘cause your woman kissed me? Maybe she liked it more than she’s letting on?” And his vulgar eyes flick to you, causing you to gasp at the audacity of his statement. 

And that is the last straw. 

Finally, the stress of the day causes Arthur to snap like the tension of a high-strung bow and in a second he lunges at Micah with a speed that belies someone of his stature. The other men of the camp are quick to intervene, prying the two outlaws apart as arms and fists grapple at each other in a blur of force. You try to wedge yourself between them once Bill and Javier carve an ample enough gap for you to squeeze into. You plant your wide-open palms on Arthur’s chest, pushing back against him with all your might. But it is like holding back a waterfall, too powerful and too full of chaotic energy to contain. 

“Stop it! Knock it off, both of you!” You come up on your toes, trying to catch Arthur’s burning gaze and distract him from Micah. “Arthur, please!” His chest heaves, but the moment his eyes land on you again, it's like a switch has been pulled. You center him as always, rationality starting to return to his fractured mind. 

With Arthur calmed to an extent, you turn your ire onto Micah. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” But the scheming outlaw can only stare back at you, an argument sitting on his tongue, and yet nothing comes out as if weighing his next words carefully. 

“I ain't dealin’ with this bullshit,” Arthur seethes, staring down Micah as his arm wraps around your shoulder, curling you into himself and turning you towards your shared wagon. 

But Micah Bell just cannot help but throw oil on the fire. 

“You’re not even gonna stitch me up after savin’ your pretty ass, Y/N? Typical. You don’t give a shit about anyone else, but Arthur. Mighty ungrateful.” He waves you off dismissively, shaking his head in disappointment. 

Before you can even stop him, Arthur spins out of your grasp, closing the distance between himself and Micah in a mere few steps and grabs ahold of a fistful of Micah’s shirt. The weasel can say what he wants about him, but Arthur will not abide any derogatory comments towards you. 

“You’re as stupid as you are ugly, you know that?!” hollers Hosea to Micah, his weathered fingers clamped around Arthur’s shoulder, trying to push him back once more. 

Arthur’s arm shoots up, about to land a fist into Micah’s mocking face, but it’s halted in place as both of your arms encircle his bicep to keep the dangerous limb at bay. 

“He’s right, Arthur. It’s the least I could do.”

Your shaky, yet definitive voice stills Arthur as he turns to look at you in confusion. “What?!”

An apprehensive sort of smile floats across your lips as you cup your soft, warm hands around his face. “Why don’t you get something to eat, head over to our wagon and calm down a bit. Your head is out of sorts right now. In the meantime, I’ll deal with Micah, yeah?”

But Arthur isn’t having any of it. He just shakes his head at the very notion of it. “I just need some time alone with you, is all,” he says sharply, starting to pull you away from the others. But you can’t let things end here like this. 

“I know.” You stop your feet from moving to prevent him from dragging you off. “But can you give me a minute, please? Let me get Micah patched up first,” you plead.

“Now, wait a minute,” growls Arthur, his brow drawn in frustration. “I thought you’d be coming with me?”

“I am and I will.” You nervously shift your weight from hip to hip under Arthur’s intense gaze, trying to keep your voice low and calm to mask the rapid beating of your own heart. “Let me take care of Micah first and then I’ll come with you.” 

Arthur’s sapphire eyes dart past your shoulder to see Micah standing there in surprising silence, loving the delicious tension he’s created and anxiously waiting to see the results. 

“No, he can handle things by himself. He's a big boy,” huffs Arthur. “Or let Ms. Grimshaw do it. C’mon now,” he insists, harshly pulling at your arm. 

“Arthur, just wait a second, will you?” you push, starting to get a little annoyed at the possessiveness. “Let me finish what I’m doing then I’m all yours.” 

“You know what, forget it!” he hollers, throwing his hands up in frustration as he steps back from you.

“Arthur, please, just give me a damn second, will you?!” Your hands try to grasp his forearm, but he’s quick to yank himself out of your reach, as if the very idea of you is detestable right now. 

“Nevermind!” And Arthur storms off, throwing his hands in the air in surrender, leaving you standing there staring after him. You watch his broad shoulders lumber quickly towards the wagon, his whole body radiating an angry energy that is dangerous for anyone to be pulled into. 

You should go after him. But then again, he is so angry right now, maybe it’s best to let him cool off, first. He’s probably right, you should just let Ms. Grimshaw handle Micah’s wound. But you do owe Micah a debt. He did save you from that mob. And in a gang, debts need to be paid. 

With a deep, regretful sigh, you tilt your head back and close your eyes, knowing you’ve just made a grave error in judgement. Arthur isn’t the only one who has a hard time navigating matters of the heart. Like your own father, you tend to be more pragmatic than sentimental sometimes. But you are only trying to keep the peace. 

“Well?”

Micah’s voice cuts into your temple like a nail hammered through a board, pulling you back to the matter at hand. You open your now-throbbing eyes to look over at the smug man, who is standing with an expectant look on his face. 

“Come on,” you mutter with an eye roll. “Get yourself over to the table and let’s get this over with, please.”

—-------------------------------------- 

*This is not my image, but posted on Pintrest by Clem

Unfortunately, since the gang has yet to make a permanent camp, your med tent is not fully set up. You pull out a table and a few crates of the meager medical supplies that you have and whatever you were able to shove into Blue’s saddle bag while in town. Digging through what is available, you pull out your needles and thread and a bottle of whisky you keep for sterilization. 

You’ve chosen to set up this makeshift operation far enough away from Arthur, lest he and Micah get into it yet again. But it’s close enough where Arthur can keep an eye on what you’re up to. And simply seeing you in such close proximity to Micah makes Arthur’s skin crawl. 

“Alright, let’s see what the damage is,” you sigh with the weight of resignation heavy in your tone. “Unbutton your shirt, please.” You toss the instruction over your shoulder as you pour fresh water into a bowl and shake out a clean rag. You can hear the shuffling of fabric and Micah’s pained grunting behind you. When you turn around, you freeze, eyebrows shooting to your hairline, to see that instead of just pulling back his shirt, Micah has stripped himself of the garment altogether, sitting there topless in just his trousers and a satisfied grin. 

You simply stand there, knuckles turning white as you grip the cloth in your hand, staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. “Really?”

He innocently shrugs. “Just want to make sure you can get to what you need, Y/N”, he says, motioning to himself, a wicked grin creeping along his mustached lips. 

A measured sigh and eyeroll leave you as you slowly make your way over to him, careful to leave a gap between the two of you as you move behind him. 

You have to give him credit, Micah tries not to flinch when your fingertips dance along the open wound on his left shoulder, assessing the depth of the bullet hole. The cool rag must send lightning through his entire body as you clean the ugly gash embedded into his skin when he shudders under your careful touch. But the fact that you work gingerly is not lost on him. Ever so vigilant to his surroundings, Micah can feel how you delicately touch him, trying not to inflict further damage. His head tilts back slightly, those usually distrustful eyes closing for just a brief moment in silent gratitude. 

You keep your discerning eyes focused on the minute work, and therefore you do not notice Micah watching you, his gaze skipping over your face and down to your fingers, small and unmarred unlike his own. He watches you out of the corner of his eye as you work the thread through the needle, the lips of your perfect mouth pulled taught in concentration.

But soon enough, you push the needle through his flesh, pulling the thread through the pulpy meat of his shoulder and proceed to stitch the wound closed. You work efficiently, but quickly, desperate to get this chore done so you can then deal with Arthur who’s stare you can feel burning a hole into you from where he is vigilantly watching like a hawk from your shared wagon. 

Sensing when the deed is almost complete, Micah clears his throat and begins with awkward chit chat, trying to prolong your attention by asking about your horse, talking about how it must be better to be out of the cold of the Grizzly Mountains, anything that springs to his mind. His fingers drum along his thighs as his knee begins to bounce.

At first, you just dismiss the odd behavior, trying to focus on the final stitching of the wound. Micah winces slightly, biting his lower lip, as the stitches get pulled a little tighter than they probably should in your frustration at his incessant babbling. Micah Bell has rambled more to you in the last fifteen minutes than he has spoken to you in the entire time you’ve known him. 

With your task now complete, you clip the thread with your scissors, tucking the needle into the water bowl to be cleaned properly. You walk around to stand in front of him, wiping your hands with the wet cloth in exasperation.

You narrow your eyes at him, suddenly very suspicious of his good nature. “What do you want, Micah?”

The outlaw looks at you a moment, his head tilts slightly to the side considering your question carefully as he pulls his shirt back over his shoulders. “I’d like you to sit and talk to me.” 

His answer floors you, so simple a request with no foul comments to follow. But there has to be more to it than that. “Sit? That’s it?“ you ask in disbelief.

“MmmHmm, and talk to me. You seem to enjoy everyone else’s company, yet we never talk.” He leans back a bit, hands resting on his knees. 

A humorless chuckle escapes your lips before you can even try to stifle it, accompanied by a skeptical lift of your eyebrow. “There’s a reason for that.”

He just shrugs, frustratingly quiet to your answer. 

“What on earth would we ever talk about?”

“What do you and Morgan talk about?”

“That’s none of your business”, you snap sharply.

That familiar, annoyingly smug grin crosses his face once again as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Do you talk about me?” he needles, shaking his eyebrows.

“Only about what a pain in the ass you are,” you respond flatly. 

“Ahhh, so you do talk about me.” 

You shake your head, crossing your arms in frustration at the absurdity of this whole conversation, confused as to what he’s getting at. “Arthur and I talk about everything and nothing.” 

“Alright,” he concedes, pointing at you. “Let's do that, then.” 

“What is this, Micah?“

He holds his hands up in surrender, a feigned innocence. “This is me trying to be the better man.”

“Better than who?” you challenge. 

“Don’t worry Y/N,” he chuckles at your defensive reluctance to his parley. “I won’t jump ya. Unless you want me to.”

For the life of you, you can’t figure this man out. One minute, he’s a disgusting pig. The next, he’s trying to be your best friend. Either way, Micah Bell makes your skin crawl as he’s just as creepy when he’s trying to be nice as he is when he’s an ass. 

“Fine. I’ve seen the way you treat your horse. A man who loves up on his horse can’t be 100% bad.” You give him the slightest of grins before you can even stop yourself.

“That's the spirit!” He smiles triumphantly and waves a finger smartly at you. “I can't be 100% bad.” 

Assuredly, what you do not realize is that to Micah, you could’ve just given him the world. A kind word or gesture, even just the smallest inkling that you don't completely hate him, makes his black heart race just a bit more. 

To you, you see the effort of this conversation as a way to get past the ugliness with Micah. To him, he sees this as a window of opportunity, a moment of weakness in your armor where he can sneak his way in. 

But as you stand there motionless, unsure of what to even say next, your hesitancy at Micah’s peace offering is more than enough of an answer for him right now. A defeated chuckle ripples from his tobacco-stained teeth with a slight shake of his blonde head to go with it. 

“You know what, Y/N? Forget it. Forget I even asked.” The furrowed line between his eyebrows relents a bit as his eyes soften just ever so slightly as he concedes to what you suspect that he already knows deep down. He pulls his lips inward as if debating on what to say next, leaving an awkward and pregnant silence between you. Your gaze skips about, looking for any reprieve other than staring into Micah’s cold and unreadable expression that can unnerve you like a mouse caught by a viper. “Go on, then. Scoot on back to your beloved,” he says with sarcasm and just a hint of disappointment. 

After cleaning up the needle and thread, you head back to your shared space with Arthur to find him brooding, leaning against the side of his wagon as he cleans his gun. He says nothing at first, but you can sense his hostility. You smartly don’t say a word, but set about getting yourself ready for the evening.

“You want to tell me what that was all about?” you finally ask. 

But Arthur won’t look at you. Like a silent, stoney mountain, he remains stoic and ominous, his rough fingers still working over the weapon in his hands. Cursing under your breath, you reach over and snatch the gun out of his hand to get his attention. Those steel-blue eyes instantly snap to your own. Brows furrowed with elevated agitation, his hand shoots out to grab for the piece, but you pull your hand back to keep the object of his distraction out of reach. He stares you down, lips pulled tightly with a sharp snort escaping his nose.

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” His voice carries low and rumbles deep within his chest. 

“Of course I’m on your side. I’m always on your side, Arthur.”

“That so?”

“Of course it is! How can you even question that?” you ask, shaking your head, taken aback by his doubt.

“You’re mine,” he says darkly, his blue eyes settling with the piercing, glowing quality of a stormy sea. 

Arthur’s possessiveness is not something new, often rearing its ugly head, but his ire is usually directed at others, not you. And while the idea of being wanted by someone is endearing, you also resent his distrust. “I am not some horse that you own, Arthur,” you warn. 

“I should come first with you.” He points at your heart. “I shouldn’t have to share you with anybody.”

“Are you really going to stand there and lecture me about sharing my time with other people? Really, Arthur?” Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, suddenly incensed by his accusation. “Let’s talk about you, then! How many nights am I going to our tent alone and lonely? All because you’re running around for god knows what?”

Arthur’s lips pinch together in an instant, eyes burning at your audacity to throw such a thing in his face. “Hey! That’s different! I am providing!” He shoves his thumb sharply back into his rising chest. 

“And I’m not?” you counter defiantly, with a snapping shake of your head, a flush of heat blossoming across your face. 

Arthur bites his lip before he says something really stupid, the argument right there on his tongue, dangerously close to exploding like a powder keg. His hands plant on his hips as he paces around the small area in front of you, the nervous energy clearly tearing throughout his body and unable to contain it. “What, you two are all friendly now?” Arthur retorts bitterly, waving off in Micah’s direction. 

“Sweet Jesus, Arthur you can’t seriously be jealous?” Your fingers come up to pinch the bridge of your nose before dropping to your side with a deflated slap, your face turned to his in earnest. “No, we are not ’friendly’ but I don’t want to fight with him all the time, nor do I want to endure the disgusting comments anymore.” 

You begin to fidget with the pendant of your mother’s necklace you always wear and Arthur’s anger shifts in a new direction. “Has he been messin’ with you? I told you I’d take care of it if he hassles you.” 

A deep sigh escapes your chest as your gaze raises to meet his once again. “I don’t want to cause a problem around here, Arthur.” 

“You are not the problem,” he hisses. He steps up closer to you now, standing only a foot from you, so close that you can feel his hot breath blow across your chilled cheeks.

“Why are you so riled up about this?” 

“Why? That snake has his mouth all over you and you’re asking me why I’m riled up about it?! Why are you not riled up about this?” Arthur's eyes suddenly narrow at you, his head tilting just a fraction, as he looks you over like you were a mark. “Unless he’s right and you did like it.” The very idea of it causes your eyes to shoot open and your chest tighten as the air gets sucked out of your lungs. 

“Don’t you even start with that!” you hiss sharply at such an insinuation. “Now, you listen to me, Arthur Morgan. There is nothing, NOTHING, between myself and Micah Bell. You got that?” 

Arthur’s silence pulls the escalating argument to a screeching halt. He stops and takes a moment to really look at you, your chest rising and falling with panting breaths, your eyes shimmering with offended, hurt-filled tears. Arthur closes his eyes, hanging his head shamefully, clearly realizing he crossed a line. “I’m sorry.”

“Arthur, why are you so upset about this?” you push softly, setting your hand on his forearm. 

“Because there ain’t much difference between him and me, that’s why!” he hollers, finally reaching his breaking point. The revelation sets you on your heels. Your large, love-filled eyes blink rapidly as you attempt to process this new level of self-doubt in him.

“You can’t honestly think that?“ you breathe in wonderment. “What, you think I’m going to leave you for him?” 

“No,” his tone lowering with a flat and unsettling calm. “I think you’re gonna leave me because you realize I’m just like him.” 

The anger within you from moments ago immediately dissipates like ether as this boulder is dropped. “Arthur, you are nothing like Micah.” 

“Really? What makes you say that? Huh? What is really all that different between us?” He stands in front of you, hands on his hips as he towers over you, demanding an answer.  

You cross your arms, holding Arthur’s hard gaze. “Well, now that you mention it, you’re both a couple of asses.” 

“Ha ha, very funny,” he bites back with sharp sarcasm. “I’m serious, Y/N. What makes us all that different?” 

“Well, for starters I’m not in love with Micah. Arthur, I can’t keep having this same conversation with you.” You press closer to him, placing your hand over his heart. “This. This right here is what I want.” You can feel the rapid fluttering under his ribcage, the heat of his skin through the worn fabric of his shirt as your fingers splay open like a dove’s wingspan. “The way you make me feel when I look at you, Arthur, is why I won’t look at another man.” 

His brows furrow as his eyes fall to your hand, noting how your fingers lay against his chest as if they have always belonged there. Slowly his gaze meets yours, as if searching for the shred of doubt that he is always afraid of finding there.

“You are a good man who does bad things, Arthur. That doesn’t make you a bad person,” you confirm with a calm and enchanting tone. Your hand floats from his chest to cup his face, the curls of his beard prickling the skin as his strong jaw sets upon your palm. 

“Oh, well that’s convenient, isn’t it? You got an answer for everything, don’t you?” Arthur sighs as he shifts his weight. “I guarantee anyone else outside this gang will beg to differ on that one,” he pouts, giving a dismissive flick of his hand in the air. 

“I thought I’ve made it very clear that I don’t give a damn about what anyone else thinks. Stop worrying about what could go so wrong and start thinking about what could go so right, Arthur. We need to work on that.”  You reach your arms around his shoulders and hug him tightly to you. His hard body presses to your own pliable one and you can feel the hard line of his chest and torso, his thick thighs. His coat, which is like a second skin, carries notes of forest pine and leather, a comforting aroma that instantly feels like home to you. Your fingers curl through Arthur’s hair as you cradle his head, your nose buried in his honey locks that will forever smell of woodsmoke, bringing your soft lips to his ear. “I would die without you, Arthur.” 

Slowly, Arthur’s body relaxes and melts into yours as you whisper in his ear, your warm breath catching against his skin. His rigid chest softens as he presses you against him, desperate to keep you close as if he’d fold you up into his rib cage to wrap you around his very own heart. Sometimes, for Arthur, the worst place for him to be is inside his own head.

A smile cracks at the corner of Arthur’s mouth at your previous statement. Suddenly, the monster of self loathing within him goes silent once more, retreating back into the dark caverns of his heart, as he dips his head into the crook of your neck and wraps his arms tightly around your waist, squeezing with just enough pressure. Once again, you have calmed and centered him, quieted his swirling storm of self-sabotaging thoughts that continue to plague him. 

You turn your face into him, placing a multitude of gentle kisses along his neck, drawing a faint groan from him. “It was either kiss Micah or die,” you whisper in Arthur’s ear before placing your lips to the cuff.

Arthur huffs out a grunt that rumbles in his chest and tickles your own as you still stand pressed together so tight that not even air could seep between you. “Still not seeing the choice.” 

You giggle at his understated playfulness. “It will haunt my dreams, now. Literally the stuff of nightmares.” You pull back from him to gaze into his troubled blue eyes, your thumbs drawing across his cheekbones before your fingertips roll gently through his beard. 

“I love you, Arthur. Don’t you ever doubt that.” Your smile carries a warmth and love for him in this moment that is larger than the very universe itself, like he can see the stars themselves in your sparkling eyes. Arthur gives you a feeling of being safe. And in turn, you offer him that feeling of being cherished. For all we ever want in this world is to be healed, to find that other half that speaks to your soul. To be with that person who will hold your vulnerabilities in their hands and breathe life back into you when you feel lost.

But a dark cloud dusts his features once more. “I gotta admit, Y/N, I’m scared of the kinda love I feel for you.” Arthur’s voice drops to almost a whisper, as if he’s afraid to admit it outloud, the syllables caught in his throat.

“Why is that?”

“Because I know it will ruin me.” He brushes his large hand over your hair before tenderly holding your face. “And I know I’ll let it.” 

The emotion overtakes you and you drop your gaze before he sees the tears gathering in your lashes. Because it occurs to you that you’re not sure if he wants this relationship or not. You can clearly see the turmoil in his eyes from it. His new life with you could cost him his old one with his gang. 

Arthur is a soul torn between two worlds. He wants you, but he also wants “the outlaw life”. You are not making him choose, but he feels that he needs to. For you. To keep you safe. And you are not sure if you want to broach this subject again with him, afraid that if you push it, you may not like the answer you get.

You wish Arthur could see how wonderful he is in your eyes, how happy he makes you. Arthur may not be perfect, but he’s perfect for you. Those blue-green eyes light up your whole day. You don’t just see a man standing in front of you. You see your whole world. 

Arthur is the one who is the most special to you. The one you will lose sleep over. The one you will never tire of talking to. He is constantly on your mind. He makes you smile without even trying. Arthur is the only one you do not want to lose and to always have in your life. 

The world may view Arthur as nothing but a despicable outlaw, one forged in lawlessness and brutality. But they do not see what you see. He is a man born out of conflict, a product of his environment. He is stiff and frightening in the eyes of others, an unyielding and merciless force to be reckoned with. But to you, he is vulnerable and tender. Arthur carries the brunt of the ugliness in this world, and yet still claws at the hope of finding a shred of happiness for himself. 

You gently press your forehead to his, wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck. “I wish I could make you understand, Arthur.” You hold him to you for a brief moment before looking up into his face, your eyes wide and searching. “You have stolen my heart. You are worth so much more than you think. You are the very reason I keep going. You crossed my path when I needed you the most, after I lost everything. I couldn’t do this without you. You are everything I need. And I don’t ever want this to end.”

Arthur softly draws the cool evening air into his lungs as his tired eyes float across your face, mapping every line, every radiant detail that he has come to covet so dearly. The setting sun shines its copper light down upon you, casting your frame in a warm and almost unearthly glow, as if you are a spirit from another realm altogether, not even meant for this world let alone for the likes of him. 

“I really had no idea what I needed ‘til you showed up in my life with every bit of it in one package,” he laments. “One day, there you were, shining brightly like the sun.” He smiles despite himself at the memory of it, lifting a thick, calloused finger to gently pull a wisp of your hair from your eye before settling his hand along your graceful neck. “And for the first time in a really, really long time, I had hope that I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life in the dark.”

Arthur is not a man of many words, but when he does speak in those private, hushed tones with you, it makes your eyelids flutter like butterfly wings. “Please, Arthur. Let me be the temptation that you never deny yourself. I can be your safe place where your darkness can shine without judgement. Without fear.

“I know this is hard for you, Arthur. And I’m not trying to make it any harder. If anything, I’m trying to make it easier for you. I don’t care that we sleep outside on a cot in a tent. That just means I get to hold you closer to me to keep warm. And I don’t care that you’re an outlaw. Because, if anything, that means you will do anything to protect me. But I need you to trust me, Arthur. Just as I have learned to trust you.”

Arthur brings his fingers up to pinch at his temples as if trying to keep his head from exploding. “Why do you put up with me?”

“I thought I just went over that.” You smile at him. “Because Arthur, I may be yours. But that means that you are mine. Remember? I told you that in Colter.”

“Hmmm, that’s right. You did mention something about that,” he grins, his cheeks running pink as he remembers that wonderful night up in your little ramshackle cabin in the mountains. “I guess you were pretty adamant about that.”

“When it comes to you, Arthur, I am always adamant.” Your fingers lace behind his head, woven into his thick hair again as you gently pull him down to your velvety lips for a deep and passionate kiss. When you separate for a staggered breath, you begin to whisper sweet nothings to him, peppering strategic kisses along his chin and neck, along his cheeks and nose and along those plump lips again. “You are mine to kiss…to hold…to yell at…to whisper to…to worry over…to trust…to be angry with… and to love beyond measure.” 

—-----------------------------------

Later, the evening has draped its dark blanket around the earth once more. The crisp air fills with the sounds of the first signs of the frogs coming out for the Spring, their chirping so loud, yet seamlessly melded into the landscape at the same time. There is a humid thickness that settles over everything, bathing everything in a dewy layer that carries the smell of yet-to-fall rain. 

This is just a quick layover before you reach Horseshoe Overlook in the morning. No sense in setting up a fixed camp, so everyone has a bedroll on the damp ground and congregates around multiple fires, huddled for warmth under their blankets. Everyone is blissfully asleep before the day begins anew again with another set of challenges. 

You and Arthur have set up your little nest against his wagon, his bedroll laid out with blankets and a little fire going in front of you to keep you warm overnight. The two of you lay intertwined, perfectly content to be together and away from everyone else. You have finally drifted off to sleep, curled up against Arthur, his bulk and warmth a calming presence. He sits with his back propped up a bit, watching you doze so contentedly as you lay across his torso. His left arm cradles you protectively to him, his fingertips dragging lazily along your arm and shoulder. 

The fire is still stoked fairly well at this late hour, casting its soft golden hues across your sleeping form as the heat of the flames envelopes you both. Arthur stares into the fire, watching the hypnotic flames lick up and around the wood, its coals flaring crimson and pulsating like a heartbeat. 

He reaches over to his satchel, careful not to move too much and disturb your slumber, and pulls his journal out, lying it upon his thigh and opening the precious pages to write. His thoughts are still swirling from earlier:  seeing your image on a wanted poster, leaving you with Micah, and then later fighting with that idiot. But it was seeing you with Micah afterwards that has set his nerves ablaze. But Arthur doesn’t want to burden you with it any more than he has already. You are stressed enough as it is, he doesn’t want to add to it. Losing Jenny and Mac was hard for you, causing you to doubt your abilities as a doctor. You’ve been terrified of losing John to his injuries. You almost drowned trying to save Lenny from the icy waters in Colter. And now, you are hunted, just like the rest of the gang. It burns Arthur from the inside out to see such pain and turmoil behind those serene eyes of yours, always a window to your very soul. So as usual, he opts to pour his thoughts into that leather-bound book of his like it is a church confessional. 

We came down the mountain pass today. Sure glad to get out of that awful cold. But, of course nothing is ever easy for us. Maybe rightfully so. The wagon busted a wheel and had to get that fixed. The gang needs things so Dutch sent Y/N to the nearest trading post before the closest town to see if she could round up some food and medical supplies. She’d know better than anyone what we need. Of course I took her, but for some damn reason Micah was sent along with us. That man just irritates me to no end. I don’t know why Dutch keeps him around, but who am I to say anything?

But unfortunately one of my worst fears came true. We was in that village and there on the post wall was a wanted poster of Y/N. That damn bank robbery back in Red Rock. I was hoping to keep her safe from all this ugliness, but looks like I failed at that. Now she’s bound to a life of looking over her shoulder, same as the rest of us. I never wanted that life for her. Seems like everyone who gets near me gets pulled into my kind of trouble. 

But that wasn’t the worst of it. Y/N got pulled from me and had to rely on Micah to get her out because I wasn’t able to do it. In the midst of trying to escape, she had to kiss that ugly bastard. He had his hands all over her. Makes me see red just thinking about it again. But the worst part is that she had to tend to him once they got back to camp. He wasn’t ugly to her, which is a surprise, but in fact made me even more uneasy. I don’t know what’s going on in that twisted mind of his, but I fear he may have Y/N in his sights. That worries me because I can’t be around all the time to protect her and I have no idea to what lengths he’d go to get what he wants. Things are bad enough after Blackwater, I can only hope I can keep Y/N safe from Micah as well. I do love her so. I think I had to live through what love is not to really understand what it is. She’s a damn fool for loving a man like me, but I’m too selfish to let her go. And I’d die a thousand times if I lost her. I pray Dutch has a plan to get us all out of this mess once and for all. And then maybe, just maybe, Y/N and I can start a real life together. 

—--------------------------------------------------------

Several yards away, across the make-shift camp, Micah sits cross legged on the cold, damp ground, poking at his fire with a stick. Half-heartedly satisfied with the glowing embers, he reclines back against his saddle and rotates his arm in the air, trying to stretch the stiffness from his newly-repaired shoulder. A sharp pain cuts through his nerves when his skin pulls taught at your carefully-placed stitches. Micah stifles a yelp as his hand shoots to the wound, his face wincing until the radiating wave of pain finally subsides. The pain is a stark reminder to the tumultuous thoughts that plague his mind that he’s been desperately trying to bury since this afternoon. 

With a long, tired sigh, Micah lifts his weary eyes across his campfire and instinctively seeks out your sleeping form that is currently tucked into Arthur’s side. He observes how your face carries such peace and tranquility as you slumber under your lover’s protective arms. Micah shifts uncomfortably as if he can’t be contained within his own skin as the day’s events roll about in his mind, replaying over and over again like that goddamn gramophone of Dutch’s. 

He hates you. At least that’s what Micah tells himself. But he doesn’t really. You just make him feel things that he claims don’t exist. Or at least, tries to. It is that lingering taste of you on Micah’s lips that has innocently seduced his cravings for you to run wild in his soul. And now that he’s tasted you, he realizes how starved he really is. 

It is becoming clear in Micah’s mind that he is quickly becoming consumed by you, just as Arthur has, attracted to you in ways that he can’t explain and long forgot. He craves your attention like a man in the desert craves water. And he thinks about you more than you realize. 

You are both the first and last thing on Micah’s mind each day. You are becoming his weakness, just as you are Arthur’s. He aches for the feeling of your fingertips along his dry, scarred skin. The reality of it is, his heart breaks a little more every time he hears your name. And a piece of his soul dies when he hears Arthur’s, and not his, on your perfect lips. It is a whole different kind of pain when one’s heart cries, but their eyes don’t. But Micah will stare into the blinding sun before he looks into the mirror to see what can be done to fix that.  

Micah has always known that the two of you are like oil and water. But he was hoping that deep down, maybe you were just looking for an opportunity to hate him a little less. But he sees now that will never be the case. And that is the thing about it. Not only do you despise his very guts, but you are also that enamored with Morgan. And there are few things Micah can do about that. 

Micah would often watch you with Arthur when he thought no one was looking. It is much more than love you have for Arthur. You take care of him, you look after him. You make sure he is fed and clean. You mend his clothing with such precision and care. You rub his shoulders when he aches and your soft fingers dance along his forearms when he’s returned after a bad job. 

It is like a knife in Micah’s heart to know that you would never do these things for him. You could cruelly break his heart of stone without even realizing it. But that’s all he has to give to you, as he has never given it to anyone else. In fact he’s not sure any woman ever would accept it. But he’s come to terms with that because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. But what infuriates Micah is that he’s sure that Arthur doesn’t either. 

Micah pulls his bitter gaze back to the flames in front of him, his lips twisted in a pinched and frustrated expression. He flings the stick he used to stoke the fire into the heated bed of coals with a huff before bringing his clenched fist to his lips. If he had any presence of mind, he’d swipe the unshed tears from his hardened eyes before anyone sees. But Micah Bell hasn’t cried in years, not since he was a kid. It’s such a foreign concept that he isn’t even aware that it's happening. 

His vision begins to blur as he watches the burning wisps of red and orange engulf the jagged wood, noticing how they elegantly wrap themselves around the ugly, charred wooden scales like silk, offering warmth and consuming it until the fire and wood are one. 

And that is when Micah realizes that you are the fire. And he has been cold his whole life. 

*This is not my image, but posted on Pintrest by Lee

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*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people. 

[wooahaes]

svt - holding them

pairing: non-idol!svt x gn!reader

prompt: holding them :)

genre: honestly these are probably mostly hurt/comfort but theres some fluff in here i swear.

warnings: mentions of various stressful situations. comfort for a lot of these. mentioned injury in chan's. mentioned fight + seungkwan being pissed during his (not directed at reader at all). introvert!reader in wonwoo's. alcohol mention in mingyu's. food mentions, often in a vague sense throughout (just mentions of meals--although seokmin's mentions cupcakes for puppies).

daisy's notes: its cozy comfort hours.

choi seungcheol

seungcheol would sometimes just melt into you whenever you held him. you always took it as a sign that he trusted you wholeheartedly, and he meant it in that way and a sign that he loved you with everything that he was.

sometimes he'd be saddled with the brunt of the work in his department, and typically it meant he'd stress over making sure everything was done right. with the addition of a new intern (vernon--you'd met him once when you dropped by to get seungcheol lunch when he was too busy to leave, and he seemed like a nice enough guy), this stress seemed to be two-fold this time around. he'd work later, always telling you to go on and eat dinner without him. he'd always promise that this would be over soon, too: this was one of their busier periods. of course, you knew this by now--you'd been with seungcheol long enough to understand his work--but the honesty was always appreciated.

seungcheol had come home while you were making a cup of tea before bed, and quietly shuffled over to you. without saying anything, he'd already slipped his arms underneath yours to hug you around your chest. your arms curled around his shoulders, and you pulled him in, letting him melt into you again. secure in your arms, he let out a long sigh, face burying into your shoulder--and, for just a moment, you thought he might collapse right then and there. he just stayed there for a few silent minutes longer, before he let go of you, drawing back to look at your face.

you nodded toward your cup of tea. "do you want one?"

and he nodded, already leaning into plant a peck against your lips. "i love you," he mumbled, fully pulling away. you watched the quiet way he disappeared down the hall, the sound of the bedroom door opening a second later.

you'd hold him against once the two of you had finished your tea, and you'd play with his hair the way he liked while he vented whatever frustrations he needed to vent. you always liked holding your love normally, but this?

this felt special. and if he needed you to be a safe haven for him, you were glad to return the favor he always granted you the moment you needed it.

yoon jeonghan

jeonghan always knew that he just had to ask for you to hold him for you to do it. that was why he almost never did: not outright, at least. he'd merely slither his way into your arms, and respond to your soft 'happy?' with a blissful sigh and a 'very.' he liked being held by you sometimes. he knew you found this sense of security in his arms, and he was always happy to say that he found the same with you. curling up in your arms felt like he was home again.

so the first place he wanted to be after exiting his plane was home. as much as he could enjoy getting to see places abroad, he always wished he could bring you along with him. it'd mean that he wouldn't have to share a room with joshua (who he was perfectly fine with: there were few others he'd be so happy to share a room with), and that he could come back from the days of being stuck with other people to see your lovely face before he took you out for sightseeing and dinner. instead he'd just have to do these dates with joshua, always sending you teasing messages about how he was enjoying his time with his 'work boyfriend' (you'd coined it forever ago to tease him, and joshua had found it amusing enough that the two of you jokingly called each other jeonghan's 'other partner'). now he just needed to go through the motions to get home. get his luggage, get a cab, climb the stairs because the elevator was out...

he'd eventually opened the bedroom door to see you asleep. of course you would be: it was late and he told you to not wait up for him due to flight delays. he pulled at his tie, already going through the rest of the motions: suit off (get dry-cleaned later--too tired to care about fucking it up), clothes changed, teeth brushed... collapse into bed next to you.

you'd woken up, jostled by the sudden movement as your sleepy eyes found his in the dark. wordlessly, you opened your arms up to him, and he immediately moved in. welcome home. he pressed kisses against your neck and cheeks, making up for those lost few days for a moment.

"missed you," he mumbled against your skin.

you giggled as you held him tighter. "missed you, too, hannie."

joshua hong

joshua was never afraid to ask you to hold him. tonight was no different.

sometimes it was driven on by that need for physical comfort, but not always. sometimes it would be nights like this: you'd be curled up next to him in bed, talking aimlessly with him about your day since the two of you had barely spoken past a quick meal together before you were getting ready for bed. he'd been drained from work, you had been, too... that left a lot of talk for that melting space between waking and sleep.

"honey?" his eyes found yours in the low light, and you watched the way he stretched an arm back to place his phone back onto the nightstand. "can you just... hold me tonight?"

you obliged with ease. he settled in, shutting his eyes as his arms wrapped around you and squeezed you for just a second--a little 'i love you' without words.

"you can keep talking," he said after a moment. "i'm still listening, i promise."

he relaxed against you as you reached up, playing with his hair as you continued to talk about office drama. nothing too major, thankfully--you were just ready for it to be over and to be coming home at a normal time again. at least the extra pay was nice.

joshua could hear your heart beating. for a moment, he stopped listening to office drama and focused entirely on that. everything would be fine. another long day was just that: a day he managed to get through. everything would be okay if he made it right here, back in your arms and listening to you talk about things that mattered now but might not in a week (that was life, though, wasn't it? a series of moments of caring, even if those moments weren't important in the long run). he played with the hem of your shirt, trying to figure out who you were talking about now.

"hey?" he says quietly. "i love you."

for a moment, you paused. and then he heard you chuckle. "i love you, too, honey."

yeah... things would always be okay if he heard you say that.

wen junhui

jun had settled into your arms maybe twenty minutes ago, and he'd yet to say a word. at this point, you thought he might purr if you kept playing with his hair.

most nights, jun liked holding you. hell, most days jun liked to hold you. he was this soft lovable guy who often found a way to hold you regardless of where the two of you were. in a store? he'd wrap his arms around you from behind, looking at whatever you were looking at (even if you were comparing tomatoes or something). you were cooking because it was your night to cook? well, fine, jun wouldn't help you because you refused it... so he'd simple settle in, arms wrapped around you as he watched you cook. and he'd always pull you into his arms when the two of you settled in to sleep for the night, planting a happy kiss against your neck before snuggling in tight. he was, simply put, a snuggly man.

and you knew that something about his day must have been harder than usual, because he'd settled into your arms first and said nothing. he merely shut his eyes, and held onto you, head resting on your chest while he listened to your heartbeat. you'd seen the way his lips quirked a little when you reached a hand up, playing with his hair as you continued to read a e-book off of your phone. he would talk to you when he was ready to: you knew him well enough.

when you stopped playing with his hair, he looked up. you met his gaze, "you okay?"

he nodded, settling back in. "just missed you today."

and immediately you swore your heart somehow shattered and was put back together within seconds. you sighed. "i thought something was wrong, you goof."

he giggled. "you did? you're so sweet," he planted a tiny peck against your neck. "thank you for worrying, honey."

"yeah, yeah..." you pressed a kiss against the side of his head. "love you, too, you dork."

kwon soonyoung

soonyoung had maybe the worst day of his entire life ever.

he had plans! today was supposed to go well! he didn't have to work, and he was going to meet up with some friends and, y'know, do friend stuff. there was an amusement park that they'd been wanting to go to, and soonyoung had hyped himself up for it... except seungcheol ended up sick (something he'd warned about the night before--something about his partner catching something), and had to drop out. and that had seemed to set off a chain of events. seungkwan ended up having to work because one of his coworkers (the young college kid, seungkwan had said with scorn) called in sick at the last minute (seungkwan said he heard giggling on the other end of the phone--that fucker was absolutely not sick and that fake cough spoke volumes), jeonghan ended up needing to go see his partner about some family issue, jihoon... well. jihoon didn't do anything except point out the weather.

but jihoon had still offered to go out, maybe get lunch with anyone interested in still going. which is why soonyoung was now completely soaked since the two got lunch and parted ways before he was immediately caught in a downpour. plus lunch hadn't even been that good (jihoon's was--he'd let him steal a bite and soonyoung had just powered through his own crummy meal). today was supposed to be fun and now he was standing inside the front door to his apartment, soaked to the bone.

he shut his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before calling out for you. after a minute, you'd come into the room, stopping before immediately turning on your heel to leave. he could hear the bathroom door open, and then the water being started up. he barely saw your face again before you'd thrown a towel over his head, already working to try and dry him off a little.

"baby, why didn't you take your umbrella?"

because it broke. again: worst day of his life, probably. but soonyoung listened to you when you told him to go take a warm shower, that you'd get him some clean clothes and maybe make soup while he was in there. he'd told you not to worry about soup right now.

"can you just... hold me when i get out?"

you agreed easily enough. and when he left the shower, getting dressed again, he found you in the bedroom, curled up and waiting for him. within minutes, he had folded himself into your arms, holding on as he buried his face in your shoulder. you smelled like his cologne, and yet it seemed to comfort him in a weird way. like it was this little reminder that you were here for him still, even after everything went wrong for a while.

today might have been awful... but things felt right now that you were holding him.

jeon wonwoo

wonwoo knew the routine for post-socialization nights. nightly routine (skincare, changing into comfy clothes), and then he would load up whatever game the two of you were going to play to unwind while you scrounged around for snacks. on rarer nights, wonwoo would be the one who would pull together an assortment of snacks--usually because he'd be too tired to game, but would be happy to keep you company. tonight was one of those nights, where wonwoo listened as you loaded up your game on the PS4. he heard the telltale gentle piano opening to the game (who knew such a silly concept like mixing disney with final fantasy could make a game so impactful? wonwoo liked watching you play, though: he knew how important it was to you, and he saw it as a way of learning more about you), and he found himself smiling a little. he knew you well.

when he returned to the couch, you'd already gathered up a few blankets and pillows so the two of you could get fully comfy. these were the perks of dating a fellow introvert, in wonwoo's opinion: the two of you had decided on some sort of "decomposing" ritual for nights like these. when the two of you were just dating, it was usually ice cream or coffee or a nice walk together before parting ways. later it became playing video games online with one another, and now it was playing them together and cuddling.

with snacks in hand, wonwoo sat down next to you, watching as you curled up at one end of the couch. without saying anything, all you had to do was glance at him before you opened yourself up so that he could lay in your arms. you'd hold the controller out in front of him, adjusting your position as needed so that you could comfortably play (you'd left off somewhere in the aladdin-based world). he would offer up food to you, and sometimes you'd accept.

the two of you made it work. and wonwoo subtly smiled to himself as he cuddled closer to you, only pulling away to put the empty bowl ont he coffee table. he'd turn over, too, and lay atop you, snuggling in happily as he watched you play.

"happy?" you mused aloud, not taking your eyes off the screen.

"mhm." he nuzzled his head against your chest, smiling a little more now. "so... can you explain what we're doing again?"

he heard the way you chuckled. "we're looking for aladdin right now."

"again? i thought that was the first game."

another warm chuckle, deep in your chest. "yeah," you shifted, just to keep wonwoo close to you. "again."

lee jihoon

jihoon wasn't always one for skinship. this was something you knew: it was reserved for people he was close with, and for people who didn't use it as an excuse to baby him in any way. you'd seen the way his friend, seokmin, liked to teasingly (attempt) kiss him on the cheek and the way he'd always lean away, pretending to act grumpy while his smile always broke through a little. and with you, he'd always been open to little things in public like holding your hand or the occasional hug when it was cold out and you were seeking warmth. hell, sometimes he'd keep an arm loosely around you in public when you were in a crowded space. a tiny symbol that the two of you were linked together, but in a way that minimized the space you were taking up as you entered one another's bubble.

at home, though, things were different. jihoon wasn't afraid to ask for a hug or to be held if he needed it. and sometimes, after particularly stressful days, he needed it.

"honey?" his voice was always quiet, as if to keep this moment between the two of you alone. he'd always drop a 'honey' or 'love' too, as if to sweeten the deal (or maybe it was his way of telegraphing it to you: this is a sign i need something more intimate...). "can you hold me?"

he'd always ask, no matter how long the two of you had been dating. it was his way of telling you that his day had been rough without outright saying it. you'd maybe said 'no' once or twice due to awful timing: you'd been sick both times and didn't want to risk him catching whatever you had, but he'd understood easily enough... and you'd later get a picture from his roommate, soonyoung, 'stealing your man' (his way of saying not to worry: he was taking care of him). but your 'yes' came easily, and you'd readjusted in your position on the couch for him to essentially lay on you, cuddling into your arms.

"do you want to talk about it?" you asked once he'd settled in.

he shook his head. "maybe later. just... hold me for a bit first."

and you always would, snuggling together like you were each other's perfect fit.

lee seokmin

seokmin loved holding you... but he loved being held by you, too. never ask him to pick which one, because he would refuse every single time: there's too many pros and cons to both for him to pick between the options. therefore, seokmin just... liked holding. was that weird to say? he wasn't sure: regardless of who was doing said holding, he would always be happy.

which was why he was happy as you wrapped your arms around him from behind while he was on the phone with seungkwan, trying to coordinate a surprise party for another "special" friend. the party planning had been stressful (you told seokmin that bookkeu was a dog, he would be happy regardless of what seungkwan did for him, and then seungkwan stopped talking to you for a week until you apologized and said that you only meant it as a 'please don't let him lose sleep over this' deal), and just being in your arms helped plenty. was it maybe a little silly to get this worked up over coordinating a surprise party for a literal dog? maybe. but seungkwan had been excited over throwing a birthday party for his dog (bookkeu was a beloved member of the family, after all), and seokmin had grown a little excited over making doggy cupcakes... life was simply too short to not embrace things like this.

seokmin looked over his shoulder at you with a quiet "hi, honey," before he went back to talking about saying something about how the paw print mold was on its way so he could decorate the cupcakes with them. before you could draw back, he caught your wrist, pulling you back in so that you were still firmly pressed against his back. he pulled your wrist up so he could press a tiny peck against the inside of it, swaying happily with your arms still firmly around him.

the moment his phone call was over, he shoved his phone into his pocket and turned to face you. "hi," he giggled. "we're excited."

"i can tell," you smiled back, running a hand through his hair. "you sound excited."

"they're pupcakes," he said, pulling you in closer. "aren't you excited?"

for seokmin? you'd be excited over anything just to share in that joy alongside him.

kim mingyu

mingyu dragged himself into your bedroom, each step seemingly heavier than the last. you looked up from your book to see utter exhaustion on his face, and immediately set it aside.

"gyu--"

"drank too much," he mumbled as he all but collapsed onto his side of the bed. "cheol's fault..."

the cute way he was pouting now earned a giggle from you. of course it was him out drinking with seungcheol that ended with your pouty boyfriend all tired and maybe feeling a little sick. you crawled over, pulling at his shoulders. he gave in with ease, rolling onto his back as he rest his head in your lap, eyes falling shut as you began to play with his hair.

"did you drink water?" you asked. he nodded, leaning further into your touch. "i'll get another glass in a few minutes."

he shook his head. "can you... can you hold me first?"

of course you would. he stayed in your lap a little longer, too in love with the way you were playing with his hair until he turned over. rather than letting you move, he just crawled up, resting his head on your chest as he basically crushed you underneath him. you adjusted as best as you could, wrapping your arms around him, fingers still running through his hair. you could feel his smile through the thin fabric of your shirt, his arms wrapping around you after a moment.

"love you," he mumbled, turning his face so that he could press a kiss against your chest. "love you," he mumbled again.

you managed to plant a peck against the side of his head. "love you, too, mingyu."

xu minghao

minghao, simply put, preferred caring for you. there was something tender about being able to dote on his beloved whenever he could. it wasn't as though he hid his bad days from you--the two of you lived together now, that wasn't exactly an option, and not one he was ever fond of except for the very early days of you two dating (and even then, he was always mature enough to say he was having a rough day and he'd talk to you later in a way of asking for space). but from the moment he woke up this morning, something was... off.

so when he finally came home to you after work and meditating in the park, he gave in. "today was hard," he simply said as he was hanging up his jacket. "do you mind holding me for a little while?"

angel that you were, you never minded. minghao always knew he could come home and nuzzle into your open arms whenever he needed to be cared for. he'd always crawl into them, burrowing his face in your neck. he could smell your favorite body spray clinging to your skin, and it felt like home. you, too, felt like home... but that was because you were home.

something within him just... broke. maybe it was stress, or maybe he'd been holding himself together for far too long without relief. one moment he was fine, and the next he was tearing up for reasons he'd never be able to piece together. he buried his face further into your neck, holding onto you tight as he let himself cry (because you would always let him cry if he needed to--you were safe, you were home).

"oh, hao..." your voice was quiet, but he could feel the slight rumble in your chest from how close his body was pressed against yours. "it's okay." you traced circles onto his back. "just let it out, love. i'm here."

you were here. home. and he held onto you tighter, safe to come undone within your loving embrace.

boo seungkwan

seungkwan was mad. very mad. you could hear the front door slam from your curled-up position in bed, and that meant something went very wrong with whatever hang-out he had arranged with his friends. a few seconds later, you heard the bathroom door slam, and then open and close normally a minute later. before you knew it, seungkwan had thrown open the door and immediately apologized--to both you and the door for being so angry. he closed it with a restrained anger, and made his way over to bed.

"seungkwan?" you called to him quietly, watching him curl up tighter. "c'mere."

and he did. without hesitation, he turned over and moved into your arms, because that was one of the places he found calmed him the most. he let you hold him, and he shut his eyes, taking slow breaths as he curled up closer to you.

"you wanna talk about it?"

"in a minute." his fingers dug into your skin, and he pulled himself closer to you. and then he resumed his breathing, willing himself to calm down even further before he even thought about ranting to you.

"did something happen?"

he nodded. "i'll apologize later," he huffed. "after he apologizes first."

oh. ouch. you felt your phone buzz on the mattress beside you. no doubt it was someone trying to give you some kind of heads up (or maybe even an inkling of what had happened--probably vernon or jeonghan). you just started to knead at his back, feeling the way seungkwan further relaxed against you.

"i'm sorry," he mumbled softly. "did i scare you when i came in...?"

"a little, but it's okay," you said. "you're upset. did you guys get to have dinner?"

he shook his head.

"well," you pushed him back by the shoulders, just enough that you could look into his eyes. "let's order dinner and eat together... and then i can hold you again while you tell me what happened."

seungkwan leaned in, pressing a quick peck against your lips. "thank you," he said. "i love you."

"love you, too, kwannie."

chwe vernon

"hey. can you hold me for a bit? i'm kinda cold."

vernon was the king of unsubtle. it was hot out. hell, it was kind of warm in your apartment. the only colder room was your bedroom, and that was because the window A/C unit was in there. he was just watching a movie with you, no blankets because the two of you were warm enough. and now he was looking at you with this cute smile on his face, as if he couldn't just ask you to hold him because he wanted to be held. like he needed to go on some secret mission to get what he wanted.

"dude, you're wearing a hoodie."

never had you seen him strip it off so quickly, turning to you. "can you hold me now?"

ah. he knew this was becoming a little game. "you're already cold?"

"yep. freezing. need ya."

you rolled your eyes, and opened your arms to him. he happily shifted so that he could rest, back against your chest, and you could see that gummy smile as he cuddled in. again: the king of being unsubtle. he'd snuggled in a little further, hands coming up to hold onto your arms as he dragged his thumbs against your skin.

barely ten minutes later, and he peeked up at your face. "babe."

ah. the term of endearment. you knew what was coming next. "nope."

"i forgot you're like your own heater!"

"and now you're stuck here like my teddy bear," you held him a little tighter. "live with it, chwe."

(he would. for the rest of his life, if you'd let him.)

lee chan

"i told you, i'm fine!"

despite the elevated ankle, chan had been trying to convince you of this for the past twenty minutes. it was just a little sprain that the doctor said he needed to stay off of as much as he could. just a little one. he'd be fine by the end of the week, he was positive. even among his bickering with you, you'd moved around your shared bedroom, arranging things so that chan wouldn't have to worry too much. you'd elevated his ankle, made sure that the wrapping was still secure, and kept his crutches within reach in case he needed them.

("just a 'little' sprain" your ass--he'd teared up on you for a minute because of how bad it hurt, and even then he kept insisting he'd walk it off.)

"channie," you pouted at him. "i'm gonna take care of you, alright?"

he only pouted at you in return. "i don't need you to take care of me--it's just a sprain. i've been through worse--"

"that doesn't mean you need to neglect yourself this time!" you huffed, and crawled in from the other side of the bed.

before he could complain further, you pulled him over and into your arms, mindful of his ankle. you linked your arms around him, holding onto him tight before he could try to escape again because he noticed that the dishes needed doing and you were the one who cooked this morning, so it was only fair for him to do them. he'd tried to argue that he'd just be leaning against the counter, he could still help.

despite his sulking, you noticed the way he snuggled into your arms. "you're cheating."

"not my fault you love me so much."

"isn't it?" a tinge of amusement lined his voice, and you found yourself smiling a little, too. "you're the one who made me fall for you."

"you're the one who fell for me, you dork."

"literally--"

and among your vocalized complaints, he just laughed again and pulled one of your hands up so he could kiss the back of it. fine. he'd rest... for now.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @synthetickitsune @gyulbabie

[serumandsteel]

The Shape of Silence | pt 2

part 1

pairing: tfatws bucky x (f) reader

summary: after years off-grid, you’re pulled back into the field by Sam Wilson. a freezing safe house, surveillance feeds and one tense comms line are all that stand between you and the past you’ve been trying to outrun. when John Walker blows the op wide open, you’re forced to step out of the shadows. this isn’t how you pictured seeing Bucky again — and by the look in his eyes, it’s not how he imagined it either.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: cannon level violence, emotional trauma, unresolved tension, swearing, and John Walker, well being himself is enough of a warning on its own.

a/n: I wrote this so quickly, so happy people liked part one & really hope you like this one! appreciate the love - msg me to be added to the tag list for the next chapter xx

You weren’t picky about your accommodations these days — so long as they had four walls, a lock, and zero rats. But this place? This place had the distinct charm of a war criminal’s final hideout. How did Sam even scope out this place. The building looked like it hadn’t seen a tenant since the Cold War. Probably because it hadn’t.

The mattress on the floor to your left looked like it had once hosted either a tragic breakup or a quietly successful murder. The walls were yellowing and cracked, plaster curling away in strips. A TV was bolted crookedly to one corner, eternally stuck on static—though you weren’t convinced it was even plugged in.

Outside, the sky was bruised grey, heavy with snow that hadn’t started falling yet but was definitely coming. The cold was creeping in through the gaps in the window and through the cracks of the wall. Every part of the room felt like it was waiting to collapse.

Across the narrow, cobbled street, the neighbouring buildings leaned inward like they were watching. Judging.  Or maybe you were just tired.

You stood, stretching out your legs, and glanced at the battered radiator under the window. It coughed, sputtered, then made a sound like it had lost the will to live entirely. So, no help there.

But the wifi was solid, the walls were thick, and Sam hadn’t asked too many questions when you told him to ditch the Google Maps pin and send coordinates in a cipher you’d created for Natasha many years ago. 

You sat cross-legged on the floor. There was no way in hell you were putting your ass on that mattress.  The floor wasn’t much better, but at least it didn’t feel like a biohazard.

Your gear was scattered around you in a loose, familiar orbit. Some of it was yours, worn but reliable. The rest, newer additions Sam had left in the room for you. But the essentials? They never changed. Burner phone to your left. Gun to your right. A half-drunk Red Bull within arm’s reach. The only warmth in the room came from your laptop, buzzing steady against your thighs.

The headset clung tight against your ears, the cable coiled at your collar like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there. It was the only thing keeping you tethered, something solid to focus on while your hands shook and your palms ran cold.

You exhaled, slow. What the hell were you even doing here? You should’ve said no. You could’ve said no. If you’d kept your shit together, maybe you’d be in Fiji right now. Using a rich politician’s credit card you hacked, sipping cocktails and abusing the room service. But instead—this.

Because Sam called. And because deep down, maybe it wasn’t just Sam you said yes to. You swallowed hard and squared your shoulders. You were here now. No backing out. No running.

He asked for your help—and whether it was about the mission or something else entirely, that alone was enough.

“Okay,” you muttered to no one. “Back in the saddle.”

A chime pinged from the laptop. It was Sam

SAM WILSON (incoming): You live?

You rolled your eyes and typed back:

YOU: unfortunately.

The comms link opened with a pop of static. Sam’s voice crackled through the speaker. “What’s crawled up your ass?”

You dropped your head into your hands to avoid punching the laptop. “I’m running on four hours of sleep in a shithole you call a safe house.”

“So business as usual.”

If looks could kill, Sam would be forty feet under.

“We’re just doing a ground sweep. You’ve got eyes on?”

You toggled to the tactical grid you'd just cracked, four security cams stuttering in grayscale. Two guards on the roof. One smoking near the loading dock. A fourth hunched over some kind of device.

“Eyes on and ears in,” you said, adjusting your headset. “You sure you don’t wanna warn Barnes I’m here?”

“He’ll figure it out.”

You arched a brow. “That your version of easing him into it?”

“Look, I didn’t not mention you. I just didn’t... announce it.”

Anxiety crawled up your spine like a spider up a web. That old, creeping feeling—like your body already knew something was about to go wrong even if there was a slim chance it might not. Your stomach twisted, the same way it always did when you let yourself care too much. About him.

“He’s going to be so pissed, Sam.”

A pause.

Then, as smug as ever: “C’mon. Bucky’s never pissed at me.”

You gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well. He might make an exception.”

Sam hesitated. Just long enough to make you wonder if he was starting to realize this wasn’t just about you disappearing.

“Just promise me you’ll keep your mic on,” he said, switching lanes like he could steer the whole conversation out of a skid. “If something goes wrong—”

“I’ll improvise,” you said, already back at the keys. “I always do.”

You’d been staring at the same cracked patch of ceiling for forty-seven minutes. The waiting was the worst part. Not the gear, not the tech, not even the mission—just the stillness. The kind that buzzed beneath your skin like something old and familiar, the kind that told you no matter how far you’d run, you were exactly who you’d always been.

It scared you, how easily you’d fallen back into it. One call. One voice on the other end. And you didn’t just say yes,  this was you surrendering. Giving in to that voice that you had ignored for so long.

You should be angry. At him. At yourself. At how fragile the illusion of your new life had been, how quickly the walls you built for peace caved in the second someone mentioned his name.

But the anger never really came. Just that quiet hum in your chest. That thing you couldn’t name. Maybe anxiety. Maybe anticipation. Maybe the kind of pull you didn’t want to admit had anything to do with him.

You told yourself it was the mission. That it was about doing the right thing. But deep down, you knew: it was always going to be about Bucky. You would follow him anywhere. You always had. And that truth—raw and echoing—still scared the shit out of you.

So now, sitting in this freezing room with your comms gear spread across the floor and the familiar itch of adrenaline crawling up your spine, it felt like you’d time-traveled. Like the years in hiding never happened. Like you’d never tried to break away.

You were back in it. And worse—you weren’t sure you ever really left.

The low buzz of static in your headset snapped you out of the spiral you’d been caught in. It was go time. No backing out now.

Your eyes swept across the four camera feeds on your screen. You spotted Sam first—he gave the signal you’d worked out earlier. Simple. Precise. It was the first time you’d seen him in a while, and even through the grainy security footage, there was something different about him. Something steady.

Confidence, sure—but not the cocky, reckless kind. This was heavier. More grounded. The kind of confidence that came with responsibility, with leadership. The kind of presence that made Steve hand him the shield without hesitation.

But still—why had Sam given it up?

It was something you never really got your head around. He was the right choice. He always had been.

Your gaze flicked to the next screen—stairwell cam. John Walker. Great.

You didn’t care where he was. Didn’t want to waste so much as a second of bandwidth tracking him. He could cover his own six. If Sam really thought you were going to drop everything and play backup for Walker, then maybe he’d forgotten who the hell he called in.

Then… you saw him.

Mid-movement on the far-right feed. A flicker of motion caught your eye—and just like that, the air left your lungs.

Bucky.

The footage was rough—washed out and slightly off-kilter from the old camera—but even from a distance, there was no mistaking him. His figure cut clean through the frame, sharp and purposeful against the industrial backdrop.

The light skimmed the gold detailing on his vibranium arm as he rolled his shoulder back, smooth and practiced, like it was flesh and not forged metal. The new arm had a quiet menace to it—sleek, dangerous... maybe even a little sexy.

No. Don’t go there.

You’d never really seen this version. You weren’t there the day they gave it to him. By the time you even had a chance, alien warships were tearing up Wakanda and the world was falling apart again.

His suit was black—tactical, minimal, zipped up to the collar like armor he never quite took off. Every piece had a purpose. Every seam looked built to carry weight. It hugged him like it was made just for him. No frills. No distractions. Just Bucky.

His hair was shorter now.

You remembered the way it felt between your fingers that night—the softness, the weight of it. Gone now. Cropped clean. Less wild. More... controlled.

Like everything else about him.

You watched him flex his left hand once, then go still. That kind of stillness that wasn’t calm—just focused. Like a wolf, watching. Waiting. On the edge of violence.

He didn’t look at the camera.

Didn’t need to.

But somehow, you still felt like he knew someone was watching

The feed pinged. Another motion alert lit up red in the corner of the screen. You adjusted the mic.

“Sam—left corridor is clear. Take the next door on your right, and loop around. Avoid the stairwell. You’ve got a nasty surprise waiting if you go that way.”

You heard Sam’s voice crackle back through comms, calm as ever. “Copy that.”

Your eyes stayed on the screens, tracking every shadow, every flicker of movement. You called it like muscle memory. Fast. Sharp. Detached. But your palms were still sweating. And your heart was beating in a way you really wished it wasn’t.

Then—

“Who the hell’s on comms?”

Bucky’s voice cut through the channel, low and clipped. You could hear the annoyance already curling at the edges. Great.

He hadn’t even finished the sentence before Sam sighed.

“Don’t start.”

“Don’t start?” Bucky shot back, dry. “You bring in her, and you think I’m not gonna start?”

Your throat tightened.

There it was. The moment you knew was coming—the crack in the silence you’d built your entire life around for the past few years. All the distance you’d put between yourself and this exact situation? Useless now.

Still, you cleared your throat and forced your voice through. “The Dealer’s moving. Two agents coming up behind you, fast. You’ve got ten seconds.”

Silence.

Then, begrudgingly: “Copy.”

You caught Sam’s faint grunt of amusement. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” Bucky muttered.

“No, I did,” Sam shot back. “Because I needed someone who knows what the hell they’re doing. Someone who can watch our backs while we’re in the fire. And if you’ve got a problem with that, Barnes, I suggest you keep it to yourself until we’re not under assault.”

The silence that followed was thick.

Bucky didn’t answer, but the way he moved on the screen told you everything. Jaw locked. Shoulders tense. You’d seen that posture before. It was the one he used to get when something was digging under his skin and he didn’t know where to put it.

And god, you hated how familiar that still was.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Part of you wanted to disappear again. Fade back into static, let them finish the mission and figure the rest out later. But Sam had asked for you. Trusted you.

And Bucky—

Bucky had every right to be angry. Because you had disappeared. Left him in the middle of a war and never looked back. Not really. Not in a way that mattered.

Your voice was steadier when it came through again.

“Third floor corridor, west wing—two heat signatures holding near the service elevator. Might be backup. Sam, take Bucky and flank them from the north stairwell. Don’t go in loud unless you have to.”

Another pause.

Then Bucky’s voice, gritted but composed. “Understood.”

You stared at the screen, watching them move. Watching him move.

And for the first time since this whole thing started, the weight of it all settled in for real.

This wasn’t just a mission. This was the start of a reckoning.

You tracked Sam’s heat signature as he cleared the west corridor, voice calm as you fed him directions through the earpiece.

“Two coming up behind the generator. You’ve got thirty seconds until they cross your path—”

A new voice cut in, all bravado and static.

“This is Captain America. Copying channel—what’s the plan, boys?”

You froze.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

You didn’t even try to filter the disdain in your tone. “Wow. Rolls off your tongue real easy, huh?”

Silence. Then a very slow, very deliberate sigh from Walker’s end.

“Who the hell is that?”

“Someone who’s been doing this longer than you’ve had that overcompensating shield,” you muttered.

Bucky’s voice came in next—low, barely more than a breath, but you caught the huff. It sounded suspiciously like a laugh smothered by annoyance.

“Keep moving, Walker,” he said flatly. “You’re blocking the channel.”

You swore you heard Sam mumble something that sounded like Jesus Christ under his breath, but he didn’t correct either of you.

John scoffed. “Real professional mission you’re running here, Wilson.”

“You’re welcome to leave,” Sam replied, bone dry.

“Gladly,” you added. “I’d put my money on you getting lost in the stairwell anyway.”

You heard Bucky click something—probably a fresh mag sliding into place—but there was a half-second pause before he added, “She’s not wrong.”

You didn’t say anything after that. You didn’t have to. The channel was quiet for a beat, and that silence said it all.

A rare kind of solidarity.

Between you and Bucky.

Not forgiveness. Not even trust. Just… alignment.

You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how cold the laptop had gone against your thighs. Your hands weren’t shaking anymore, but the weight of what came after this—when the mission ended, when you weren’t safely tucked behind a camera feed—pressed in sharp at the edges of your ribs.

Sooner or later, you were all going to have to face each other in the same room.

You were mid-sweep of the external hallway feeds when a sharp crack split through your headset. The kind of sound you knew too well—the kind that meant something had just gone very, very wrong.

Your fingers flew over the keys as you switched to the north wing camera, the grainy feed stuttering before sharpening just enough to catch a flash of movement and pinpoint the source of the noise.

John Walker. Weapon raised. One guard already slumped at his feet. Another bolting, shouting into a radio.

You yanked your headset closer. “Walker, what the fuck are you doing?”

A pause—

Then another crack of static flared through your earpiece like a whip of white noise. Followed by gunfire.

Of course. Trust Walker to blow the damn mission.

“Sam,” you said, pulse kicking up. “Shit—Walker’s compromised.”

Your hands blurred across the keyboard, flipping between feeds. Walker’s figure flickered from one hallway to the next—his movements all bravado, no strategy. Too loud. Too proud. No subtlety. No sense.

“Walker, stand down,” Sam barked. “We had a plan—what the hell was that?”

“I handled it,” Walker snapped. “Wasn’t gonna sit around waiting for orders while they closed in.”

You didn’t even try to filter your disgust.

“Yeah, well it shows. So easy calling yourself Captain America when you don’t even know how to work with a team.”

A beat of silence.

Then a grunt. A thud.

“What the hell just happened?” Bucky’s voice, low and clipped.

“That wasn’t part of the plan,” Sam repeated, tighter now.

“I handled it, alright? Situation changed. I moved.” Walker again—defensive, arrogant, like he hadn’t just jeopardised the entire op.

“You moved without backup,” Bucky snapped. “And you just blew our cover.”

You sat frozen on the floor, heat crawling under your skin. Not from the cold. Not from fear.

Because you already knew what came next.

Then Sam again, quieter this time. Grim.

“Hey, Y/N? Remember when I said to improvise?” A pause. “I think it’s time to improvise.”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

Bucky’s voice came through like a blade. “You said she was only eyes.”

“She was,” Sam said sharply. “Plan just changed.”

On-screen, more guards were closing in on Walker’s position. Sam and Bucky were two floors over, too far out. There wasn’t time. And if Walker went down—if anyone found out he got hurt when this was Sam's mission. It’d blow back hard.

You stared at the camera feed. At the crumbling mission. At the familiar fury in your chest. You didn’t want to help Walker. You didn’t owe him shit. But you owed Sam. He’d trusted you. Called you in when no one else could.

Goddamn it.

You were on your feet before your brain caught up.

“I’m going,” you muttered into the mic, already yanking on your jacket and sliding the pistol from the floor into the holster at your hip.

You cut the line before anyone could stop you.

This was it. No time to think, no time to prepare.

All those nights you’d imagined how it might go—how you’d run into Bucky again, what you’d say, how he’d look at you—gone.

No carefully scripted reunion. No chance to brace yourself.

This wasn’t about what-ifs anymore.

The only thing that mattered now was whether you remembered your hand-to-hand training well enough to survive this—or if pure adrenaline would do the heavy lifting for you. The only weapons on you were your brain and a gun, and if those failed? You better pray your fists remembered what to do.

Cold wind slapped your face as you sprinted across the alley behind the building, boots slipping on snow-slick cobbles.

The exit you’d mapped as an extraction route had just become your entry point. You yanked open the rear stairwell door, the metal groaning on rusted hinges, and tore up the steps two at a time.

Voices ahead. Movement. No hesitation.

You found Walker in the hallway, back to the wall, still trying to play the hero.

Three guards. One bleeding. Two armed and ready.

They didn’t see you until it was too late.

You ducked the first swing, landed two solid strikes of your own, and drove your knee into the second man’s ribs with a satisfying crunch. The third reached for his weapon—You slammed his head into the wall hard enough to leave a dent.

Walker blinked at you like you’d dropped out of the sky. “Who the hell are—”

“Shut up,” you snapped, grabbing the front of his vest and dragging him behind the nearest cover. “Stay down and try not to make this worse.”His mouth opened—probably to argue—

But footsteps thundered from the stairwell behind you.

“Down!” Someone shouted.

You dropped without thinking. Instinct.

Just as Bucky rounded the corner, gun raised.

Everything stopped. Just for a beat.

His eyes locked on yours.

Not through a camera. Not through surveillance feed and memory.

Right here.

Close enough to hear your breathing. Close enough to see the years in his eyes.

He froze.

You didn’t.

“Sam,” you said into the comms, voice steady despite the burn in your lungs. “Walker’s secure. Threat’s neutralised.”

“Copy that,” Sam replied. “Sit tight. We’re coming to you. Bucky, are you—”

But Bucky didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

He just stared at you.

And you stared right back, bracing for whatever came next—the confrontation, the anger, the past you hadn’t outrun.

Because nothing about this was going to go the way you wanted it to.

a/n: YASSSS they have reunited!!! I'm actually SO excited to write the next chapter! how are you guys feeeeeelingg

Taglist/ @awkwardgiraffe726 @mcira @greatenthusiasttidalwave

[kaciidubs]

Binnie's Baby Bun

❣ Summary: Ever since you announced your pregnancy to your husband, his loving treatment skyrocketed to lengths you never believed were possible. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 797 ❣ Warnings: Husband! Changbin, Pregnant! Reader, pregnancy [early stages], fluff, light implied smut, baby bumps, overall cuteness ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Changbin is referred to as Hubby, Bin, and Binnie, Reader is referred to as Bun, and Bunny ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

Ever since you announced your pregnancy to your husband, his loving treatment skyrocketed to lengths you never believed were possible.

Changbin was a lover, he was a supporter, he was a protector, but he was also the softest, kindest, and most careful man you had ever met, and those were just a few of the traits that convinced you that he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

The days after you revealed your pregnancy, he treated you like you were a goddess walking among men; you would’ve thought he was your living servant the way he offered to do everything - and I mean everything - for you.

Not like he didn’t do it already, that is.

The first handful of weeks were met with extra kisses here and there, extra check-ins so he could have a clearer gauge on your comfort, and small things like extra snacks finding their way into your pantry.

But, when your stomach slowly began to grow and the first hints of your baby bump began to show, Binnie mode was in full swing.

Almost every morning you were guaranteed a kiss on the lips, cheek, or forehead, and an extra kiss to the small swell of your belly, paired with a whispered “Good morning, baby.”

Whenever you were together he would always, always, manage to keep a hand on your stomach - if you allowed him, of course - and if he couldn’t keep you close by, he’d always make sure to take a quick ‘baby bump break’ to saddle up beside you and rest the palm of his hand over your belly button.

“Bin, if you’re like this when I’m barely showing, I can only imagine how you’ll be when I'm in full watermelon mode.”

You sat partially sprawled out on the couch of his recording studio, the pillow you were previously laying on now replaced with Changbin’s lap, and his arm reaching down your body to rest his hand over the top of your stomach.

He laughed and leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek, “That’s why you have to get used to how I am now, Bun! I know baby bun will.”

“Baby bun?” You hummed, tilting your head to get a better look at him, “So you’re hoping for a girl?”

He shook his head, “Baby bun is just baby bun - girl, boy, I don’t care, as long as they’re healthy and you’re healthy that’s all that matters to me.”

Fresh tears stung at your eyes and you had to fight to push them away, blaming the increased hormones in your body for your sudden sensitivity to his sentiments.

“Alright, break time’s over!” Announcing his leave with his usual loud voice, he helped you get comfortable again before bending down to your eye-level, “Another hour or two and I’ll be done, then we can go get some dinner, deal?”

Smiling, you nodded happily, “Baby bun and I think that’s a great deal.”

Furthermore, in the midst of all of his soft, adoring moments, there were also moments of warm, tender love that had you overwhelmed in the best of ways.

Moments where he would watch you do your nightly routine; silently observing the way his shirt would ride up with each of your movements, revealing a sliver of the bump he would never get enough of, urging him to stand behind you and snake his arms around your waist.

You smiled tiredly at his reflection in the mirror, rubbing the remaining moisturizer onto your cheeks, “Hi, hubby.”

“Hi, bunny,” he replied in kind, pressing a soft kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder.

Melting into his touch with a gentle sigh, you tilted your head to give him more access, your hands going to encompass his own resting yet again over your bump. “Binnie… What are you up to?”

His arms held you a bit tighter, his lips making a path up your neck and brushing against a spot he knew all too well, “Just appreciating you…”

“Hm, yeah, I can tell.” You shifted your hips, fully aware of the bulge filling his boxer briefs, “You appreciate me that much, yeah?”

Nipping at your skin, his eyes met yours in the mirror, his heard gaze sending a chill of excitement down your spine.

“Can I appreciate you more?”

“Right now?” You mused, lacing your fingers through his, “Right here?”

A low hum vibrated through him as he took you in, the scenario so familiar yet so, so different in numerous ways; you were no longer his girlfriend, no longer his fiancee, no longer just his wife, but his wife and soon-to-be mother of his child.

“Right now,” he confirmed, firm and sure, loving and supportive, soft and kind, “right here.”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @instabull, @maximumkillshot, @bandolls, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @sunnyhonie, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @all4innie, @dancerachaslut

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

[ashblooddragons]

This Mysterious Love (Prolouge/?)

Series Masterlist

How could they ever want someone like me, I'm broken, I'm ruined, I'm nothing, and them? They are radiant, they are whole, they are everything.

If only I was worthy of him.

If only I was worthy of her.

Alicents pov

I stand outside of the carriage when I see Syrax land with Rhaenyra. 

“Syrax is growing quickly, she'll be the size of Caraxes soon enough.” 

“That's large enough to saddle two.” She says, I can see the hope in her eyes that I'll agree but can't. Father would have me locked in the Sept for three days, the only sustenance being the wisdom of the gods. Thankfully I don't want to ride on a dragon.

“I'm perfectly content as a spectator thank you.” I say before turning to sit in the carriage again. 

On the ride back Rhanyra continues to try and convince me to agree to fly with her. She isn't used to the word no, so I understand why she acts the way she does. though that doesn't mean it doesn't annoy me. 

When we make it to the keep she insists on seeing her mother. No matter how hard I try I can't fight the bitterness that I lost mine. Rhaenyra can't seem to stop talking about memories between her and her mother, about their plans once her sibling is born. For I can never do that, I can barely remember what mine looked like. I remember how she made me feel safe, loved, and cherished, but not her eyes, smile, or hair.

 How can you truly know if you love someone if you can't even remember them? 

When we make it to the Queen's chambers I stand by the door letting Rhaenyra greet and meet her mother alone. I only speak to greet the Queen as is proper. 

I look around the room taking in the scent of Lavender the Queen adores. Then the sweet scent of vanilla fills me the one I always put in my hair. A smile comes to my face as I remember the sent on my mother. How it always makes me think of a warm hug. It instantly calms my nerves as I take in the Midwives hard at work to prepare for the new addition to the royal family. 

“Ready to go?” Rhaneyra says startling me out of my thoughts and making her giggle. “Always so jumpy.” She teases before looping her arm with mine.

As we walk away I hear the Queen moan in pain, the Midwives and Rhaenhra don't react to it so neither do I. 

“I need to go to a council meeting, supposedly they can't pour their own wine.” Rhaenyra says scowling in annoyance.

I wonder at times if Rhaenyra truly understands how lucky she is, if she knows others would die or kill for the position she was given. But as always I bite my tongue and nod with a pinched smile.

Once she's left I sigh and look around trying to decide what I wish to do with my spare time before my lessons with the Septa. 

“Now if this isn't a sight for sore eyes, I the little Hightower all alone? Has Rhaenyra finally realized what a bore you are?” I hear the mocking tone of the Prince behind me. 

I try not to shiver, his gaze always felt so calculating, as if he is only waiting for you to make a mistake. And from what my father tells me, this feeling is true. 

“She was needed at the council meeting, one I hear your to be at as well.” I say trying to keep my bearings before turning to look at him. 

Gods he is gorgeous, there is no question why Rhaenyra practically drools after him. 

“Hmm, but do they? They will be talking about my brother's heir and the tournament. They might talk about the blasted Stepstones, but my brother won't care overly much for it. None of that is something the commander of the City Watch needs to worry about.” 

“Perhaps not, but it is an honor, one many would kill to have.” I respond annoyed him and Rhaemyra always seem to be scoffing at their duty. 

He only hums before touching the thin necklace around my neck. “A beauty like you shouldn't have such drab jewelry.” He says before reaching into his jerkin pocket and pulling out a gold and pearl choker necklace. 

It's gorgeous, and I tell him as such as I admire it. 

“Of course it is, I picked it out.” He responds before pulling it out of my reach. 

“If you wish to have it, take that pitiful necklace off and let me put this on you.” He commands in a tone that leaves no room for if I truly wish to or not, only that I must. 

And with that, I reach up and take off the dainty necklace Father gave me for my fourteenth nameday waiting with bated breaths what the Prince will do or command next.

“Such a lovely girl as yourself deserves to be claimed, how no man has taken you up is astounding to me.” He says before moving closer and putting the choker on my neck as he stares into my eyes.

I can get lost in those pools of lilac, I swear I can smell their sweet floral scent just from looking in his eyes. 

“Gevives.” He says as he looks into my eyes before he appears to almost recoil.

“Are you alrigh–” I go to ask but he cuts me off with a clear of his throat as he pulls his jerkin down.

“Lovely seeing you little Hightower. Perhaps I’ll be lucky enough to ask for your favor.” He says before partially running down the halls and out of my reach.

How curious. I think to myself before I hear the bell toll and realize I’m about late to lessons with the Septa so I rush through the halls. But had I stayed I would have seen the Prince watching after me.

Special thanks to @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you!

TAGLIST @sugutoad @ilikefelines @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @classicsimpforaaronwarner @nommingonfood @yn-jackson @marvel-is-my-obsession @dreamlandcreations @baybaybear1 @fictionlurker @edenfanfictionsuggestions @seaevans

[blade-liger-4ever]

How to Make the Two Boys of Team Prime Useful

Surprised to see this? So am I.

Most people by now know I hate Jack with a passion, and that I find Raf's existence completely forgettable. So, what prompted this thought exercise from yours truly?

Simple: a longstanding desire to see human characters written well without dragging the attention away from the titular Transformers we all tune in to watch.

So, how do we do it?

Switch the boys' partners around.

Hear me out.

Arcee "needs" someone to protect to give her purpose, yet she's saddled with a whiny sixteen year old who's already chafing under his mom's overprotective habits and wants to live his own life free of trampling by his peers. Bee is relegated to Wallflower Mimic and has nothing to offer but cute sounds and additional muscle, and is paired with the Baby Human so that all age groups can "relate" to the show and characters. Ignoring the annoying thought that we need humans of all ages to connect with the giant robots we long to be friends with, this would allow more genuine character growth and prove both human males' and Bee's usefulness to the plot.

Consider with me for a moment: A slightly older Raf stumbles across Arcee and somehow gets involved with the 'Bots and 'Cons, maybe by pretending to ride her like he sees his older brother doing with his bike. Meanwhile, at that precise moment, Jack dives into Bee's alt-mode in order to hide from Vince for getting his order wrong, or something of the like.

Then, when the dust's settled and things begin to proceed like in the show, Arcee finds herself partnered with a child who can barely fill out his shoes. She's annoyed, throwing snits left right and center, but Raf puts up with it. He neither rolls over for her nor snaps back. Instead, he asks questions: what was your world like, did you have friends on Cybertron, do Cybertronians have families like humans do, etc. And all of a sudden, Arcee finds her prickly demeanor slowly ebbing away as she has someone who wants to listen and learn about what her life was like, and this in time motivates her to become genuinely motherly while still kicking serious aft.

Similarly, Jack is having a tantrum over "getting involved" with a space war, and Miko just rolls her eyes while going a mile a minute with slow 'n' steady Bulkhead. Bee - perhaps this time possessing a voice, but missing an eye and having an unusual, sickly green replacement - just lets him vent while poking around the town going "what's this", "what's that do", and "will I explode if I eat this rock" (poor examples, but he asks questions about mundane Earth things.) Slowly but surely they bond over this, and when Jack realizes he's been assigned a twelve year old Autobot, things get interesting when he takes on an actual older brother role before Bee uses that to bring out Jack's suppressed inner child.

Boom. Meaningful and memorable dynamics.

The reason for the switch is to actually play off of the "yin-yang" we had with Miko and Bulkhead. It's all about balancing characters' personalities and the time for each individual character without slipping in favor of the humans. This would benefit Raf, Bee, and Jack, and kick Arcee into legitimate Character Development.

Furthermore, Arcee's mama bear instincts would be given credence when Airachnid returns, as there's no way Raf can actually keep himself safe from her. Thus, her protective nature has vindication without being hypocritical (i.e. the first five episodes and the numerous revenge arcs.)

However, Bee is not without his own archenemy.

Shadowstriker.

You can keep his voice box being ripped out courtesy of this ex-assassin, but Ratchet is able to repair it (Hasbro has only enough room for one butt-kicking mute and that's Snake Eyes). But Shadowstriker, in her burning rage, doesn't stop there.

She tracks him down after Tyger Pax on an all-consuming quest for revenge, her offlining of Autobot spec-op officers being the only reason Megatron hasn't cut ties with her/killed her himself. She finds Bee, stalks his movements, and when the time is right, attacks. Despite her morbid disunity with her new body, Shadowstriker still proves dangerous in her combat capabilities...including almost killing Bee after stabbing him through the eye with her energy blade.

It's only through the timely intervention of Prowl that Bee lives long enough to be brought back to medbay. Ratchet curses and swears as he repairs the scout, but there's so little in spare replacements that he has to resort to a Mercenary's optic to keep Bee active. Though never the same from his traumatic near-murder, Bee accepts this and struggles to keep up with the team, his new eye providing him with a super scanner that can see in the electromagnetic spectrum.

If you want - and feel free to use this in your own takes - have Bee and Jack out on a field trip when Shadowstriker tracks him down for another rematch on Earth. Let Bee be absolutely terrified and livid. Let him make mistakes and nearly get killed a few times, while Jack has to grow a spine and distract Shadowstriker and play the mole in Whack-A-Mole until Bee can recover/backup can arrive. This way, both have more to do and actually contribute to the story.

As Optimus here can tell you, this was an unexpected infodump about my least favorite parts of the show. However, despite that, I feel much better, as some of these ideas have rattled around in my head for a while.

I hope you like it, and that you find it useful.

"Transform, and roll out!"

[xenophorusrachid]

Albian finally gets the long-awaited horse armor DLC. And the horses are gorgonopsids that spec'ed into camel/horse physics. Isn't that just nice?

additional info below.

The Therigour is an equine-like synapsid with a history of domestication that goes back to the 'archaic' period of Albian-Aptian civilization. The images above depict the 'wild-type' morph, but Therigour can be bred to display various coat patterns in four main colors (red, orange, black, white (including bicolor and tricolor patterns). Their feet have adapted for quick travel across sand, with their hoof-like claws spreading out into a circular shape to keep from sinking.

They are carnivorous, and are characterized by high intelligence and rambunctious personalities. To remediate this, most Therigour are raised by human hand from birth, and undergo extensive training until they are 4 years of age. This ultimately builds a personal bond between trainer/rider and beast, and results in a terrifyingly loyal creature. You do not want one sic'ed on you (because they will bite you! and possibly maul you if their prey-drive is strong enough. lol). Because of the necessity of a long-maintained bond, Therigour are typically raised by warriors themselves, and breaking in a Therigour successfully is seen as a rite of passage.

In Albian, Therigour have a key presence in some religious rituals, and are culturally regarded as blessed beasts - that is, they are not to be sacrificed to any particular god, and they are often given burials similar to that of humans. This is due to the purposes they serve humans in the living realm, primarily draughtwork and personal transport. Aptian boasts similar practices, but their Therigour are often purposefully killed once they reach an age where they can no longer work (circa. 20 years old).

NOW: What's up with the armor?

The image up top is what it is - ceremonial barding worn during key Albian religious festivals, such as the New Year's Feast and the 'Days of Creation' - a three-week long festival celebrating Albian's founding. The large ox horns inlaid with gold that lay across the Therigour's back are used to harness the beast to a chariot, and these creatures are then paraded around.

Albian and Aptian warrior barding is more practical than it is ceremonial, though they do both include ceremonial motifs - such as intimidating 'eye' details. These protective symbols grant protection to both rider and beast, though their specific protections vary culturally. Creatures with eyes - or multiple eyes - are seen as worthy of godly protection by default, and erasing these eyes (or removing an animal or human's eyes) is seen as a final effort to destroy the soul of the creature.

There's also like. casual barding, but it's pretty much a simple halter + saddle + blanket/leather sheet combo...These are just the coolest.

[ceeplays]

Favorite Mods for Better Pets:

...aaand I'm back! ☀︎ It's been such a busy summer for me, but I've been wanting to post this list for several weeks now. So happy I'm finally getting the chance to sit down and put this together for y'all. One aspect of the game I'm always looking to improve with mods and cc is our sims pets, and now with the addition of horses, even more so. So, here's a list of my favorite mods and cc for all animals in the game (there's even a mod for your bees!). As always, thanks to all the creators and I hope you all enjoy.

More info and download links below the cut.

Gameplay Mods:

Selectable Pets by CharityCodes

Bathe Pets in Sink by Szemoka

Pet Care Activities by @adeepindigo

My Pets by @littlemssam

Anti-Fear Training for Pets by @littlemssam

Better Farm Animals by @littlemssam

Better Saddle Control by @littlemssam

Calm Bees by @littlemssam

Check Horse Skills by @littlemssam

Check Pets Needs by @littlemssam

Dog Walking Service by @littlemssam

Go For A Walk With Cats by @littlemssam

Go For A Walk With More Pets by @littlemssam

Kids Go For A Walk With Dogs by @littlemssam

Lead Horse by @littlemssam

Longer Pet Naps by @littlemssam

No Spoiling Dried Animal Food by @littlemssam

Special Paddock Gate by @littlemssam

Boarding Stable Lot Trait by Flauschtrud

Animal Shelter Lot Trait by KiaraSims4Mods

Default Replacements/Overrides:

Pequichor Horse Eyes by @rheallsim

Mirror Mirror Horse Eyes by @doptera-ts4

Dolce Eyes for All Animals by @wrixie

Under Your Spell Horse Ranch Animal Eyes by @incandescentsims

Daydreamin' Horse Ranch Animal Eyes by @nolan-sims

Smaller Eyes + Eye Geom Fix for Horses by @objuct

Goat Retexture by @blue-ancolia

Rabbit Retexture by @blue-ancolia

Horse Skin by @minervamagicka

Horse Skin by @nesurii

Adoption Pet Carrier Override by @largetaytertots

Pet Leash Override by @largetaytertots

Pet Leash Override by @diabolicalsims

Pet Treats Override by @diabolicalsims

Pet Brush Override by @diabolicalsims

Horse Trailer Made Functional by SassandFreckles

BUILD/BUY Favorites:

Animal Shed Recolors by @beansbuilds

Horse Food Bags by @cath-cc

Horse Countdown Set by @objuct

Cottage Dreams Collection by @miikocc

Toddler Pillow Pet Beds by @diabolicalsims

Pet Toys by @diabolicalsims

Vet Waiting Room Magazines by @diabolicalsims

The Petit Cheval Set by @syboubou

Veterinary Clinic Set by @syboubou

Ultimutt Indoor Potty Pad by @ravasheencc

Muttropolitan Pet Clutter by @ravasheencc

Purrfect Pet Clutter by @ravasheencc

Meowdern Pet Clutter by @ravasheencc

Carousel Cat Bed by @pixelvibes

Chicken Cat Bed by @pixelvibes

Paw Love by @leosims4cc

Western Set by @leosims4cc

Natural Colored Horse Balls by SassandFreckles

CAS Favorites:

Stuff for Dapper Dogs by @sforzcc

Stuff for Cranky Cats by @sforzcc

Service Cat Vest by Sturmfalke

Service Dog Vest by Sturmfalke

--

The end! ♡

[coffee-in-rain]

Dead Dove Hannigram Fic Rec List

Updated 5/10/2025 with one new addition at the bottom of the page! Here are some darker/dead dove recs for y'all! The first two were written by me, but the rest are some of my favorites I've ever read (and I'll be updating this periodically)! These range from dark themes (like dub-con -> kidnapping) to taboo topics (like incest -> underage -> non-con) so please be aware of that! For organizational purposes, I've labeled whether each one is considered a dark fic or whether it requires a dead dove tag (meaning the tags are very important to read and taboo topics will be explored in extreme and graphic detail).

soiled by coffeeinrain. category: dead dove. warnings: non-consensual somnophilia, father/son incest, hand jobs, underage sex, Hannibal is 17 years-old.

summary:

Shame creeps into Hannibal's cheeks. He's soiled Father's sheets. He's tainted Father's skin.

sate by coffeeinrain. category: dead dove. warnings: father/son incest, underage sex, Will can shapeshift into a dog (and performs cunnilingus on Hannibal), Hannibal is 17 years-old, multiple orgasms, erotic use of the shower head.

summary:

Will, unbeknownst to his son, Hannibal, is capable of shapeshifting.

"Da—Daddy," Hannibal wails through a frail, watery hiccup, aching for his father's reassuring presence as both hips stutter forward, arching off the couch in a frenzied rise, without conscious effort. He knows full well how utterly vile he must look right now. Flushing from head to toe, with thin dribbles of snot and countless tears smearing his chin — and a stray dog crouching between his trembling thighs — on the verge of devouring him whole.

a taste by mou_ikkai. category: dead dove. warnings: uncle/nephew incest, underage rape/non-con, Hannibal is 14-15 years-old, somnophilia, frottage, cunnilingus, hand jobs.

summary:

An Alpha.

Hannibal’s entire being lights up. The stranger smells of sickly-sweet nostalgia, almost nauseating in its intensity, yet Hannibal aches for it all the same. The stranger smells like freshly inked letters on weathered parchment, like the curl of incense and the leather of a worn saddle. Like home — not the one Hannibal resides in, but one he hasn't visited before. Until now.

night shift part II by magnifyingglass. category: dark. warnings: kidnapping, prostitution, murder.

summary:

Will Graham finds a familiar acquaintance dumped on the side of the road.

*this is a sequel to night shift—and while these are not very extreme fics compared to the other fics listed in this rec list, i think they belong here because of the themes explored.*

teach me, i soft forgetting by wolftrapboy. category: dead dove. warnings: grooming, inspired by lolita, underage rape/non-con, delusions, pseudo-incest, age-regression, fantasizing, flirting, making out, masturbation, grinding.

summary:

He opens his eyes. He is unable to stop smiling. Here, in this room of paper and dust and soft little boy things, Hannibal is happy. Profoundly. Disarmingly. He is happy in a way he has not been since Mischa was alive.

Heaven, he thought, is a little boy’s room.

A Hannigram Lolita AU.

I am loving this lolita AU because there is so much depth to it and it's so well-written!! the way Hannibal (momentarily feels like a boy again when with Will in chapter 4)?? I was gobsmacked (/positive).

The Perfect Companion by MavisDaines. category: dead dove. warnings: abduction, grooming, underage sex.

summary:

Hannibal finds a young Will Graham and grooms him to be the perfect companion.

I loooved chapter 23 omg