#they set this up and now the consequences for their actions have arrived and they have only themselves to blame

[dynamitekansai]

Via Solo Sikoa's Instagram Stories

[johnbrand]

Being Proactive

“Hey princess, how about you go grab me a beer while we wait for everyone else to arrive.”

“Sure thing, Mario!” 

I ran inside as fast as I could, trying my best to hold back the smile that was threatening to escape. I could not believe how easily my plan was working. Ever since I caught that twisted, hungry bottom flirting with my boyfriend, I knew I had to take action. It was just fascinating how simple it all had been. 

My boyfriend was a solid-but-sensitive type, big and muscular but soft, which sometimes worked against him. He had not even noticed when Mario had batted his pretty eyelashes for him, or when the bottom pouted with a sickly sweet: “We should hang out more, I’m sure I’d make it worth your time.” But I had known the signs however, and I planned to be proactive. A simple search on the web led me to a solution I could only hope would do the trick.

It was some form of an incantation, performing rites onto an article of clothing with the necessary ingredients. Some rose-embedded candles, feathers of a raven, off-brand vinegar...all stuff I could easily find in the city. And once brought together, the ingredients were meant to create a migration ritual, transferring the essence of one person through an article of clothing onto another being. My plan was for Mario to be at the receiving end, absorbing the identity of my choosing.

And luckily for me, there was no better offering than my arrogant, womanizing older brother. Eric was a decent enough sibling growing up, although we had rarely spoken since my coming out. But overall, he was a different man on the streets. If he was not tackling another dude on the field, then Eric was surely tackling another chick into bed. Therefore, if I could imbed this same heterosexual passion into Mario, I knew I would never have to deal with him skankly attempting to steal my boyfriend every again. 

The set-up had been simple: a pool party with everyone supposedly invited. Of course, I had only reached out to Mario, and had neglected to inform him of the "pool" portion of the party. He was so thankful when I offered him my "spare" pair of speedos, taking the pink-patterned briefs from me without a second thought. He could have never known they had been soaking the entire night before in a brew with my older brother’s own sweat-stained boxers.

At first, the changes had not been evident, but eventually I began to witness the consequences of my actions. Mario had gradually grown taller, every minute having added an extra half-inch to his torso or legs. With this came the expansion of his muscles, defining the bottom’s once-lean figure with juicier, more defined features. 

Now approaching with the beer he had requested, I was able to take in even more changes that had happened while I had been inside. Hair had begun sprouting from Mario’s previously-shaven legs, and his queer mullet had tightened into a douchey French crop. I could even sense his attitude had shifted; Mario was no longer displaying his former star feature (his perky bottom), but instead showcasing his new pride (his literal, much larger pride).

“Good girl,” Mario taunted, chugging the whole can in one go. The teasing nicknames were new too. I should have been insulted, but I was too busy relishing in my success. What other attributes from my older brother would Mario soon absorb?

BUUUUUUUUURRRPP! “So how long until they get here anyway?” Mario groaned, tossing the crushed can aside. 

“Shouldn’t be much longer,” I replied without removing my eyes from him, hoping to witness another change.

Mario noticed my directed attention, assuming it was regarding the swimwear. “This wasn't all some plan to get me into a faggy speedo, was it? I'm beginning to think you wanted a real man like me all to yourself."

The accusation caused me to break, stunned at the rude remark. Mario smirked smugly. “What, something wrong, girly?”

“Yeah, what you're saying is insul-”

“Learn your place and go grab me another beer,” Mario ordered. “You don’t want me to have to get up, do you?”

Surprised and feeling a sudden loss of control, I turned away and made my way back to the kitchen. For the first time I began considering how Mario's conversion may have created an even worse monster than I could have imagined. My once proactive solution no longer appeared to be such.

[livelaughlovesubs]

I do NOT trust my reading comprehension especially when it's for requests like this buttt.... If you a are taking requests, this is for your anniversary event!! Prompts are: dressing then up in degrading outfits, and showing them off as a trophy to their coworkers. Guess who's character this is for... Drum roll please....! 🥁🥁 Of course it's Scaramouche 😁. Now Imagine him wearing those cat ears and like a tail that's actually a plug and black panties that barely covers anything and a matching bra... Making him wear that in front of the other fatui harbingers at a "party" reader hosted and fucking him in front of them, and instead of moans he's forced to meow instead...

(This might be one of the wildest asks I've sent buttt whatever 🥰)

-scaralover

OMG AKSUAKJAJAA I HAVE LITERALLY NO CLUE HOW TO WROTE THIS LOGICALLY BUT LETS GO

Dom!reader x sub!Scaramouche

Warning: cosplay (?) - degrading outfit, a tiny bit feminisation (cuz of the outfit), exhibition (a little), pet play, a tad manhandling

Anniversary event

All this misfortune that has befallen him, all this shame that was going to come in the near future, for all of this he’s got no one to blame but himself.

After all, it was his choice to be a brat, no?

That’s why he has to live with the consequences of his actions, accepting any punishment no matter how humiliating they’d be. And you had just the right one in mind. You’ve been planning this party for the harbingers for a while now, so why not grasp this opportunity to both put him in his place and to show off? Which is why you told him you’ll have to think it through, and will announce his punishment in a few days.

On the day of the event, you invited yourself into his room, holding a bag in your hand. A sense of horror flashed through him, he knew exactly why you were there, since he remembered what you told him. “…y/n, you can’t seriously be thinking of punishing me today, right? The party’s today as well.” He hesitated, hoping he didn’t just put ideas into your head. But knowing you, he doubts that’s the case, you obviously approached him with ulterior motives.

“How sharp of you~ that’s right, I’ve decided on your punishment.” You handed the bag to him, winking, then explaining, “wear this under your coat, yea?” He frowned at you, then looked down at the fabrics and blushed. Cheeks turning red as he furiously looked up, ready to yell into your face if not for the fact that you were already gone. “Y/n-!! You- fuck!” What was he supposed to do now? Never ever would he wear something like this, to a damn party! With his colleagues present!

Never, that’s what he thought, but disobeying your punishment was also not an option.

Fine, if it’s just under the coat, then… no one had to know, right? It’s a little risky, but it should be doable. So with lingering hesitation, he put on the little outfit you picked out for him. A pair of black lingerie alongside a set of cat ears and tail in the same colour. How lucky he was to have his hat, the tail could just go under the coat and the ears hidden beneath his hat. He put the costume on pretty quickly, and stared at his own reflection. Disgraceful and perverted, that’s how he looked, it reflected your taste.

A few hours later, the chattering of people echoed across the huge halls of the building, signalising the arrival of the guests as well as marking the start of the event— of his misery. Scara saw many people all circle around you, the harbingers separated in smaller groups and scattered around the hall. You were standing on top of the stairs, holding a glass in one hand while smiling brightly. He soon joined the crowd, inching closer to you, getting into the first row. You were just saying some welcoming speeches, greeting all of them and thanking them for their attendance.

What he didn’t expect was for you to invite him to the front once you were done. Most of the guests clapped when you told him to come closer, and he felt pressured to obey, clutching his thick coats with shaking hands. “Thanks for the applause everyone. As all of you know, this is Scaramouche, the Sixth of the harbingers, care to tell them something about yourself?” You grinned, as if you were showing him off to the crowd.

In return he scoffed, saying this was childish and about to get down from the stairs. “Wait a sec,” you said, holding onto his hat in an attempt to keep him from escaping, accidentally knocking it off. He couldn’t even yelp before surprised gasps erupted from the audience, and he didn’t need to guess to know why they all had that reaction. “Y/n! Look what—” before he could throw a punch at you, you wrapped a hand around his waist and pulled him close, stripping his coat from him, revealing the second part of the costume.

“You- shameless bastard! Fucking pervert!” He trashed around in your arms, blushing and shaking while trying his best to peel your arms off. Due to him moving around so much, you dislocated his bra, and you smirked to yourself knowing he out on the cute outfit you picked out for humanity. “Right, I also wanted to let ya’ll meet my new pet. He’s a little feisty and he bites-” someone from the background chuckled and laughed, you also caught a few of your other colleagues rolling their eyes.

“I’m not your fucking pet!” Scara yelled, and he almost immediately regretted it. “Doll, need me to bend you over and fuck you in front of all of them for you to remember your place?” You didn’t mind others hearing your loud whispering, and you were sure some heard. He gulped, and looked…. aroused? God, what the hell- how comes the thought of him getting messed up by you in front of all these people didnt even sound so bad? You gave him a second of cool off, then said, “so scara, the only thing I want to hear coming from your pretty little mouth is ‘meow’.”

He gritted his teeth, eyes widened when he realised just how humiliating that’d be. The puppet’s gaze flicked around the room for a second, taking in the silence and anticipation from the preying eyes. The other harbingers are watching, to do something like that, isn’t that too shameless? “You understood, scara?” After you basically demanded an answer from him, he fought with his own pride to battle what was more important.

In the end, he bit back his curses, glaring at you one last time, slumping forward before muttering an almost inaudible, “m-meow..”

You smirked, “so you can be a good kitten after all?”

[unboundprompts]

How do I make something happen in my story? I’m writing a murder mystery where they are all stuck in a theater. all the characters have been just sitting around talking for two chapters now and it’s getting boring. How do I add action or movement without derailing the story?

How to Add Movement to a Murder Mystery without Derailing the Story

Here are some ideas for you to consider!

1. Introduce a New Clue or Discovery

Unexpected Evidence: Have a character stumble upon a crucial piece of evidence. This could be a hidden note, a strange item, or an overlooked detail that propels the investigation forward.

Surprising Revelation: Perhaps someone finds a hidden compartment in the theater with items related to the murder. This could spark new theories and discussions among the characters.

2. Create a Disruption

Theatrical Effect: Use the theater setting to your advantage. For example, the lights could suddenly go out, or there could be an unexpected sound or event (like a prop falling) that causes chaos and forces the characters to act quickly.

Power Outage: A sudden blackout could create confusion and force the characters to rely on each other, which could reveal new dynamics and secrets.

3. Introduce Conflict

Accusations and Tension: Allow tensions to rise by having characters confront each other with accusations or suspicions. This could lead to heated arguments or confrontations that reveal more about each character's motives.

Personal Conflicts: Bring underlying personal conflicts or grudges to the surface. This could create drama and reveal new aspects of the characters that influence their behavior and decisions.

4. Add a Time Crunch

Imminent Threat: Introduce a sense of urgency by suggesting that the murderer might strike again or that there’s a time limit for solving the crime before a more severe consequence occurs (e.g., a ticking clock or a scheduled event).

Urgent Action: Characters could discover that they need to find a specific clue or solve a puzzle before the theater is locked down or before someone else arrives.

5. Dynamic Character Actions

Shifting Alliances: Characters might decide to split up to search the theater more effectively. This could lead to new discoveries and interactions.

Personal Goals: Characters could pursue personal objectives or hidden agendas that complicate the investigation and create movement in the story.

6. Revelatory Dialogue

New Information: Characters could reveal previously hidden motives or secrets in their conversations, adding new layers to the mystery and prompting action.

Unexpected Accusation: A character might make a surprising accusation that causes everyone to reevaluate their theories and actions.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

I also have a Patreon! Become a member to gain access to a Member's Only Community where you can chat and message other members and myself. Also gain access to my personal writing, which includes completed short stories, chapters from novels in progress, as well as completed scenes.

[bigification]

Corporate

John had coasted through his twenties like he thought everyone did. He got a quick degree in business and spent the next ten years traveling, partying, and fucking... A lot. His parents let him do whatever he wanted as long as he got a degree, they didn't say anything about using the degree.

He excused his behavior because every other rich white guy he partied with was doing the same thing. He had never even had an extended conversation with someone outside of the 1 percent, and it showed.

Hey, I mean at least he was really good at the one thing he did. To the point that he wouldn't remember most nights, only waking up with women's clothes in his bed. He would start swinging his massive dick around as soon as he got drunk and it wouldn't take long for someone to drag him to bed.

But it couldn't last forever. 30 came faster than he thought and it hit him like a truck. He couldn't drink like he used to, he couldn't party as hard as wanted to. His hairline was starting to recede and his six pack was disappearing under what would soon be a small beer belly. There were starting to be consequences for his actions. And as if it couldn't get any worse for poor John, his parents let him know what his birthday present was for this year. Every year prior had been something extravagant like a yacht or a sports car, so he was really looking forward to the big gift to make 30 not seem so bad.

Two weeks before his birthday, John received a text saying that his parents would take away his generous allowance if he didn't get a job by the time he was 30. His heart skipped a beat, he thought it was some big joke. He thought back to the times his parents had asked him to get a job before but he never thought they were serious. Though they did ask a lot now that he's thinking of it, and they didn't sound like they were joking.

John texted back, "haha, but seriously what is it?" Hoping they would back off and he could go back to being the old guy at all the yacht parties he threw. But they put their put down this time, threatening his 200k a month allowance and his present he was expecting for his birthday.

One week of the adult equivalent of kicking and screaming later, John gives in. Now he only has one week before it starts to cut into his allowance. He scrambled to make a shitty resume, assuming a business degree would get him any job he wanted.

He nervously clicked on a link his dad sent him to a company that works under his father's business. He submitted his resume and waited. It didn't take long for him to get a response and John patted himself on the back for making such a good resume. Although they obviously never even opened the resume, just going off of his father's recommendation.

He set up an interview for just before his birthday, and continued to party like he was still 20. He woke up the day of the interview, hungover and still wearing his disgusting clothes from the night before. He was nearly falling asleep at the wheel as he hadn't woken up before noon in ages, 10 am was such a ridiculous time to set an interview.

He stumbled into the expensive looking building and stood in front of reception.

"How can I help you?" The young lady behind the counter asked.

"Ugh... Yeah I could think of a few ways you could help me." John winked and gave a lazy smile.

"Sir, if you don't have any business here, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." The lady raised her voice, trying to hide her discomfort.

"Whatever, I'm here for an interview."

"What's your name?"

"John Fitzgerald."

The lady looked up for a moment, recognizing the name. She shook her head in disappointment as she grabbed the phone to call that he had arrived... only thirty minutes late.

A few moments later, an older man in a tailored suit approached the front desk. He walked right past John and asked the receptionist to point him in the direction of John. The lady looked over at John and raised her eyebrows to suggest he was right there. The older man turned and put on a fake smile to hide his disapproval.

"Follow me." The man put on a cheap up beat voice.

The man walked him down to a private office and opened a closet. He grabbed a dress shirt and black dress pants and basically shoved into John's chest.

"No man that respects himself wears those clothes to an interview, put these on." He let his anger slip through a bit.

"Wait really!?" John seemed perplexed. He thought he would answer a few questions about what he liked to do and that would be it.

"Yes, go on."

John sheepishly took off his shirt, revealing the small belly that had grown over his abs. It even bounced a bit as he pulled off his shirt. He then pulled down his pants to reveal his batman boxers that did nothing hide the massive bulge between his legs.

He slipped on the dress shirt, letting it spill to his knees like a dress. Then he pulled up the dress pants and held them at his waist. They were nearly 10 inches too long around the waist, and 5 inches too short, making them ride up his calves.

"They're too big!" John complained.

The man scoffed and grabbed a belt from the closet. Though the belt was also too big, leaving John still holding up the pants.

"They're still too big!" John whined.

"Oh just shut up. How long is this supposed to take." The old man looked impatiently at his watch.

"How long is wha-" John began to ask before pausing briefly, followed by a loud burp that seemed to make the room tremble.

John tried to talk but couldn't. He felt slow and groggy, more than he had before. The only noises he could muster were grunts as a warm feeling filled his stomach. Suddenly his hips thrusted forward and he let out a grunt. John looked down in horror as a sizable beer belly was now hiding under his oversized shirt. His hips thrusted again and his belly had doubled in size, making him look pregnant. One more thrust and a loud grunt and his fat gut doubled in size once more. It bounced up and down as it filled all the room in his massive shirt, finally drooping over his waistband.

John wanted to scream, but he couldn't. The only noises that came from his mouth were moans and grunts that sounded more and more sexual the more his body changed.

His sides soon followed, growing thick love handles that widened his once skinny frame, even spreading to his lower back. His chest puffed forward as his pecs disappeared under a thick layer of fat. His soft man tits finally rested on his gut, pushing up against his shirt and making them impossible to miss.

John looked up in desperation at the older man that stood before him, but he was just staring at his watch. Though he noticed something strange. He was looking up at the man, when he could have sworn that he looked down on him when he first met him. He took pride in his height, so he would have remembered being shorter than him.

This time his body thrusted backwards, making him nearly fall with his new center of gravity. With each thrust he felt the pants get tighter and tighter until his cheeks filled out all of the room in those size 42 pants. At least he didn't have to hold them up anymore. His thighs then thickened into fat tree trunks, permanently rubbing together and squishing his dick in between. Though that last part wouldn't last long, while his ever growing fat pad swallowed inches of his dick, it began to shrink as well. He felt it recede into his soft fat pad, now only having the tip peaking out of his fat. He stuffed his hand between his meaty thighs to try and find it but it wasn't there.

John then felt pressure building up around his feet until a loud POP rang through the office. He looked down to see what happened but it was blocked by his massive gut. Though the feeling of his bare feet on the ground suggested that his feet burst out of his shoes.

His arms began to twitch fat filled them like sausages, making them drop under their own weight. His hands also doubled in size as his fingers started to look thickened. He wanted to react, but it was starting to get hard to remember what he was texting to. All he could think about was finance.

Finally his face began to change. His young and spy look got covered in soft fat and wrinkles, aging him up at least 10 years. His hairline receded as thick sideburns covered his nonexistent jawline and his stubble formed a prominent mustache and goatee combo.

John let out a loud burp as his stomach grumbled. He grunted a few more times as he desperately tried to reach his crotch, but he was unsuccessful. He noticed his boss in front of him and tilted his head back to make eye contact with the man that is now much taller than him.

"What are we doing in your office boss?" John asked.

"Oh, you just had a wardrobe malfunction that's all." The boss said as he passed John a pair of shoes and a tie. "It's on the house since you've been such a good employee the last 10 years. I certainly don't mind getting you bigger clothes when you outgrow your current ones."

John panted and grunted trying to get his shoes on, he wasn't used to the extra padding all over his body. Despite that, he knows that he has been quite fat for many years now as memories of the last 10 years of his life flood in.

"Can't forget the wedding ring." The boss said as he slipped a nice ring into John's hand. "I just love that husband of yours, he is such a great cook. No wonder you gained so much weight after your marriage. It's almost like he got you pregnant." The boss chuckled.

John's face went blank as the memories of him coming out in his thirties and marrying the man that he loves. And he remembers the positive pregnancy test he had just before his 40th birthday.

"Oh my god, you are pregnant!" The boss shouted then covered his mouth. "Your secret's safe with me. Oh and also, I'll order some massive clothes for ya so you won't have to worry about it big guy." The boss said quietly as John left his office.

[marcsburnerphone]

Wish to make up

Captain John price x f!reader

Summary:being johns’ wife has been full of security and safety and you never thought he’d be the one to taint that.

Warnings: angst,(hurt/comfort, 141 task force loves you, price is full of guilt, reader is struggling to process her feelings, they makeup

Finally a part three.

——————-

You woke with heavy arms draped around your waist. The memory of falling asleep is nonexistent just like your want to continue to lay here. You’re frustrated and still deprived of sleep and it’s all because of the man laying happily beside you. With dainty hands you carefully lift his arm and slip out of bed setting it right beside him. Tip toeing out of the bedroom without waking him was light work, what wouldn’t be light work is getting into your car and driving to your best friend's house which also happened to be Gaz’s sister. Were you making this a bigger deal than what it should be, maybe? But are you going to manipulate yourself into acting like it doesn’t hurt, no? Time and space is what your mind was chanting. Maybe that’s what it would take cause he apologized already, even left base to do so but still that icky feeling that sticks to your heart like honey is becoming like a second tissue. With keys in your hand and house slippers on, you make your way to the door confident that you’ll be fast enough.

“Where are you going?” Confidence isn’t always key.

“I- I um I’m going to lanes.” You say turning to face him at the end of the hallway.

“Why?” It’s blunt and laced with pure confusion.

“Cause I want to.” Your eyebrows creased at the obvious answer.

“You never leave when I come home.” His eyes don’t look away from yours for a second, you're actually not even sure if he’s blinked in the past two awkward minutes.

“Well John, the circumstances on this arrival are very different.” He hums in response waiting for you to say more but when you don’t he continues.

“What can I do?” He asks exasperated.

“What?” It’s your turn to return that same energy.

“I'm not sure what I can do further than apologize and come home to show you I’m truly sorry for my actions so now I’m asking what more can I do?” He looks more slouchy than usual, actually than ever John usually holds his head high and his shoulder back right now he just looks tired.

“I just need some space John and time cause I too don’t know what you can do.” Those words shred him apart. He finally looks away and to the side door that leads into the patio.

“Just a little till I calm down or something.” You're trying to make it sound a little less heavy.

“Or something? So should I leave then.” He’s anxiously chewing on his lower lip, something you’ve cursed him for in the past.

“If you’d like but this is your home also.” He laughs and it’s absent of humor.

“How long?” He asks.

“How long?” You return his question confused.

“How much time and space are you asking of me?”

“I’m not sure?” Truthfully you weren’t.

“For fucks sake my love.” He whispers and it’s killing him.

“We’ve just never been in this position before so it’s new and confusing and I’m angry but I love you but it hurts and it’s so unlike you to make me feel this way so I’m sorry but this is the consequence of your own actions and I won’t be the one to apologize, now can you please move your car cause I’ve just noticed your blocking me in.” You couldn’t have even left if you wanted. Oh does god have his ways of working.

He silently walks past you grabbing his keys off the rack by the door and swiftly gets into his car, starting it and backs up signaling for you to exit. You’re now sitting in your car starting it wondering if this is how you should be handling this. But nonetheless you leave and he pulls into your spot. When you get home you figure then you’ll have your thoughts pulled together and you’ll work it out like you know you can.

———-

“Lane but you don’t understand he yelled at me like I wasn’t his wife or any respected person.” It’s been an entire hour of you crying then getting angry at the whole situation again to your poor friend.

“And has he ever done it before in the past three-four years?” Her eyebrow is raised but her tone is soft.

“No but that’s not the point; he's done it now.” The sass in your tone makes her smile.

“Did he apologize?”

“Yes.” You say bluntly.

“So you're punishing him for losing his cool, which he is wrong for but then he apologized and if I remember this right he also came to apologize in person and he’s never done this before.” She’s simply stating facts.

“Well when you put it like that.” You whisper looking out of the open window.

“You're not looking at the bigger picture. I’ve been married, divorced and now remarried. And what I’ve learned from it is love and marriage is a gift but hard fucking work.”

“You had a first husband?” You ask surprised.

“Yeah ages before Dan, his name was Lucas and he was my first love. He was an angry man though I was always doing something wrong in his eyes and all hell broke loose when he was upset. I don’t think he ever once apologized for it though, I did though every single time.” You can tell but the creases between her brows still hurt from it.

“I’m so sorry.” Your worries probably look so stupid in her eyes.

“Dan and I have gotten into it before and it was his fault, something similar to your situation. I had accidentally spilled coffee on his work desk one late night when I brought it to him, it soiled some papers and he lost it. I worried that I was dating Lucas number two till I saw the look in his eyes when all was said and done. He looked devastated, I mean absolutely torn. He apologized immediately and cleaned up the mess he apologizes to this day for it. Sometimes all people can do is apologize because words can’t be taken back but trust can be rebuilt and we love them so much that forgiveness is the only option to moving forward.”

You hum and smile at her warm gaze that’s now laid upon you.

“Do you ever get scared he’ll do it again?”

“No and even if he does I know his heart. We’re human for Christ's sake. I've also said some hurtful things to him when I was stressed. But we know each other and don’t take it in vain.”

The pause in silence is carried in like a warm breeze as you sit and let her words soak in.

“Now if John does it again I’ll kick his ass.” It’s sincere.

You laugh with your entire being at that cause Lane has always kept her word.

“Well in that case I guess I can forgive him.”

“He loves you darling. I’ve known John Price since Gaz first introduced me to him maybe 8 years ago and that man has never looked at or loved someone as gently as he loves you.”

“Was I foolish to make such a big deal out of it?”

She laughs

“No, I cried for a whole night non stop when Dan yelled at me and that whole night he was the one to hold and comfort me. I even told him to just leave to pack up and go but he stayed and was patient and caring and that’s when I knew that man is my forever.”

“John held me this evening while I slept. He actually didn’t want me to leave but still moved his car when I asked so I could go.”

“That man wouldn’t stop you from doing what you wanted even if it’d hurt him.”

“I should go home now, Thankyou for listening to me. I'll come by tomorrow and tell you how it went.”

“Okay honey you get home safe.”

————

On the drive home you just let yourself think. Think of all the times you’ve given John attitude and even the time you’d called him a stupid wanker when he accidentally threw your expensive facial cream that he’d bought away and how he’d taken it with a grain of salt and got you a new one. How the one time you’d scraped the side of his brand new truck and cried to him while explaining what happened and he’d laughed and gotten it repainted the next morning. You’d thought about how so perfect your husband has been, so perfect that you forgot he could be human.

When you pulled into the driveway your heart dropped at the sight of his empty Parking spot. Had he really left? I mean sure your invitation to stay wasn’t so welcoming.

You put your car in park and cried. Cried at how he hurt you and did the only thing he could which was apologize then you cried at how he left all because you basically implied that that is what you wanted and cried about how much you just wanted him to hold you now.

Your car got too cold to sit in so you made your way to the door and inside, unsurprisingly John turned the heater on for you. A cup of tea would surely soothe the hurt.

You sat at the kitchen island sipping from the mug you’d hoped would cure the heavy feeling in your chest. He didn’t even leave a note or a text but then again you told him you needed space.

Lost in thought your forehead pressed to the cold counter, tears slipping mindlessly from your eyes the sound of keys jangling by the door made your head perk up.

Heavy footsteps made their way towards the kitchen when no other than your husband walked in carrying two grocery bags.

“John.” You blinked so heavily relieved at the sight of him.

“Jesus love you scared me.” He doesn’t jump or give any indication that you’d scared him other than the words.

“You didn’t leave.” Your bottom lip quivers and you beg for the tears to stay in your eyeballs.

“Have I ever left without saying goodbye?” He says, setting the bags down and slowly approaching you with caution and softly cupping your face.

You said no more and leant into his strong chest. His arms immediately wrapped around you pulling you in tight. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as a warm scruffy kiss was planted on your temple.

After what felt like forever you parted from him and looked silently into his eyes.

“My love I’m desperately sorry, I’ll say it for the rest of our lives if that’s what it takes I just-”

“I know.” You cut him off and caress his cheek lightly as he turns his head planting a kiss to your palm.

“You don’t have to forgive me.” He assures you.

You pull him towards you urging him to kiss you. He complies with no complaints and when your lips meet it's like every speck of worry in this universe fades to none.

“Lane has a way with words I can assume, just like her brother.” John mutters when you pull apart. You laugh and lean your head onto his chest just a bit below his heart listening to the soothing rhythm of it. He sways the two of you side to side and somehow he makes it feel like the earth spins just for you

——————

The holidays have been rough and oh god am I exhausted but nonetheless I can’t Thankyou enough for reading, commenting and showing me an unbelievable amount of support my heart is with you guys.

Comments and reposts are always appreciated <3

@floffytofu @fictionallifestuff

[kmt123whatsthetea]

I Get a Kick Out Of You

Fred Weasley x reader x George Weasley

A sequel to Something Stupid

Requested by @saintlike05

A/N: I am so sorry that this took so long. But I'm finally here to write and continue with the Frank Sinatra title theme.

T/W: Make up sex, Unprotected sex, Double Penetration, Anal, Spitting, Food play?, Teensy bit of hair pulling

If you told this story to others, you'd get a different response.

Mrs Weasley said it was fate that you walked into the shop and back into her son's lives. Hermione jokingly played it off as your brain needing the comforting colour of orange that you lost when you broke up with the twins. But the twins themselves, they called it a miracle.

It was even more miraculous that you agreed to give it another go.

The twins had discussed it after you left. They realised how careless they had been and that you only left because of their actions. Your leaving was their consequence.

They had agreed to be better for your sake. The only people they would prank from now on would be their customers, their family members, and you from time to time.

It was George's idea to have a make up date, only to mask Fred’s idea of make up sex. They planned it all. A candlelit dinner with flowers, your favourite food, and a muggle CD of some guy called Frank Sinatra that Hermione had recommended (they had gone to her for advice on how to make the perfect date after Ginny had turned them away, claiming that it was gross to think of her brother's having sex).

After that, it was all set. The clock was counting down until your scheduled arrival. Even Fred was nervous, more so than he had been on the first date.

Your first date with the twins was one to remember. You had gotten many weird looks from the other Hogsmead patrons when you gave both boys a rather loving peck on the lips. Sometimes the twins worried that the love triangle would be the thing to end your relationship. What if you did want both of them? What if you wanted someone else? Or even worse…

…What if you wanted just one of the twins?

The twins were alike in every way possible. They each had that very thought but didn't realise that the other shared it. Of course they knew that you loved them both equally, but it was still a fear that remained.

When you knocked on the door, it took both men a good minute before they rushed to let you in. Their dopey smiles remained throughout the time you took your coat off to the time you sat at the small table in the twins kitchen. They treated you like a princess throughout the little ‘make-up date’. They waited on you and even cooked you your favourite dinner (which you’re certain tasted like Molly’s cooking, but you appreciated the thought)

When dinner was finished and George took your plates, Fred smirked your way.

“Maybe we could make dessert a little more…enjoyable?”

At first, you thought Fred was being his regular old self. That was until George came back carrying a bowl of strawberries and a can of whipped cream.

Fred took a hold of the whipped cream and brushed your hair aside beside squirting a small blob of the canned goodness onto your neck. His tongue followed suit, licking it all up until there was more saliva than cream on your neck. Both men knew which spots would make you keen and practically melt, which is why Fred paid extra special attention to those sweet spots.

The bowl of strawberries sat forgotten while your sensitive neck became the perfect pairing for the whipped cream. George took the can from his brother and repeated similar licks on the other side. Soon, your neck was coated in a thin veil of saliva and cream.

They had always said that you were sweeter than any dessert.

George picked you up in his arms, securing his hands on your thighs while Fred moved his hands to your hips, keeping you boxed between their chests. Your skirt was riding up, making their job even easier. Fred pulled your underwear to the side before bringing his hand to his mouth and spitting on his fingertips. He used his spit as lube, rubbing it from your clit and over your folds before massaging your tight hole. Fred leaned his face close to your ear.

“Can you take us both, love? I know how much of a little nympho you can be”

You had done anal before, but never both at once. During sex, you always used your mouth or your pussy. George guided your eyes back to him by a gentle finger on your chin.

“It's okay if you can't take it, baby. We just want to make you feel good”

Without hesitation, you nodded eagerly.

“I can take it”

Fred’s horny devil took over. He positioned his tip at the tight ring of muscle and slowly started pushing. Your grip on George's shoulders tightened, and he kept his firm yet gentle hold on your chin. He made sure that you focused on him while Fred bottomed out.

George gestured down and you knew that he was asking for help removing his cock from his trousers since both of his hands were holding you up by your thighs. You unzipped his trousers and pushed his boxers down, just enough to uncover the prize inside. You guided him to your folds as best you could, before he lowered you down. The stretch of both of their cocks inside of you made your chest feel tight, like your breath was robbed. Their cocks were literally breathtaking.

The twins took turns thrusting, making sure that you were stretched around one of them at all times. A symphony of moans and obscene squelches filled the air, followed by the lingering smell of sex. That coil in your stomach slowly got tighter and tighter. George could feel your walls squeezing his cock so he shot Fred a glance over your shoulder. Fred gently pulled your hair back to get your attention.

“Does our pretty baby wanna cum? Why don't you show us just how much you missed us?”

That's all it took for you to fall apart in their arms. Your grip on George's shoulders tightened while you came down from your high. Even in your blissed out states, you liked to guess which of the twins would cum first. But they were twins through and through.

Both of your holes were filled with their warm cum almost simultaneously. Neither twin pulled out or let you down. Even when their muscles started to get tired, they kept a hold of you.

Literally or figuratively, the twins would always keep a hold of you. Because you were the only one who had been given the keys to their hearts.

And they would do anything to get you back.

[avelera]

Meta: Balancing the Ledger in Arcane S2

Whatever people might have thought of Vi and Jayce's actions in S1, Arcane Season 2 was definitely listening. The whole point of their arcs in 2.1-2.3 seems specifically aimed at them getting point by point retribution for everything they did wrong, intentionally or unintentionally, sympathetically or unsympathetically, in S1.

Vi:

Is hurt and abandoned by Cait in almost exactly the same manner that she hurt and abandoned Powder in S1. If you thought Vi got off too lightly for her treatment of Powder in S1, she has now experienced the full brunt of what it would be like to be on the other side of that fight.

Is attacked, terrorized, and made to feel helpless by the very undercity people who she led an attack against in S1 in which she overpowered, terrorized, and ultimately led to the death of a child as collateral damage. The escalating cycle of violence that she took part in came back to bite her, hard.

As for Jayce:

He was warned repeatedly that Hextech was dangerous. He is now seeing and experiencing first hand the risks of unchecked magical/technological progress, not only seeing how it damages the world he was trying to save, but personally experiencing the horrifying, reality distorting effects of the wild runes as of 2.3.

He left Viktor in order to pursue the higher calling of politics, ostensibly to support their research too, but it took him from his partner's side. He was also motivated by a woman, Mel, and his care for her in doing so. Regardless of intention, politics and Mel took him from Viktor's side at a critical moment when Viktor's life hung in the balance.

Now, Viktor has left Jayce, pursuing the shadow of a dead woman who inspires him now, pursuing a higher calling of bettering the lives of others in the Undercity, and while he doesn't have the same real world powers manipulating him as Jayce did, there are parallels between the Hexcore and the Council's ability to drag Viktor and Jayce respectively forward into dangerous territory, following the siren song of their ambitions to change the world for the better, away from the partnership that launched their innovations in the first place.

Jayce also took part in the rogue mission against the Undercity factory, and in the process, killed a child thus escalating the cycle of violence between Piltover and Zaun.

If you blamed Jayce for becoming a councilor, getting into a relationship with Mel while Viktor was dying, for abandoning Viktor and the lab for other pursuits, for killing that child in Zaun, or in general for escalating the cycle of violence between Zaun and Piltover, then S2 seems to have set out very deliberately to address each one of these.

Jayce is abandoned by Viktor in a similar way and for similar (if not the same) causes as Viktor now abandoned Jayce. Meanwhile, the mother of the child he specifically killed shows up to take her pound of flesh, escalating cycle of violence that has him and his loved ones caught up in it, having now arrived at his doorstep when once it was far away in Zaun, and Hextech has become everything that Heimerdinger (who he deposed in a coup d'etat in order to override his warnings and his power to stop Jayce) warned that it could be.

I stand in awe of how deliberately set up it all is, and offer this analysis of why the narrative took the time to so specifically address and bring retribution for Vi and Jayce for these specific sins, in an almost exactly eye for an eye manner.

Before Jayce and Vi can continue forward as our protagonists, we needed to wipe the slate clean.

These beats are so specifically addressed at their sins (real, imagined, or overblown) in S1 that it's impossible to say going forward that they haven't suffered the consequences of their actions. They have now both been intimately on the receiving end of the consequences of what they did to others.

Furthermore, in S2 we are seeing that Vi and Jayce were less outliers as far as people making mistakes but rather were simply ahead of the curve. Now they have seen both sides of the cycle of violence and deeply suffered the consequences of their actions, many of which were impulsive. Going forward, I think it's safe to say we're going to see Jayce and Vi become voices of reason as they continue to learn, grow and experience the consequences of the events that their S1 actions had a big hand in causing in the first place.

I think this is also why Jayce, humbled and wiser, is becoming a much more popular character in S2 while Vi is becoming a much more universally sympathetic one, though I loved them both in the first season as did many other people. But their actions were controversial in some cases and it's been fascinating to see how systematically S2 has addressed each one of their controversial actions from S1 before moving them forward as heroes and protagonists.

[vir-tanadahl]

The Wolf's Return to Wisdom

Summary: The journey between Lavellan and Solas after the events of Veilguard! NSFW.

The third installment of a (probably) three part series.

The Burden of the Dread Wolf

A Wolf's Atonement

Note: OKAY IT STARTS SAD BUT IT GETS BETTER AT THE END I PROMISE, TRUST ME. NSFW.

Together, Solas and Lavellan step into his path of atonement, moving through the shadowed fog and echoing whispers that haunt this prison of regret. Lavellan glances up at him, sensing his apprehension as they journey deeper into the darkness. Without a word, she reaches for his hand, interlocking her fingers with his.

For a moment, his usually stoic expression betrays a flicker of unease, a vulnerability she isn’t accustomed to seeing. He gives her hand a gentle squeeze but keeps his gaze fixed forward, lost in the weight of his thoughts. In response, she lifts his hand to her lips and presses a gentle kiss onto his knuckles. Their hands then fall back to their sides, but this small gesture brings him comfort and reminds him that he has someone by his side on this journey

“Tela’nadas. Mala suledin vir sulahn’nehn,” Lavellan murmurs softly, her voice a gentle warmth as she gazes up at him, her eyes filled with quiet strength and resolve. Nothing lasts forever. Your long endurance now leads to joy.

Solas takes a deep breath to steady himself before turning towards her. He raises his hand and carefully strokes her cheek with his thumb. She leans into his touch, briefly closing her eyes as if relishing the moment. He looks down at her, his gaze tender and determined, as if he wants to remember every aspect of her face. A faint smile appears on his lips, a rare sight from the man beneath the weight of his responsibilities, only seen when she is near him. He takes a deep breath before leaning in to brush his lips gently against her forehead. They stay there for a moment, sharing a tender and intimate connection before separating. Without exchanging any words, they resume walking together, their hands still intertwined.

The surroundings are void of life and desolate, a dull and empty landscape of darkness and shattered recollections. As they move ahead, the scenery distorts and morphs, transforming with every footstep until a different setting appears - one that highlights Solas's regrets. Varric.

As they continue on, the atmosphere becomes heavy with echoes of Solas's regret, each one spoken in Varric's tone. The emptiness around them is filled with a sense of blame and accusation.

“After all this time, all those speeches about finding balance and purpose. And yet, you stand here blinded by your own self-righteousness,” one voice echoes bitterly. A second voice follows, sharp and relentless. “Look around you, Solas. Look at the consequences of your actions. How many more must suffer for your regrets?” A third voice chimes in, its tone colder and more cutting. “You claim to be wise, but what have we truly gained from your so-called wisdom? Was all that suffering worth it?”

Lavellan reaches over and places her hand on Solas's arm, a gentle anchor amidst the onslaught of voices pressing in on him without mercy.

“You can’t hide behind duty, Solas. Every tyrant has a reason. What’s yours?”

She feels him tense at the word tyrant, the accusation striking him like a blow. The voices swirl around them, the relentless litany of his own self-doubt and guilt laid bare, but Lavellan’s steady touch remains, grounding him, reminding him that he doesn’t face this alone.

They arrive at a stone likeness of Varric, standing silent and unyielding amid the desolation. Solas stops before it, his gaze tracing every line and detail, as if each one carried the weight of memories. Slowly, he lowers his head, his shoulders heavy with remorse.

The voice echoes one final, cutting jab, reverberating through the air like a cruel reminder: “You think you’re a martyr, bearing this burden alone. But you didn’t have to be alone. That was your choice.” The words linger, striking deep, reminding him of the isolation he chose—and the connections he severed along the way.

Solas takes a deep, steadying breath, his voice thick with the weight of his justification. “I sacrificed our friendship for a greater cause, one beyond anything any of you could understand. It was a burden I chose to carry alone.”

From the statue, Varric’s voice replies, dripping with sarcasm. “Great story, Solas. I can already picture the book title: The Dread Wolf and His Noble Sacrifice.” The tone sharpens, biting. “Want me to write the happy ending where you save the world all by yourself, too?”

Solas takes a sharp breath and a pained expression emerges on his features. The words strike him like a knife, piercing through his determination to stay strong. Each word serves as a reminder of the sacrifices he made for his cause and the loneliness he willingly accepted. He feels the familiar urge to defend his choices, but he forces it down--there is no justification left, not even in the righteousness of his intentions.

Lavellan gently pulls on Solas, guiding him away from the haunting accusations. She knows that this distorted version of Varric is just a manifestation of Solas's own guilty conscience and doubt. "Solas," she speaks softly, "Varric spent a decade searching for you, not to judge or condemn you, but because he believed there was something worth finding."

He stays silent, staring down at the ground. She reaches up and turns his face towards her, determined not to let him hide in his guilt. "You know Varric better than that," she says with a steady and kind voice. "He always believed in people's ability to change, that their past didn't have to determine their future. Do you really think he would condemn you without giving you a chance to make things right?"

Her words cut through the fog of his regret, grounding him, reminding him of the man Varric truly was and the belief he once had in him, but the doubt still lingers. “This manifestation of Varric is right to condemn me, vhenan,” he tells her.

With her hand softly resting on his cheek, Lavellan gazes up at Solas. His eyes are filled with guilt and sorrow, desperately seeking a sense of stability in her unwavering gaze. As he fights to keep himself composed, Varric's voice cuts through the fog once again.

"Friendships are messy, Chuckles. People fight, disagree, get hurt—but they don’t just write each other off. I didn’t search for you just to give up on you.”

Solas's eyes well up with tears, and he inhales deeply, his gaze never leaving Lavellan's. She is the only anchor keeping him from being consumed by his overwhelming regret. Varric's voice chimes in once more, gentle but still dripping with his trademark humor. "You may believe that redemption is beyond your grasp, but perhaps it's time you take a lesson from your 'less wise' companions." Solas lets out a breath, a mix of amusement and surprise, as if Varric's words have struck a chord within him.

“So here’s the truth, Chuckles: even if you hurt us, I never stopped hoping you’d come back. Stop dragging yourself through the mud. If there’s any chance for you to make things right, don’t waste it. You owe it to yourself—and to all of us.”

In the ensuing silence, the weight of Varric's words echoes in Solas's mind, exposing his vulnerability. Eventually, Varric's voice changes focus and turns to address Lavellan. “If anyone can help him see a way out of this mess, it’s you,” the voice says gently. “I may not know what the future holds, but with you by his side… he might just make it.”

Lavellan’s hand rests steady against his cheek, her touch anchoring him to the present, reminding him that even amid his mistakes, hope endures—and with it, the possibility of redemption. She watches as a new resolve forms in his eyes, a glint of determination cutting through the sorrow. His gaze is glossy, emotions brimming just beneath the surface.

Without saying a single word, he pulls her in close, his arms enveloping her body in a comforting embrace. His chin rests gently on top of her head, as if seeking solace from her presence. His voice is soft and earnest as he speaks. "I may not be worthy of your forgiveness...but please believe me when I say that I deeply regret the hurt I caused you, Varric. I am truly sorry."

The words hang in the air, soft yet powerful, carrying the weight of his remorse. And in Lavellan’s embrace, he finds a flicker of peace—a fragile, yet undeniable step toward healing. "Don't go getting all sentimental on me, Chuckles. You're starting to sound like one of those tragic heroes from my books," Varric's voice breaks in. "But... apology accepted, for what it's worth," he responds.

Solas chokes back a sound that’s both a chuckle and a sob, tightening his hold on Lavellan as though she’s the only steady point in a turbulent sea. She wraps her arms around him, her hand moving in gentle, soothing circles along his back, grounding him with her quiet strength.

A surge of raw magic erupts from the statue of Varric, pulsing through the air and causing the surrounding atmosphere to shift. It is as if a spell has shattered, releasing something powerful and long-contained. The once-oppressive weight that hung in the air dissipates, leaving behind a sense of clarity and lightness. A feeling of freedom washes over them, granting a brief respite from the heavy burden they have carried for what feels like an eternity. It is a moment of relief, however fleeting it may be.

The weight of Varric's words hangs in the air, causing Solas to visibly tremble. He stands in silence, his breaths coming in unsteady gasps as he hunches under the heavy burden of guilt. He finds some solace in holding her close. Gradually, he regains control over himself, his breathing calming and steadying out.

His words are barely audible, filled with a deep sense of regret and shame. "I have left lasting wounds on all those who have stood by me, vhenan,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with raw regret and shame. “Knowing what I did to Varric… how can you see anything but a man consumed by his own failings?”

She continues to hold him close, her hand moving gently across his back in a reassuring rhythm. “Do you really think I would have followed you into the Fade if all I saw was your failures?” Her voice is soft and kind, yet there’s a firmness beneath it. “You believe you’re defined by those failings, but you’re wrong. What defines you now are the choices you make moving forward.”

She pulls away, meeting his gaze with a steady and unwavering look. “And I see someone who still has the courage to change,” she says. Solas gazes down at her, a gentle shake of his head betraying the doubt lingering in his heart. “I don’t know if I deserve such forgiveness,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

Lavellan's smile is tinged with sadness, but it also radiates understanding. "It's not up to you to determine if you deserve forgiveness," she says gently, her gaze steady and unwavering. "That power lies with those who are willing to forgive." A loud sigh escapes his lips. "You are right," he admits, defeat evident in his tone. She lets out a soft giggle and traces her fingers along his jawline. "I am well aware," she responds with a playful smile.

Her words, so full of compassion and forgiveness, unravel something deep within him. For a long, breathless moment, Solas simply looks at her, as if searching for any hint of doubt in her expression. But all he finds is warmth, understanding, and a love so unwavering that it takes his breath away.

He is unable to resist the pull between them as he leans forward, resting his forehead against hers, his eyes slipping shut as he allows himself to feel her presence fully. Her hands slide to rest on his shoulders, anchoring him, and he lets out a shuddering breath, the closeness between them a rare solace he never thought he’d have again.

Slowly, as if still uncertain that he has the right to take comfort in her, he brings his hands up to rest lightly at her waist, drawing her closer. Their breaths mingle, and there’s a moment of hesitation, a shared silence heavy with everything left unsaid. Then, closing the final distance, he presses his lips to hers in a kiss that begins softly, tentatively, as if he’s afraid to shatter the fragile connection between them.

Her lips are warm and enticing, and he revels in the softness of her skin beneath his touch. She embraces him tightly, bringing him closer to her. The kiss intensifies, a delicate dance of tongues and lips, a mutual release of built-up tension and desire. With each caress, every gentle press of their mouths, their love is reaffirmed - a bond that has not wavered despite time, distance, and previous betrayal. Solas's hand gently cradles her face, his touch filled with reverence as if she is the only thing keeping him grounded in this vast and dim world. He is consumed by the sensation, his senses completely overwhelmed by the taste and scent of her.

He pulls away gently, his expression softening as he gazes down at her with a mixture of wonder and longing. His fingers glide along her arm before entwining with hers. "Come," he whispers, his voice gentle yet determined, as he takes the lead and guides them towards the next regret he must confront.

As they continue their journey through the prison of regret, Lavellan can feel a faint glimmer of hope growing inside of him. It is fragile and uncertain, yet it cannot be ignored. However, with each passing step, the air becomes heavy and oppressive, weighing down on them both. This new regret brings with it a profound sense of sorrow, a pain that goes beyond just Solas and seeps into Lavellan's own heart, resonating with an ache that feels almost unbearable.

The landscape shifts again, twisting into a familiar scenes—and then she sees it. Herself. A statue stands before them, capturing the night he revealed the truth about the vallaslin. She’s frozen in that moment, her expression a mixture of vulnerability and betrayal, her heart laid bare as he shattered it when he ended their relationship. But this is not the only statue here.

There is another statue before them, captured in the moments after they defeated Corypheus. She’s posed with her arms wrapped tightly around her waist, as if trying to hold herself together, the faint glow of the anchor illuminating her hand. Lavellan’s chest tightens as she remembers that day vividly: the relief mingled with grief, the emptiness that followed when Leliana approached her to say that Solas had… simply vanished, without a word.

And next to that statue is another. This one shows her kneeling, her hand outstretched, frozen in the moment he took the anchor from her—the moment he held her hand, his fingers intertwined with hers as he absorbed her pain. The anchor is depicted mid-dissolution, its glow fading as he bore its burden.

Lavellan inhales sharply, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she takes in the sight. The memories, the loss, and the tenderness of that final touch rush back to her, stirring emotions she thought she had long buried.

Solas stands rooted in place, his gaze fixed on the three statues before him, each one a haunting reflection of his past choices. Hesitation and dread flicker across his face, but he remains still as the manifestations around them begin to call out, voices laden with pain and betrayal.

“You showed me a truth I never asked for, then left me with nothing but questions. Did you even care what it would do to me?” echoes the voice from Crestwood, sharp and wounded. Another voice follows, from the night they defeated Corypheus, its tone hollow with abandonment. “I trusted you, believed what we had was real. But you vanished, and all that remained was emptiness. Why did you leave me?” A third voice, this one raw with anguish, rings out from the Exalted Council. “Fen’Harel. All this time, I loved Fen’Harel, and you never told me. You let me bear the Anchor as it tore me apart—how could you hide such a thing?”

The Crestwood manifestation speaks again, the accusation piercing through the air. “You told me of my people’s past, wiped away the vallaslin, and then left as if that was all you had to give. Did I mean nothing to you?”

“You made me believe I mattered,” the Corypheus manifestation cries out, “but when the time came, you disappeared. Why, Solas?”

The third voice echoes immediately after, fierce with betrayal. “Did you ever see me as an equal, or was I just another piece on your board, someone to be used and discarded?”

Lavellan stares up at Solas in shock as the cacophony of regret, accusations, and wounded love fills the space, each word cutting deeper. The relentless chorus surrounds him, pressing down on his shoulders, leaving him bare before the weight of his choices.

The first manifestation cries out, its voice raw with betrayal, “Was I just too small for your grand vision? Too naïve to understand the truth you carried? You stripped away the vallaslin, the last piece of myself I thought I understood—and then you left me with nothing.” The second manifestation’s voice rises, laced with sorrow and frustration. “If you were going to leave, why couldn’t you just say it? Just a goodbye—I would have let you go if you’d given me that much.” The third manifestation follows, its tone sharp with disbelief. “I thought I knew you, but you were always someone else. How can you ask for forgiveness, knowing how you deceived me?”

Solas’s legs weaken under the weight of their accusations, and he falls to his knees, the crushing regret and guilt pressing down on him, stripping away any defense he might have once held. ears spill down his face as he listens, helpless, to the echoes of pain from the voices of the woman he calls his heart.

Instinctively, Lavellan reaches for him, her hands moving to pull him up from the ground. But he raises a trembling hand, halting her. “I must do this,” he says, his voice barely steady, breaking with emotion.

Lavellan nods silently, hands clasped tightly over her heart, resisting the urge to shield him from this suffering—from the pain he’s caused, and from her own pain. She steps back, letting him bear this moment alone, knowing that this is a part of the path he must walk if he is ever to heal.

He bows his head, his hands resting on his bent knees as he takes a few steadying breaths, bracing himself for the confessions he has long avoided. With each breath, he prepares to face the pain he has caused, and he begins, addressing the first manifestation from Crestwood.

“That night in Crestwood, when I shared the truth about your vallaslin…” He falters, the words catching in his throat. “You don’t know how close I came to breaking, to simply letting go of my plans. I could have told you everything—or even set it all aside, stayed with you as Solas, as I truly wanted.” His voice hitches, and he struggles to contain the tears that continue to fall. “I regret the pain I caused you… for what I left you to carry alone.”

He pauses, gathering his thoughts, then turns to the next manifestation, the one from the night of Corypheus’s defeat. “I disappeared because I thought my path would only bring you more suffering. I thought leaving quietly was an act of kindness, sparing you from more pain—but I see now it was a cruelty all its own.” He swallows, his voice weighted with sorrow. “I left you with unanswered questions and wounds that deepened in my absence. For that, I am so deeply sorry.”

Another pause, another breath. He addresses the final manifestation, the one formed from the Exalted Council. “You knew me as Solas, but I am—” He falters, correcting himself. “I was… also Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf. I kept that truth from you, fearing you would hate me, fearing it would shatter us. But in hiding it, I only caused a deeper wound.”

He takes a shuddering inhale, his voice softened with remorse as he finishes. “I made choices that left you with nothing but betrayal and heartbreak. If I could undo them, I would, but all I can offer now is my deepest apology, for all the pain I caused and the trust I shattered.” He bows his head, the confessions spilling from him like a release, yet leaving behind a silence heavy with unspoken hopes.

Lavellan’s hands fly to her mouth as tears stream down her face, her shoulders shaking as years of unspoken pain rise to the surface. Solas rises slowly, his head still bowed, shadows of shame and regret etched into his posture. Turning to face her, he speaks softly, his voice laden with remorse.

“Vhenan,” he begins, his own voice faltering as he sees her tears. “I left you with questions, with doubts and pain that should never have been yours to carry. I turned away, thinking I could protect you. But in trying to shield you, I only left you wounded. I am… so deeply sorry.”

He pauses, searching for words to ease the weight of his confession, though he knows no words may ever be enough. “I thought that by leaving, you would find peace. I thought it was the only way. But I underestimated the strength of your love, and I see now that my choice only deepened your suffering.” A quiet sob escapes her, the pain she has carried alone finally acknowledged and given voice. Solas steps closer, his gaze finally meeting hers, raw and unguarded. “Every moment, I have carried your memory with me,” he continues, his voice thick with emotion. “You have given me far more than I ever deserved.”

Lavellan’s tears flow freely now, each word healing to wounds that had festered for too long. His confession, his presence, are a release—an unspoken promise that perhaps healing may yet be possible, even after all the years of heartache.

The echoes of the first manifestation call out from behind him, “What happened between us in Crestwood is no longer a wound for me. You helped me grow, Solas, and I have let go of the pain. I wish you could, too.” The second manifestation calls out, “I know you still feel the guilt of leaving without a word, but I want you to know I’ve forgiven you. I hope you can let go of that guilt, too.” The third manifestation follows, “You may have feared my reaction, but you didn’t have to hide from me. I love you for all that you are, and I forgive you. Let our love be enough to bridge the truth.”

Solas closes his eyes for a moment as the what the manifestations said echoes in his mind and body. He opens them again, standing a little straighter. “There are countless choices I regret, but meeting you, sharing those moments together—that is something I will never regret.” He pauses, his voice softening, “and I look forward to the moments still to come.

Lavellan wipes at the tears streaming down her face, her breaths shaky as she steps forward and wraps her arms around Solas, holding him close. “You are more than your mistakes, Solas,” she whispers, her voice soft but steady as she fights to keep it from breaking. “I see the good in you, I know your heart. Let yourself be free of that burden vhenan.” She pulls back just enough to look into his eyes, her own filled with compassion and unwavering resolve. “I forgive you,” she says, her voice trembling. “And I want you to forgive yourself. Your path doesn’t have to be one of endless atonement. There is happiness waiting for you, if you’ll only allow yourself to reach for it.”

She pauses, her fingers lightly brushing his cheek, grounding them both in the moment. “I’ll be there to support you,” she finishes, her voice gentle yet firm, a promise woven into each word.

Solas shakes his head slowly, a look of quiet disbelief in his eyes. He can hardly comprehend the depth of her compassion, her unwavering kindness, and the forgiveness she extends to him despite everything. It’s a grace he isn’t sure he will ever truly understand.

He isn’t sure he will ever feel truly worthy of her forgiveness, despite the ease and grace with which she offers it. All he can do now is continue down this path of atonement and prove to her—and to himself—that he can grow, that he can become the man worthy of her faith in him.

Solas gently takes her hand from where it rests against his cheek, wrapping his fingers around hers. He brings her palm to his lips, pressing a tender, lingering kiss into it, as if sealing a silent promise.

Solas leans down, capturing her lips in a more intense and urgent kiss than before. There is a quiet desperation in his movements that she can feel, as if he needs her with every fiber of his being. His tongue explores her mouth, conveying the hunger he has for her. She shivers at the intensity of his desire. His hands grip her waist, pulling her even closer as he continues to deepen the kiss, his lips eagerly taking hers

His fingertips glide against her flesh, eliciting shivers that run down her back as they trace the curves of her body. His touch is delicate, like a whisper in the night, yet his gaze burns with an untamed hunger. Their tongues intertwine in a sensual rhythm, conveying their intense longing and yearning. He caresses the line of her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair as he intensifies the kiss. She can sense his heart racing against hers, his chest rising and falling with unbridled desire.

As each regret is faced and acknowledged, whether forgiven or not, it feels like a part of the Solas she remembers starts to resurface. The weight of the Dread Wolf, a burden he has carried alone for centuries, begins to crack and crumble, piece by piece, allowing the true man underneath to gradually come back to the surface.

Lavellan leans back slightly, her eyes remaining fixed on his as they both struggle to catch their breath. Her gaze holds a deep love for him, a sense of belonging that goes beyond words, and a spark of hope that she seems to reserve just for him. In turn, his own eyes reflect a profound love, an unbreakable bond, and an overwhelming sense of thankfulness towards her. He looks at her in disbelief, amazed that even in his darkest moments she never lost faith in him - a faith he often struggled to hold onto himself.

Solas longs to pause here, to savor this moment a little longer, but he knows there is still one final regret he must confront before they can truly rest, even if only briefly, before continuing on his journey of atonement.

“Let’s go,” Lavellan urges softly, a smile lighting her face, her eyes still filled with longing. He holds her gaze for a moment longer, letting himself fully take in her presence, her warmth, her unwavering support. Finally, he nods, a quiet resolve settling over him as he steels himself to face what lies ahead.

Four pulses of energy ripple through the air, each one a testament to Solas not only taking responsibility for his choices but fully accepting them rather than hiding from them. As the energy dissipates, the oppressive weight around them lifts, leaving the air feeling lighter, clearer. The glimmer of hope within him grows, strengthening with each beat, as he realizes he may truly have the strength to confront his regrets—one by one.

The next regret is different, larger and more imposing, looming over them like an ancient shadow. Unlike the previous regrets, it does not manifest as a stone statue or a single figure. This regret embodies something far greater—a collective sorrow, the weight of a choice that altered the fate of an entire people.

The manifestation takes form as a spectral, crumbling vision of ancient Arlathan—the heart of the Elvhen empire. Its once-grand spires stand fractured and fading, shrouded in mist, surrounded by faint echoes of what once was: faint laughter, distant voices, and the flickering silhouettes of elvhen figures moving through the shadows. The very air seems heavy with loss, the grandeur of Arlathan reduced to a hollow memory.

This is one of Solas’s deepest regret: the harm inflicted on the elvhen people when he created the Veil, intending to protect them. His well-meaning act had catastrophic consequences that he could not foresee. The Veil severed most beings’ connection to the Fade, robbing most of them of their magic and immortality. The elvhen people began to age, places like the Vir Dirthara—their great repository of knowledge—collapsed, wiping out wisdom, killing many, and leaving spirits wounded and lost.

The echoes rise around them, voices filled with sorrow and accusation.

“We were a people of magic, connected to the Fade, woven into the very fabric of life,” one voice laments, its tone laced with bitterness. “You took that from us. Look at what we have become—mere shadows of our former selves.” Another echo joins, its voice steeped in betrayal. “We trusted you, Dread Wolf, to protect us. Instead, you left us with nothing but fading memories and a world that forgot our names.” A third voice cuts through the air, sharp with anger and grief. “You think you saved them? Look at what you have wrought—a scattered people, broken and lost, bound by chains you once swore to break.”

The words hang heavy in the air, each one a reminder of the unintended devastation his choice brought upon his people.

Everywhere he looks, Solas sees remnants of the world he unintentionally fractured: ruins of elvhen culture, shattered bonds with the Fade, and memories of lives broken by his hand. The enormity of this regret stretches before him, echoing the price of his actions in every corner of the landscape.

Solas releases a heavy sigh, his head bowing in shame as the weight of his choices settles over him. Quietly, Lavellan steps up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing herself gently against his back. Her embrace is steady and grounding, offering silent comfort as he stands before the haunting remnants of his choices.

The air fills with haunting echoes, the voices of the elvhen people reverberating through the ruins. Some call out in desperation, pleading for the return of their lost magic, others casting blame on Dread Wolf, their voices sharp with betrayal and suffering. The cries of spirits resonate in the distance, filled with despair, their words tangled in ancient, forgotten elvhen language.

Faint memories of children’s laughter twist and distort, transforming into cries of isolation and fear, filling the space with a chilling sense of loss. Each voice, each plea, is a reminder of what has been sacrificed, the legacy of a shattered world longing for what it once was.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, his gaze distant as he begins to speak. “In my desperation to save Elvhenan, to seek justice, I acted without fully understanding the depths of what would be lost.” His voice is low, heavy with sorrow and self-reflection. “I see now that my choice did not free us—it bound my people in ways I could never have imagined.”

The weight of his words lingers, each syllable filled with humility and a deep, aching regret, as if he’s only now grasping the full measure of his actions.

His regret reveals a harsh truth: in his fervent pursuit to restore the Elvhen people’s bond with the Fade, he risks repeating the very mistake he made centuries ago—acting without full understanding and potentially bringing irreversible harm to Thedas and its people. The weight of this realization settles over him, a reminder that even with the best intentions, his choices could lead to unintended destruction once more.

The echoes of his regret fall silent, leaving a stillness that hangs heavy in the air. Solas stands motionless, absorbing the revelation that he had been on the verge of repeating the very same mistake. The weight of it settles over him, forcing him to confront the depth of his choices—and the narrow line between his intentions and their unintended consequences.

Behind him, he feels Lavellan’s arms tighten around him, her warmth grounding him in the present. Her voice is gentle yet steady, a quiet reassurance. “Yes, your choices brought pain, but you also did what no one else could. You protected us from a greater darkness, Solas,” she murmurs. “You still have the power to choose—to protect, to create, to heal.” Her words hold a soft strength, reminding him that even now, he holds the potential to mend what was broken.

The vision shifts once more, unveiling a future where the Elvhen people, driven by hope and resilience, strive to reclaim their magic and restore their lost history. Solas watches as they walk freely, renewed with purpose, within the world he had unwittingly reshaped—a world that, despite its scars, now holds the promise of their rebirth. The echoes of their past blend with a vision of their future, a possibility he had scarcely dared to imagine.

Instead of a cacophony of echoing regret, the voices speak in a solemn, unified chorus. “Perhaps your pride blinded you to the truth: some things cannot be restored, and some wounds lie beyond even your power to heal.”

The voices soften, carrying a bittersweet wisdom. “What was lost is mourned, yet what remains has its own beauty.” They continue, their tone shifting to one of gentle admonition. “You wish to restore your people to what they once were, yet their strength now lies in their ability to adapt, to endure.” A pause lingers, filled with the weight of truth. “Pride would demand they return to an old legacy, but wisdom would honor who they have become.”

Solas wrestles with the proclamation of the manifestations, the weight of their words pressing heavily upon him. Yet, deep down, he cannot deny the truth in their voices—a truth both humbling and undeniable.

“Perhaps true atonement lies not in restoring what was lost, but in honoring what has grown from its ashes,” Solas murmurs, almost to himself, before gently guiding Lavellan to stand before him. His fingers rest beneath her chin, softly tilting her face toward his.

“My pride drove me to reclaim the past,” he says, his voice steady yet touched with humility. “But wisdom… wisdom shows me that true strength lies in embracing the world as it is.”

She smiles up at him, her expression warm and knowing, as though she had always sensed he would one day remember his true purpose—and reclaim it. “Atonement isn’t always about changing the world, but finding peace with how it has changed,” she whispers, leaning up on the balls of her feet bringing her face closer to his. In his eyes, a quiet contemplation mingles with desire. “Ah, the wisdom to accept what I cannot change…” he murmurs, his voice both soft and weighted with newfound humility. “One would think, after all these centuries, I might have learned that lesson.”

Lavellan laughs softly, a gentle, affectionate sound. “I’d say you’ve learned plenty,” she teases, her voice warm. “But I’m always happy to help you…” Her voice trails off for a moment, a playful glint in her eyes. “Refine that wisdom.” Her hands slide to his hips, pulling him just a little closer. Solas’s eyebrows lift slightly, catching the suggestiveness in her tone. “You make a very compelling case,” he murmurs, his voice low and rich with desire. “Perhaps I’ve been neglecting certain… areas of study.”

The air between them crackles with intensity, charged with a desire that has lingered unspoken, now impossible to ignore.

Lavellan raises her brow, feigning a look of shock. “Neglecting certain studies? Well, we can’t have that,” she teases, her face still close to his, her lips just a breath away. Tilting her head ever so slightly, she adds, voice soft and inviting, “When would you like to begin?”

He inhales sharply, his eyes darkening with unrestrained desire. “Now,” he breathes, before his lips capture hers in a fierce, consuming kiss. She opens her mouth, beckoning him in.

His mouth presses against hers, his tongue explored her mouth with a primal intensity, causing her to ache with desire. He pulled her in closer, his arms strong and secure around her waist as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving hungrily against hers. The anticipation between them was almost tangible, the air heavy with their mutual longing. With each touch of his lips, she feels herself getting lost in the moment and giving in to his insatiable hunger for her

As they kiss, her fingers trace the intricate design of his leather armor, struggling to find and release the clasp. Solas pulls away slightly, his gaze locked on hers with a fierce intensity. She can feel his chest rise and fall rapidly with each ragged breath, his body tense with anticipation. After a few fumbled attempts, Solas takes her hands in his and guides her deftly to the clasp, their fingers intertwining as they work together to undo it.

Lost in each other, they remain oblivious to the pulse of energy rippling through the air as the manifestation of regret fades, dissolving into the surrounding Fade. The environment around them begins to shift, the oppressive weight of the prison softening into something calmer, imbued with a quiet sense of hope. It’s as if the Fade itself acknowledges the first steps of Solas’s atonement, offering a brief reprieve from the darkness.

The landscape settles into a gentler, more tranquil scene, a silent reminder that while the journey toward redemption may be arduous, there will be moments of peace along the way—moments where the burden will feel a little lighter.

With the last clasp finally undone, Solas hungrily captures her mouth once more. Their tongues entwine, a fiery passion consuming them both. As their kiss deepens, Lavellan's fingertips dance along his chest, tracing the defined muscles beneath his skin. She scrapes her nails lightly against him, eliciting a low groan from Solas as she removes the top portion of his armor. The leather creaks softly as it falls away, revealing his bare torso and sending shivers down his spine.

Their lips danced together in a passionate rhythm, each movement mirroring the other's. His fingers trailed lightly over her skin, tracing the seam of her shirt and gently caressing the curve of her breast. A shiver of pleasure ran through her body as he expertly unbuttoned her top, revealing more of her bare skin to his touch.

Lavellan lets out a soft moan as his fingers work to undo the last button on her top, their warmth causing shivers to run down her spine. Her body responds eagerly to his touch, surrendering to the sparks of desire that ignite within her. He pulls away from her lips and locks eyes with her, his intense gaze filled with fire and passion.

Solas gazes into Lavellan's eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or reluctance. As his intense gaze meets hers, Lavellan can feel her breath catch in her throat. She sees a raw emotion in his eyes - not just desire, but also a vulnerability that tugs at her heartstrings. In response, she reaches up and gently cups his face in her hands, stroking his cheek with her thumb as she nods, giving him the confirmation he seeks.

With a low growl, Solas captures her lips once more, his kiss deep and hungry. His hands slide beneath her open shirt, pushing it off her shoulders. The fabric whispers as it falls to the floor, leaving her bare from the waist up.

Lavellan arches into him, every inch of her skin tingling at the contact. The anticipation that had been building for ten long years now finally fulfilled in this moment. She savors the feeling of his bare chest against hers, reveling in the heat and electricity that courses through her veins. A decade of desire and longing, now unleashed in a frenzy of passion between them. Solas pulls her close, his arms encircling her as the Fade begins to shift once more. The shadows melt away, giving shape to a room materializing around them, walls forming gently as if crafted from memory itself. The space feels intimate and warm, a quiet sanctuary emerging from the vastness of the Fade, sheltering them in its embrace.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her backwards onto the plush mattress that appeared out of thin air.

Lavellan's breath catches as she sinks into the soft mattress, her eyes never leaving Solas'. His gaze is intense, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths - desire, longing, and a hint of something deeper, more primal. He follows her down, his body hovering over hers, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating from his skin.

"Vhenan," he whispers, the endearment falling from his lips like a prayer.

As she lies in bed, her breath catches in her throat. Solas swiftly removes her boots with a gentle touch, his skilled hands gliding over the laces and buckles. He then moves on to her pants, slowly unbuttoning them and sliding them off her legs with a steady grip. As he looks at her naked form, his eyes roam over every inch of her body with an intense desire that sends shivers down her spine. His hunger for her is palpable, making her skin flush with excitement and anticipation.

The intensity in his eyes is palpable as he kneels between her legs, gazing at her with desire. "You are beautiful…" he whispers, his voice laced with genuine admiration. He pulls her closer to the edge of the bed, anticipation building in both of them. His hot breath caresses her clit, sending electric tingles down her spine. She arches her back and moans softly, unable to contain the desire coursing through her. "Solas," she whispers, desperate for more of his touch.

Solas smirks, enjoying her eagerness. He softly kisses her inner thigh, then another slightly higher. "Patience, vhenan," he murmurs against her skin. Lavellan's fingers clutch at the bedsheets as Solas continues his teasing. His lips and tongue trace tantalizing patterns, moving ever closer to where she needs him most. When he finally flicks his tongue across her clit, she gasps sharply followed by a moan.

Solas hums with approval, the vibration intensifying the sensation. He explores her folds with reverent attention, savoring her taste and the little sounds of pleasure she makes. His hands grip her thighs, holding her steady as he works.

Lavellan's head falls back against the pillows, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. His hot breath washes over her as his skilled tongue flicks and swirls against her throbbing clit. She gasps and arches her back when he adds two fingers inside of her, slowly pumping and curling them to hit just the right spot.

Lavellan's body trembles under Solas's expert ministrations. His fingers move in perfect rhythm with his tongue, building her pleasure higher and higher. She feels herself approaching the edge, her breaths coming in short gasps. With a soft, breathless moan, she calls out to him, "Solas... please..." Slowly, she lifts her head to meet his gaze. His eyes, a deep and mesmerizing shade of violet, are fixed on her with intensity. Every emotion and desire seems to swirl within them, drawing her in deeper.

He responds by increasing his pace, his fingers curling inside her as his tongue circles her clit with renewed vigor. The dual sensations overwhelm her, and with a cry of ecstasy, Lavellan tumbles over the edge. Waves of pleasure crash over her as Solas works her through her climax, drawing out every last tremor. As she comes down from her high, Solas places soft kisses along her inner thighs, slowly working his way up her body. His lips brush against her stomach, between her breasts,

His arousal was evident, straining against the fabric of his pants. With a cocky smirk, he pulled away from her and made his way to the edge of the bed, sitting down to remove his boots.

Lavellan followed closely behind, pressing her naked body against his bare back. He could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin as she trailed kisses down his neck, eventually finding her way to his ear. When she grazed her tongue along the edge of his ear, he couldn't contain the moan that escaped his lips from the delicious sensation.

When Solas removes his boots, Lavellan moves like a serpent around him and pulls him up onto his feet. Her soft lips eagerly find his and her delicate fingers begin to loosen the ties of his pants, teasingly grazing over his hardened member. A low, guttural moan escapes his lips as he leans into her touch, eagerly assisting her in shedding his clothing. The air is heavy with an intoxicating mix of desire and anticipation as they both give in to their primal urges.

In an instant, she drops to her knees before him, her lips parting eagerly and her hands reaching up to unbutton his pants. Her breath is hot against the fabric as she pulls it down, revealing his throbbing member. She takes him into her mouth, her tongue swirling and flicking along the length of him. The sensation sends shivers down his spine and he can't help but moan in pleasure. Every movement of her mouth is calculated and skilled, sending waves of intense pleasure through his body.

He sits on the edge of the bed, his breath coming in heavy pants as Lavellan's skilled hand deftly removes his pants without interrupting the rhythm of her mouth on his cock. She slows her movements, her gaze fixed on him as she flicks her tongue in slow circles around the tip. Each touch sends shivers down his spine and he grips the sheets tightly, unable to contain the pleasure coursing through him. His senses are overwhelmed by the sight of her beautiful form kneeling before him, her lips caressing him with expertise.

His hands tangle into her long, wavy hair as she slowly releases his member. Her soft tongue glides down his length before circling around his balls and bringing them gently into her warm mouth. As she sucks and licks, her other hand begins to twist and stroke up and down against his throbbing cock. The sensation is almost overwhelming, causing him to moan with pleasure as he loses himself in the pleasure she is giving him.

"Vhenan..." he groans, his deep voice husky with desire. In his voice is a gentle command, one that sends shivers down Lavellan's spine. She hums in acknowledgement as she removes her mouth from his throbbing cock, relishing in the way it twitches under her touch. Climbing back into bed, she lays on her back with a contented sigh, waiting for Solas to join her. He moves gracefully, his body fluid and controlled as he settles over her. Gently, he leans down to capture her lips once more, his hands caressing her skin. Adjusting one of her legs, he delicately drapes it over his shoulder, drawing them impossibly closer.

Lavellan's breath catches as Solas positions himself at her entrance. He pauses, his violet eyes locking with hers, seeking silent permission. She nods, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. With a gentle roll of his hips, Solas enters her slowly, savoring every sensation as he fills her completely. The feeling of him inside her after so long is exquisite, a perfect joining that makes them feel whole again

Solas pauses, allowing her to adjust to his size. His violet eyes lock with hers, filled with an intensity that takes her breath away. His hips grind against hers, causing her to moan in response as he holds her close.

Lavellan reaches up to cup his face, her thumb stroking his cheek. "Ar lath ma vhenan," she breathes. At her words, something in Solas seems to break. With a soft moan, Solas leans in and captures her lips in a desperate, hungry kiss. His hands grip her hips as he sets a steady rhythm, thrusting into her with a controlled urgency that makes their bodies collide in perfect harmony.

Lavellan arches her back, drawing him in deeper. Her hands roam over his shoulders and back, relishing the feeling of his muscles flexing beneath her fingertips.

Solas's movements become more urgent, his thrusts deeper and more passionate. Lavellan matches his intensity, her hips rising to meet his with each stroke. Their bodies move together in perfect synchronicity, as if they were made for each other. Soft moans and gasps fill the air as they lose themselves in the moment. Solas buries his face in the crook of Lavellan's neck, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. His lips trace a path along her collarbone, pausing to suck gently at the sensitive skin.

"Solas," Lavellan whimpers, her fingers digging into his back. She can feel the tension building within her, a coiling heat that threatens to consume her.

Understanding her unspoken request, Solas shifts his angle slightly, hitting that perfect spot within her. Lavellan cries out, her back arching as sparks of ecstasy shoot through her body. Solas's pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he feels Lavellan trembling beneath him. Her soft cries of pleasure spur him on, igniting a primal need within him. He reaches between their bodies, his fingers finding her sensitive bundle of nerves. With skilled, circular motions, he strokes her in time with his thrusts.

Lavellan's world narrows to the exquisite sensations coursing through her body. The coiling tension within her builds to a crescendo, and with a breathless cry of Solas's name, she tumbles over the edge. Waves of pleasure crash over her as her inner walls clench around him. Solas groans deeply, the feeling of her climax pushing him towards his own release. His movements become erratic, his breath coming in short gasps against her neck. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside her, groaning her name as his body shuddering as he finds his own release.

For several long moments, they remain still, bodies intertwined as they catch their breath. Solas places gentle kisses along Lavellan's neck and jaw, savoring the afterglow of their passion. Slowly, he lifts his head to meet her gaze, his eyes filled with tenderness. The air around them seems to shimmer, the Fade responding to the intensity of their emotions.

As their breathing slows, Solas gently rolls to the side, pulling Lavellan with him so she rests against his chest. His fingers trace lazy patterns on her back as she nestles into him, their legs still intertwined. The Fade shimmers around them, reflecting the contentment and peace they both feel in this moment.

Lavellan nuzzles into the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent. "I've missed you," she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. Solas tightens his arms around Lavellan, drawing her closer as if trying to merge their very beings. His heart swells with a bittersweet ache at her words. "And I you, vhenan, far more than you could know.” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion.

For a long moment, they simply lie there, basking in each other's presence. Solas's fingers trace idle patterns along Lavellan's spine, reveling in the softness of her skin.

Eventually, Lavellan props herself up on an elbow, her gaze searching Solas's face. Her free hand comes up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone. "What happens now?" she asks softly, her voice tinged with both hope and apprehension

Solas meets Lavellan's gaze, his violet eyes filled with a mixture of tenderness and sorrow. He covers her hand on his cheek with his own, turning slightly to press a gentle kiss to her palm. "Tomorrow, we will continue on our journey," he says softly. “Together.”

A smile forms across her face. "Together." she echoes, her voice barely above a whisper. Solas leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Rest now, vhenan," he murmurs against her skin. Lavellan nestles closer to Solas, her head resting on his chest as she listens to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms encircle her, holding her close as if afraid she might slip away. The Fade shimmers softly around them, a gentle cocoon of tranquility.

As sleep begins to claim her, Lavellan feels a sense of peace wash over her. For the first time in years, she feels truly safe and whole. The path ahead may be uncertain, fraught with challenges and difficult choices, but in this moment, wrapped in Solas's embrace, she knows they will face it together.

Solas remains awake, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along Lavellan's back as she drifts off to sleep. He marvels at the warmth of her body against his, the softness of her breath on his skin. His mind wanders to the path that lies ahead, the challenges they have yet to face. There is still so much to atone for, so many wrongs to right. But for the first time in millennia, he feels a flicker of hope. With Lavellan by his side, perhaps redemption is not as far out of reach as he once believed.

Solas presses a gentle kiss to the top of Lavellan's head, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair. "Ar lath ma, vhenan."

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. v: Aegon's Doom

Chapter Summary: Aegon faces the consequences of his actions, and Valeana is caught in the crossfire.

Word Count: 3172

Sneak Peak: She furrowed her brow, “You wouldn’t dare.” “Oh, sweetling, if I’m going down, I’m taking you down with me.”

Warnings: MDNI, 18+. A little smut. A little yandere.

T H E   R E D S

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Three days and three nights passed since they had arrived at King’s Landing. It was almost like they had never left; their routine seemed to pick up exactly where it left off. Their mornings were spent in their solar, their afternoons were spent with Helaena and Alicent, and their evenings were spent as a family. They would embroider, they would gossip, they would talk of weather and of new trends. Valeana found herself in moments of recognition, as if she had lived those moments thousands of times.

“You’ve become a master of your craft, Lady Valeana,” Queen Alicent had said as she walked around her chair to watch her embroider. “You’ve done things with thread I never thought possible.”

“You flatter me, your Grace,” Valeana smiled over her shoulder, and returned to her work. It was nothing unique, nothing new; a dark purple flower that stared at her every day for the last three days when she sat down in the gardens in the exact same place, under the stone rotunda. She had a pot of ink beside her where she would dip the thread to darken in places where shadows were necessary. 

It was just the two of them there at the moment. Helaena had left to follow a butterfly that flew by, and Shyla had spotted Aegon passing by the balconies that looked over the gardens. She excused herself and hasn't been heard of since. As for her stepmother and stepsister, they were walking through the garden, likely talking of matters that would bore Valeana. 

“I heard you’re now a dressmaker,” Alicent moved around her chair and settled in her own. “I suspect there will be many balls in the following weeks, more than enough opportunities to show your skills.”

Val gave a small smile, “I made a few, but not all. If I made something new for every event, your Grace, I would never leave my quarters.”

“Hm, that is true. And I’d imagine your sisters would demand gowns of their own as well.”

Pale-haired girl gave a humourless laugh, “Oh, they already have, before we even set foot in King’s Landing. But I am not a slave, and so they must suffer with whatever seamstress mother pays for.” 

“Would it trouble you terribly if I asked you to make me a dress?”

Valeana stilled as she looked up with a stunned expression, “A-a dress? I-Of course! It would be an honour, your Grace!”

Alicent’s smile was gentle and maternal, her hand reaching out and placing it on Val’s forearm, “You are a treasure, my dear.”

“What kind of dress would you like?”

“A fortnight after the Tourney takes place, I am hosting a grand ball here in the Keep. The theme is creatures, beasts, animals, where people shall dress up as anything they choose, be it plain, magical or mythical.”

“Intriguing… My mind is already reeling at the possibilities.”

“I’m glad you approve. I suspect my husband and children will be dressed as dragons.”

“Naturally.”

“I know I am not a Targaryen, but I do not wish to appear an outlier with my own family.”

Valeana smiled gently and gave her a nod, “A dress for a dragon, then.” 

She nodded, “Exactly. A green one; I am still a Hightower.”

The younger girl couldn’t help but chuckle, “Of course, your Grace. I already have some ideas in mind. When do you want to begin?”

“We have time, of course, so when you are ready. I would like to see your ideas, and then we can browse fabrics.”

“I look forward to it, my Queen.”

This was possibly the longest conversation that Val has had with Alicent, she realized. Even as children, it was nothing but small talk, or they’d exchange words when they sat with Helaena. She wasn’t entirely certain the Queen ever liked her, especially after the incident. Aemond got lashes for it, despite his mother begging for him to be spared from the punishment. If she directed any ire onto Valeana, she was unaware of it. Before it happened, Val was always in awe of the Queen’s effortless grace. Both her and Princess Rhaenyra held beauty that felt so ethereal and unreal to her. Valeana wished she could grow up to be as poise and dignified as the Queen Consort, and as tall and proud as the Crown Princess. Alas, she was short, stocky, and the weight of her insecurities were chained on her ankles.

Before an awkward silence could settle between them after the conclusion of their conversation, Alicent was quick to get into what she actually wished to talk to Valeana about. 

“I know… I know this is a sensitive subject, my dear, but…” Alicent’s teeth ran over her bottom lip, her eyes were casted down to her hand, still on Valeana’s forearm. “I heard about what was said during supper the other day.”

Valeana turned away, back at her forgotten embroidery, “Ah.”

“Helaena told me,” the Queen added, as if naming the innocent messenger would change anything. “I do not blame you for showing some animus towards Aemond because of what happened. However, I feel that I must defend my son… He was trying. He was trying to make amends with you, Valeana. I hope you can see it.”

The younger girl raised her shoulders as she took a sharp inhale to ground herself. Her eyes were staring steadily at the flower in front of her, her embroidery loop falling onto her lap. The Queen did not know what she asked of her. She did not know the gravity of pain her son inflicted on her. 

Alicent’s hand gripped her arm slightly tighter, and she continued. 

“Please forgive him, Valeana,” her eyes flickered down, and a shadow of a benign smile appeared on the corner of her lip. “I understand that a broken leg is nothing to bat an eye at, but you’ve healed; you walk again. The evidence of accidents past–”

“I lost my foot, your Grace,” Valeana exhaled, her eyes pinched closed as she held back the words she wished she wanted to say, but couldn’t. 

‘Would Aemond forgive Lucerys? Would you allow Rhaenyra to talk to Aemond the same way?’

At Val’s spoken words, Alicent froze, the ghost of her smile gone, and her eyes wide with confusion. 

“But– you’re walking. You stand—”

In a slow and languid movement, Val removed her arm from under the Queen’s hand, and pulled up her skirts, revealing her calf, covered in a stocking. With her other hand she leaned over and knocked on the wooden appendage. 

“My foot and part of my leg was turning black; it was decaying. They had to amputate it, lest it poison my blood and kill me,” Val swallowed and then unfurled her dress over it again. 

The Queen still stared down at Valeana’s skirts, her face ashen, eyes wide, and mouth slightly parted. She had not known… No one had told her. Valeana suspected not many people in Court knew, outside perhaps the Maesters.

“It was not just my leg he had broken, either, your Grace. Aemond betrayed me – or perhaps played me. I’m not sure which. Either way, I thought we were friends all our lives, and in the final seconds of our friendship he had called me a pig and pushed me. Your son had a place in my heart once, your Grace, but that has since been severed along with my leg.”

The silence was painful, it was stifling. For once the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was at a loss for words. Her eyes migrated to the stone floor, and her lips finally closed into a thin line. 

“I am–I am sorry–”

The lump in Valeana’s throat caused her to stand up immediately, “Would you please excuse me, your Grace. I have to– I must make water.”

Alicent looked away, lips shut as she nodded. 

And swiftly, Valeana left the gardens, leaving her embroidery forgotten on the floor where her feet stood. 

T H E  G R E E N S 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Aegon had spent the better part of the day dodging Shyla Celtigar. The days before were much the same. At first, it was amusing; Aegon loved the attention, but then it got too much, too fast.

 Well, it might have been because he encouraged her. It began when she appeared at his solar door, holding a plate of pastries and the desire to speak alone. It escalated when Aegon got the grand idea to test how far Shyla’s affections would go, and his uncontrolled desire to get his dick wet. When it involved his pleasures, he would throw caution to the wind. 

It was post nut clarity that made him realize the gravity of the situation. She was on his lap, her fingers wrapped around his member, stroking him vigorously and eagerly, and speaking to him the entire time. He wasn’t paying attention, though. His eyes were shut, his nose pointing to the ceiling as he craned his neck back against the chair. Aegon’s mind was concentrating on pale hair, wide hips, green eyes, and a pair of perfect tits. 

“Oh, I cannot wait to have your children, my Prince.”

When the height of his orgasm left him, he opened his eyes to see Shyla (not her) staring at him. Her hands were coated in his seed, and she was looking at it as if she had discovered a precious gem in a stone.

Damn his cock. It so often replaced his head in the worst possible moments. When Aemond was out fending for his life against their nephews and cousins at Driftmark, Aegon had decided to ignore the screams and dragon’s roar he heard outside his window, because he was already balls deep in a serving wench he met at his aunt’s funeral. 

This was possibly much worse than that, because now he was the victim. There were nary a place for him to hide in the Red Keep where Shyla Celtigar couldn’t reach him. White cloaks betrayed his location after she batted her long lashes and asked in the sweetest voices, or a Maester or Septa who did not know better would point out the corner that he disappeared behind. Aemond, of course, was far too eager to help Shyla find Aegon, even so much as leading the girl right into the small kitchen he was hiding in. 

Fucking Aemond… A traitorous cur, that one. So eager to put his brother under the horse’s hooves when given the opportunity. If only he could crack his marble exterior…

At the moment, Aegon was hiding in a closet of some kind. It was narrow, cluttered with brooms, mops and buckets, and vaguely smelled of vinegar and soap. He heard the sound of swiftly approaching feet, but that was all. He had learned Shyla’s footsteps when they approached, and made note of the noises she would give. She always had her mouth open, and breathed through it loudly. Every once in a while she would talk to herself, or call out his name.

The steps that approached sounded feminine, at least. 

Aegon slowly pushed open the door, poking his head out to peer cautiously down the corridor one way, and then turned to look the other way. 

“Aegon?” Valeana stood behind him, frozen in place, looking at him incredulously. “What are you–”

Aegon had been startled to see her in an otherwise empty corridor, but then when he heard the pitter-patter of another approaching, he shushed her and clamped a hand over her mouth to listen closely. 

“Excuse me, Ser, but have you seen Prince Aegon?” Eyes turning into saucers and panic gripping his throat, Aegon yanked the confused Valeana into the closet with him, keeping his hand firmly over her mouth. Valeana struggled against his hold, curses vibrating against his palm. Aegon pushed his weight on her, eyes wide and pleading, and mouth hiss whispering to her to be quiet.

Shyla’s feet scurried by the door, the shadow of her form could be seen through the crack underneath.

“Aegon~” Shyla sang, “Where are you? Where are you, where are you, my love?”

Aegon looked over at Valeana. She raised an eyebrow at him.

As Shyla walked by the door, Aegon’s muscles relaxed. Her voice and footsteps could still be heard, but he felt safe enough to slowly pull down his hand from Val’s mouth. When he did, he was taken back by the smug look she had on. 

“So when’s the wedding?” 

He scowled, “Never, if the Gods are kind.”

“Did you tell her that?” Val crossed her arms, pushing herself up against the wall, as far away from his body as possible. Should anyone open the door, her virtue would be compromised. It would save her from a prolonged courtship with strangers, but she did not want to be chained to Aegon Targaryen, the self proclaimed dragoncock. 

“No,” the tips of his ears burned, “If I reject her, I fear she may castrate me.” 

“Oh, she’d make your cock explode like a sausage on a spit,” Valeana nodded casually, and Aegon stepped away from her in horror and disgust. “My brother had a steward once, Jon, I believe his name was. He rejected her advances quite harshly, and a sennight later, he disappeared.”

“Gods, your sister is a lunatic–”

“It is men who make her loony,” Val then sharply prodded the prince on the shoulder, “What did you do, Aegon?”

He rubbed his shoulder, “I didn’t do– Ow! Stop doing that, I am your prince, I can have your finger chopped off!”

“I already suffered at the expense of my leg at the hands of another Targaryen Prince, do you think I care if I lose a finger–” she jabbed him again, rougher this time. “Now, what in the Seven Hells did you do?”

She was going to jab again, but he swatted her hand away, “Mother’s Tits, alright, woman.” He tossed his hair back, and looked away from her. His adam's apple bobbed before he spoke, “I, uh, might have let her… Pet my dragon.”

Valeana squinted at him, “You let her touch Sunfyre?”

Aegon rolled his eyes and sunk his shoulders in exasperation, “No, I– let her pet my dragon.” He emphasized the words by gesturing towards his crotch. 

“Oh-Oh, Aegon! ‘The fuck is wrong with you!” She slapped him upside the head. 

“Stop hitting me!”

“I’ll hit you as much as you want, you vile, perverted–” they both ended up swatting each other for a few minutes before more footsteps interrupted their squabble.

“Sh! Sh! Sh!” Aegon put his finger to her lips, and they both froze as the heavy footsteps of a guard walked by the closet. Once it disappeared, Aegon pulled his hand away, and at the same time Val’s fist landed on his shoulder. 

“Ah, fuck, woman! Hitting a prince is treason!”

She pointed a finger at him, and he flinched, “You defiled my innocent sister, you deserve more!”

“Innocent?!” He scoffed, “She knew exactly what she was doing. She held my cock like an expert, your sister–” This time, Aegon caught her with his larger hand wrapped around her wrist. He gave her a warning glare, “Your sister took advantage of me.”

“Do you really think I am going to believe that bullshit?!” She twisted her arm, trying to pull it from his grasp, but his vice grip was much stronger than she’d imagined. “Let go of me, Aegon.” 

“I’ll let you go if you promise not to hit me.”

She calmed for a moment, sighing through her nose and closed her eyes. Aegon was nearly about to loosen his grip, but her other hand came out of nowhere and slapped him across the cheek. It did not nearly hurt as the punch, given it was not her dominant hand, but it was enough to turn his head and take him off guard. But before she could hit him again, he grabbed her other wrist with his free hand and pushed her against the wall, crossing her arms against her chest. 

“Your sister is mad,” Aegon stated while Val tried to push against him, but he put his entire weight on her. Standing a head taller than her, his form was a tower and she had no choice but to crane her neck up at him. The prince found he quite liked this angle, this position. “Do me the favour of diverting her attention away, and I will owe you.”

“I do not need any favour from you, Egg.” 

He smiled, grinned, bared his teeth. 

“Glad to see we’re on a pet-name basis now, my little crab cake. Y’know, this is quite the compromising position. If your sister  finds us like this, what do you think she’ll do… to you?”

She furrowed her brow, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, sweetling, if I’m going down, I’m taking you down with me.”

Valeana glared at him, resolute in her stubborn silence. Aegon didn’t waver his stare, but he did move his middle closer to hers until their stomachs were flushed against each other. Val’s face twisted and she tried to wiggle her arms free, but she was stuck between a wall and a dragon. 

“Do you hear that,” Aegon’s eyes lifted towards the door, “I think I hear her footsteps coming this way." 

“You’re bluffing.”

He grinned wider, then feigned a moan, “Oh~ my Lady V–” 

“Shhhhtttt—” Valeana hissed in a panic, waving her useless fingers under his grasp, “Fine! Fine! I’ll help you!”

Chuckling softly, Aegon pulled himself off, “That’s what I thought.” He tilted his head at her as she tried to collect herself. Her chest was heaving, and that was when he realized just how close he was to her chest. Her heavy, soft, peachy mounds… His tongue flicked out over his bottom lip. The Prince quickly ripped his eyes away from her before his cock could take control of his mind again. “Now–”

He was cut off by the distinct voice of Shyla, causing the two of them to catch each other’s panicked eye. 

“You say you heard it coming from here?” Shyla’s voice was just beyond the door. 

Aegon spun around, trying to find a place for them to hide in the closet, but there was nothing large enough for them to find cover. Except for…

 Aegon looked down at Valeana’s dress. 

“What are you–” She started to kick Aegon away from her, but he grabbed her leg as he crawled under her skirts. 

“Shut up! Don’t move, and stand still!”

Valeana had no choice, because the door was opening. She stood rigidly still, trying to take up as much space as possible to hide Aegon’s legs that were poking from underneath her dress from behind. Flushed and out of breath, Valeana attempted to appear casual in the servant’s closet when the door swung out and revealed the confused face of her sister. 

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad 

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[queenshelby]

An Illicit Affair

Part 24: Love & Tears

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

Getting through work that day was difficult, every movement magnified in its struggle. The weight of your feelings pressing on your chest as if someone was sitting on top of you, making every task ten times harder.

Eventually, the day came to an end and Lucy accompanied you home where you had an almost ice cold shower - the water hitting your sensitive, overwrought skin was a cruel reminder of your sleepless night and emotionally exhausting day.

What Max had said to you played on your mind

in an infinite loop, the words forcing you to question yourself and your actions as well as the consequences of what you had done.

As you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the condensation fogging up the glass, making it difficult to see your reflection clearly, you couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be a time when you would be able to move past this and find some semblance of peace and contentment. And you also wondered whether Cillian and you could ever have more than just stolen moments and secret rendezvous. 

Exhausted, both physically and emotionally, you got out of the shower and toweled off, your body aching for solace of some sort. Reaching for your phone, you contemplated sending a message to Cillian, seeking his comfort in the face of what happened. You were craving to see him, to be held in his embrace, to lose yourself in his piercing gaze and feel his lips on your skin.

But you hesitated. You remembered what his lawyer had said but complying with this request was difficult to say the least. 

Thus, pushing the doubts to the back of your mind, you crafted the text: 'Hey. Can we meet tonight? I really need to see you.

After pressing send, you hesitantly set your phone down and retreated to your bedroom, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited anxiously for Cillian's response. It was as if every second that ticked by was an eternity, and you couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of doubt settling over you.  But then, just as you were about to give up hope, you heard the familiar chime of your phone, signaling a new message.

It was Cillian. Your heart leapt with joy as you read his response, suggesting that you come over to his place now that he had it scanned for cameras.

"I will see you shortly," you texted back in response, your fingers flying over the screen with an eager certainty before you called an Uber

to take you to Cillian's apartment.

As you got dressed, you realized that the physical and emotional turmoil of the day had taken a toll on you. You opted for a more comfortable outfit—a loose-fitting jumper and a pair of slim-fit jeans paired with some Converses. You pulled your hair into a messy bun and applied a touch of makeup to conceal the remnants of your emotional breakdown earlier in the day.

When you arrived, Cillian opened the door, his eyes scanning your tired yet beautiful face. He could that something was wrong, but before he could ask, you wrapped yourself around him, your arms tight around his waist, your face buried in his neck. You let out a deep, shuddering breath, feeling his warmth and solidity grounding you, offering the solace that you craved. His strong hands stroked your back, the tender touch calming you, as if the mere act of his gentle touch could heal your ragged heart.

"I am sorry. I know I should be staying away but I needed - oh god I don't even know what I need," you whispered against his neck as he pushed the door shut while, at the same time, never letting go of you.

He then leaned back and tilted your face to look into his eyes. Concern etched in fine lines around his mouth and the tiny creases around his piercing blue eyes. His short hair slightly disheveled from you running your fingers through it nervously. Your hands on his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart below his shirt.

"It's okay," Cillian assured you, his voice soothing and steady as you pulled back slightly, looking up at him with gratitude in your eyes.

"I am so sorry," you whispered, your voice trembling. 

"For what?" Cillian questioned gently, tracing the curve of your cheek with his thumb as he spoke.

You shook your head, feeling tears brimming in the corners of your eyes.

"For everything," you whispered, the gravity of those two words carrying a burden that threatened to crash down on you at any moment. "For involving myself in all this and causing so much drama in your family," you continued, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on your shoulders.

Cillian frowned, a pained expression flickering across his face.

"Y/N," he began, his voice low and measured. "I made a choice when I got involved with you and whatever is happening in my family right now is my fault and my problem, not yours," Cillian told you emphatically. His eyes bore into yours, holding your gaze with unwavering intensity. It was his way of trying to comfort you, to relieve you of the guilt that you were feeling.

But it didn't completely dissipate the burden on your shoulders.

"I saw Max today," you told Cillian, your voice barely above a whisper as the memory of the confrontation still weighed heavily on your heart. "He blames me for breaking up you and Danielle and I feel as though I did exactly that," you confessed, your voice cracking with emotion.

"Hey," Cillian said softly, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Max is upset right now and needs time to process what's happening," he told you, his voice soothing as he tried to provide some comfort. "Despite, he doesn't know everything that has been going on between Danielle and myself in the last few years," Cillian admitted, taking a deep breath.

You looked at him in surprise, realizing that there was still so much about Cillian's life that you were oblivious to. "What do you mean?" You asked him, your curiosity piqued.

Cillian hesitated for a brief moment before deciding to come clean with you. "He knows about her inflicting injuries to herself on purpose, but he does not why is doing it nor does he know the extent of it all or how long this has been going on. He thinks that it is attention seeking behavior because I am cheating on her, but he does not know about the threats she has made nor did I tell him about the cameras and a few other things his mother pulled over the years," Cillian confessed, pausing for a moment as he gathered his thoughts.

"After my career took off, she changed and became increasingly paranoid—always checking up on me and accusing me of cheating on her, which I never did. Not until now. It just got worse from there and sometimes she even took out her frustration and anger on me. I wish I could've left her sooner, but it was not that easy," Cillian continued, the depth of pain and weariness in his voice palpable.

"When you came to the hospital, you said that you got hurt while preventing her from hurting yourself," you recalled softly., causing Cillian to sigh deeply and nod.

"Yes, I did and there is some truth to it. When I saw her with the knife that night, I thought that she was going to cut herself again," Cillian confessed, taking a deep breath. "So, I tried to get the knife away from her and she lashed out at me but, trust me, this was nothing," he continued, his voice weary and pained, hinting at deeper, darker secrets.

"She would do this all the time, even when Max was still a child. She would hurt herself so badly that she would need emergency care, but once she was inside the ER and knew she had my attention, she would snap out of it," Cillian recounted, his memories dark. "Other time, she would just yell, and shout, and throw stuff at me until I conceded and pretended that I was going to 'agree' to her demands so that she would calm down," Cillian told you more honestly than ever before. "I tried to shield Max from most of this and I still want him not be burdened by it. He hates me, he doesn't need to hate his mother as well," Cillian said very softly, looking at you with a mixture of sadness and regret in his eyes.

You couldn't imagine how difficult this must have been for Cillian, being trapped in this toxic dynamic for so long and constantly walking on eggshells to keep Max from finding out about the true extent of his mother's erratic and volatile behavior.

As you looked into his eyes, you could see the strain and the weight of his burden, the sadness that he carried around for far too long.

"Is this why you sent him to boarding school? To get him away from Danielle?" you asked, gently tracing a finger over the faint dark circles that lingered underneath his piercing blue eyes.

Cillian nodded. "I wanted him to be safe and have a normal childhood," he explained.

"He hated you for that, for making him live away from home," you said softly, recalling Max's own words.

"I know," Cillian sighed, his shoulders sagging as the weight of his mistake pressed upon him. "But it seemed like the right thing to do at the time, for Max's safety and wellbeing," Cillian admitted bitterly.

"I understand," you assured him, squeezing his hand softly. "It's not easy trying to protect someone you love, especially if they don't understand the reasons behind it," you continued softly, threading your fingers through his as you offered him a small, comforting smile.

Cillian simply took a deep breath and met your gaze, returning your tender smile with one of his own before sighing heavily.

"So, I am sorry that Max is blaming you now. I should have told him about his mother's twisted game when I had the chance last week,"

Cillian lamented, guilt reflected in his piercing blue eyes. "I will talk to him tomorrow," he added determinedly but you shook your head. 

"No," you insisted quietly, surprising both yourself and Cillian with the strength of your conviction. "It's best if you allow him to cool down for now and tell him in time," you told him, understanding Cillian's reasoning better now. 

Cillian looked at you, his gaze softening even further, if that was at all possible. "Are you sure?" he asked gently.

You nodded, squeezing his hand in reassurance. "Yes. It's best for now," you agreed, leaning against Cillian's chest, enjoying the warmth of his embrace.

He sighed deeply, his chest rising and falling against your back as he wrapped his arms tighter around you.

Eventually, Cillian broke the silence. "You know," he murmured softly while caressing your hair, his tone intimate. "I really have fallen hard for you, Y/N," Cillian then tightened his embrace around you, pulling you closer. "You are perfect in every way," he whispered, his fingers tingling on your skin.

You couldn't help but smile, enjoying the feeling of Cillian's hands on your skin. "I love you," you admitted quietly, and he looked at you, his beautiful blue eyes filled with warmth and desire.

Cillian leaned down, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, his fingers gently tangled in your hair. You responded eagerly, deepening the kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I love you too," Cillian murmured against your lips before, slowly, indulging in the kiss again. 

The world around you disappeared, and there was only you and Cillian, the reality barely brushing the surface of your consciousness as you got lost in the adrenaline, the desire, the taste and feel of Cillian.

Before long, your bodies moved in sync with one another, the kisses growing more passionate and heated.

"Bedroom?" you asked as, eventually, the passion between you was burning with an intensity that was hard to resist.

Cillian nodded his reply, not trusting himself to speak.

He loosened his embrace, taking your hand to guide you towards his bedroom.

Each step they took seemed to be in slow motion, stretching out the anticipation. The air buzzed with an electric energy, like the moment right before a lightning storm started to rage.

Cillian softly closed the bedroom door, locking out the outside world and all its concerns. His gaze did not leave yours as he tugged you gently toward the bed and all you wanted right now was for him to make gentle and passionate love to you. 

His touch was so gentle making the anticipation of what was about to happen almost unbearable.

As he pulled you down onto the bed, you found yourself mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze, feeling like time had slowed down and you were just the two of them against the world.

"Cillian," you breathed, as you felt his lips brush against yours, slowly, deliberately, in a way that was more erotic than it had any right to be.

"Yes?" Cillian murmured against your lips as you whispered his name. His hands roamed over your body, leaving hot trails of desire in their wake.

You arched against him, your body begging for more.

"Make love to me," you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

Cillian groaned at your words and deepened the kiss. His body pressed against yours, his hardness rubbing up against your core, sending waves of pleasure through your entire being.

You gasped, breaking the kiss as you felt Cillian's fingers slip under your shirt, trailing gently across your skin.

He caressed your breast, his thumb brushing against your nipple as the heat between you intensified.

Cillian watched you as he did this and the way your eyes fluttered closed as a shudder ran through you, was the biggest turn-on for him.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, his voice husky with desire as he leaned down to kiss your neck, his stubble scraping against your skin, causing you to shiver with delight.

His lips found yours again, his tongue delving deep into your mouth, exploring every inch of it.

His hands continued their exploration of your body, sliding lower to pull at the waistband of your jeans. And the moment he managed to slip his fingers beneath the denim, you gasped, arching against him.

"Please," you whispered against his lips, your voice almost a whimper.

Cillian didn't need any more encouragement. He undressed you slowly, his gaze never leaving yours as he revealed your naked body. He slipped off his own clothes before climbing back onto the bed, covering your body with his.

You couldn't help but marvel at the feeling of his skin against yours, every touch sending waves of desire pulsing through you.

You ran your hands over his back, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your fingers as he shifted above you.

Cillian's lips found yours again, his kiss gentle but demanding. His tongue danced with yours, exploring every inch of your mouth as if he was trying to memorize every detail.

Your hips rose to meet his, grinding against him as the heat between you threatened to consume you both.

You reveled in the feeling of his hardness pressed against your center, each exhale a soft moan as you arched up into him.

Cillian's hand slipped between you, fingers finding your slick folds and rubbing gently at the sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasped, your hips bucking against him as waves of pleasure washed over you.

"Cillian," you breathed, your voice a trembling whisper as he slipped a finger inside you, his thumb still circling your clit.

"Oh god," you gasped, your fingers digging into his back as you arched up into him, chasing the pleasure that was building inside you.

Cillian's lips slipped from yours as he watched you, his eyes dark with desire. He added a second finger, your slickness making the motion easy as a soft moan escaped from your lips, your back bowing off the mattress.

"Please, I need you inside me," you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper.

Cillian groaned, the sound low and primal as he withdrew his fingers and positioned himself at your entrance.

He pushed in slowly, the feeling of being joined with Cillian again was tantalizing and exquisite, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

As he started to move, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you. You could feel every stroke in your very core as the two of you moved together, your bodies as one.

You continued like this for almost an hour, slow and sensual. The rhythm was perfect and, eventually, when you were ready to let go, Cillian pushed you closer and closer to the edge with each delicious thrust.

Your breathing hitched, your fingers clinging to his shoulders as pleasure rippled through you. The edge was near, the sensitivity so intense that you could barely stand it but that didn't stop you from craving more.

Cillian nibbled at your neck, leaving marks on your skin that marked you as his own. He was marking you and he didn't want to stop, his movements wild and needy, echoing your own.

The sheets were a tangled mess around you as Cillian rolled onto his back, pulling you with him so that you straddled his hips.

Your body moved with his, your swaying matching the rhythm of Cillian's hips as his thrusts continued to send sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your hair tickled his chest and Cillian's hands rested on your hips, guiding you as you took control of your movements.

You rode him hard and fast, the heat between you building so quickly that it made your head spin.

"I am close," you sighed, your voice a breathless husk of its usual self as Cillian's hands gripped your hips tighter, urging you on.

"Me too," Cillian admitted huskily, his eyes dark with desire as they roamed over your body, lingering on the curves and swells of your breasts.

You leaned forward, resting your hands on Cillian's chest as you rocked your hips faster. His breath caught in his throat as your nipples grazed against his skin.

Each rock of your hips sent waves of pleasure through both your bodies, building towards a crescendo that neither of you could resist.

Cillian reached up, his fingers tracing the line of your collarbone as his other hand drifted up to cup your breast. He squeezed gently, his thumb brushing over your nipple, causing you to gasp and shudder with pleasure.

The room around you spun as you moved faster, feeling the tension coiling tighter and tighter within you.

Suddenly, with a cry, you shattered, pleasure exploding outward from your core, washing over you in wave after wave of ecstasy. You collapsed against Cillian, his arms coming up to hold you close as he continued to thrust upward into you.

"Y/N," Cillian groaned, the pressure in his own body reaching its breaking point as pleasure spilled through him. With a shudder, he followed you over the edge, his own release crashing down over him like a wave.

You lay there, your breathing heavy and ragged as you tried to catch your breath.

Your head rested against Cillian's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his own breathing as he gently stroked your back. His fingers trailed over your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

"I needed this," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you raised your head to look at him. "I needed you," you added, your gaze meeting his.

Cillian smiled softly, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek. "I needed you too, Y/N. I always need you," he assured you, his voice gentle yet firm.

It was true. The connection between you was palpable and intense. It had been from the moment you first met, you knew it, and Cillian knew it too.

The following morning, however, everything came crashing down on you as, at around 7 o'clock, there was a knock on the door. 

You glanced over at Cillian, who looked as panicked as you felt. You both scrambled to put your clothes on as hurriedly as possible before rushing out into the living room.

As Cillian opened the door, you were surprised to see Max standing there, his expression full of surprise when he spotted you gathering your things in Cillian's Livingroom. 

"You are joking, right?" Max demanded, looking at his father with a mixture of disgust and disbelief. "I came here to talk about mum and, here you are, with my fucking girlfriend."

The words hung heavy in the air, like a foul stench that refused to dissipate no matter how many times you tried to ignore it.

Cillian's face paled, his expression a mixture of guilt and fear. "Max, listen," he began, but Max cut him off with a raised hand.

"No, don't bother explaining this time. I don't want to hear your bullshit lies again," Max spat, his gaze flicking to you for a brief moment before settling back on Cillian. "Mum is right, neither of you deserve my attention," he declared, his voice shaking slightly as he struggled to hold in his emotions.

"Max, I'm sorry, but..." Cillian tried, but Max shook his head, cutting him off.

"Sorry isn't enough anymore dad," Max said, his voice barely above a whisper before he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Cillian and you standing there in a stunned silence.

Tags:

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[invye]

So I did some calculating (read: guesstimating, since I am still prohibited from looking at the wiki bc of spoilers) and I figured out the following:

During Dressrosa we learn Law got his Devil Fruit 13 years ago. If I remember correctly, Luffy got his 10 years before start of the show + two years timeskip + a couple months in change where they were actively travelling = 12 and a half(+?) years ago.

Now add in a bit of fanfic handwaving timeline adjusting and we're left with the realisation: Rosinante is fated to die saving Law at the same time Shanks loses his arm saving Luffy.

And the consequence of that leaves the potential for the CoraMiShanks Fix It AU to have all of them on Kuraigana at the same time, recovering physically, mentally and emotionally from everything that just happened.

So let me (lengthily) unravel the timeline of events under the cut:

Cora-san and Law learn of the Ope Ope No Mi and get going, informing Mihawk of their plans, who promises to catch up to them to help and asks them to wait.

Cora does not, in fact, wait; feeling the chance slip through their fingers between Doffy and the Marines going after it as well

In the North Blue, Cora is shot. In the East Blue Shanks has his arm bitten off.

Mihawk arrives just in time to scoop up a despodent Law and watch the silence spell break; it starts a race against time to find Rosinante and bring him to the village doctor/clinic whatever place where he can be treated. This also requires Mihawk to somehow manage pulling Law from 'all is lost' mode into 'crisis solving' mode, because he's the one with the medical knowledge to even begin having a chance at saving Rosinante.

In the East Blue Shanks is gritting his teeth trying not to lose control over his Haki as Hongo does his job to fix as much of his arm as is possible.

12 frantic hours later Rosinante is barely hanging on to life, but at least a number of lead bullets lighter. Law is so exhausted he's shaking, only not passing out because he's also still suffering his own pain. Mihawk is woozy and unsteady because he has just donated much more blood than medically advised to replace all that Rosinante has lost.

The Marines arrive on Minion Island. Mihawk is planning on using his Warlord status and intimidate their way off the island, only for Sengoku to find them first. Sengoku is faced with the pain of watching his adopted son unconscious on that bed, halfway to death, only still alive because of the actions of the Warlord least inclined to ever follow orders and the little kid who shows all signs of his body going through the adjustment of just having consumed a Devil Fruit. Sengoku helps them leave the island unseen. Its the least and simultaniousy last he can do.

Mihawk calls Shanks. Rosinante is still unstable, and for all the knowledge Law has, he severely lacks the experience, and there is only one other doctor Mihawk knows and trusts with this. Shanks promises that they will be at Kuraigana in no time. Mihawk hears the pain in his voice, but Shanks asks that they talk about that in person.

The Red Force arrives at Kuraigana first, which is good because it gives Hongo time to set up and sees Benn and Shanks in a position to catch Mihawk when he stumbles off his boat, having pushed so far that he hasn't slept in who knows how long to get them here as fast as possible. Shanks leaves Benn to help him and assists the kid. Hongo spends the next couple hours fixing whatever can be fixed to further stabilise Rosinante. Law insists on helping, or at least being there. The Ope Ope No Mi is not magic, but Law is willing to put the work in.

Shanks watches over Rosinante so Mihawk and Law can rest. Also so that he doesn't have to face Mihawk yet.

Hongo gives Mihawk the medical run down, including Law and Shanks' state at Mihawk's request, before slipping him a sleeping aid.

So here they all are. In various amounts of horrible pain and scared of the immediate future.

Law fears for Cora-san while also not knowing if the Devil Fruit actually saved him. Rosinante is only ever regaining consciousness in short bursts, and calling for Law in all of them. Shanks is suffering horrible phantom limb pain but lies about it so he doesn't have to talk to Mihawk about losing his sword arm yet. And Mihawk is emotionally overwhelmed to the end of the world, scared for Rosinante, scared for the kid, scared for what is going to become of Shanks and himself now.

Perfect, ever stoic Mihawk wants to scream. Yell at Rosinante for not waiting. Yell at Shanks for not being more careful. But that won't help any of them. So he makes food. Recruits the kid into cutting vegetables to keep him occupied and moving while they wait. Writes down the list of things that contain gluten that Rosinante can't have. Writes down the list of foods that have textures Law can't stand (and doesn't Mihawk know that feeling from his childhood). He makes stew because Shanks can eat it with one hand without needing to ask for help. Makes enough to feed Benn and Hongo who won't be going anywhere for the forseeable future too. Honestly he's lost track just how much he owes them now.

And at some point, when his mind stumbles out of merely functioning and falls face first into reality, Mihawk sits in the dark and allows himself to cry.

Because he almost lost them. He almost lost them all.

[hlficlibrary]

✤ Flower Shop Fics ✤

A series of posts with the top five fics of each category by kudos plus five more hidden gems from that category! Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find our other recs here.

- Top 5 H/L Fics -

1️⃣ Your Name Is Tattooed On My Heart by mcpofife {E, 86k}

Louis is ready to find the love of his life, but first he has to stop falling for the punk rocker next door.

2️⃣ Love's Truest Language by summerwine / @smrwine {E, 48k}

The first part was meant as a joke. He didn't really expect Harry to buy anything. It was just Louis’ way of softening the ‘get the fuck out’ blow.

“Where's your order forms, then?”

“I don't want your flowers.” Louis chided before directing all of his attention to the arrangement in front of him.

Harry laughed under his breath as he stood to his full height, “Who said anything about them being for you, love?”

3️⃣ A Hungry Heart by jacaranda_bloom / @jacaranda-bloom {E, 27k}

Harry Styles, florist and Great British Bake Off contestant, loves many things. He loves his flower shop, he loves baking, and there’s also that little crush he has on pop star Louis Tomlinson.

But when Louis arrives on set as the surprise guest judge, Harry’s worlds collide. Throw in a cup of cuteness, a teaspoon of teasing, and a pinch of pining, and there’s all the ingredients for an epic love story, or absolute chaos.

Or the one where the Bake Off tent has never been so hot, and it’s got nothing to do with what’s in the ovens.

4️⃣ time slows down whenever you're around by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze {E, 14k}

“Why did you two break up again?”

Harry turned to face Zayn again. “We had a fight sometime after we graduated from 8th grade. It was the summer before high school would start and it was a big blow out. I don’t even remember what it was about to tell you the truth. After that we lost touch. We came to high school and he got a girlfriend, joined the footie team. I found new friends and new interests.” Harry paused, while he grabbed the broom to pick up some stray petals and leaves. “Honestly, if it weren’t for you and Liam getting together, who knows if the two of us would have ever patched up.”

“I don’t know,” Zayn shrugged. “You were best friends and I feel like it was meant to be.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Best friends…that’s it. That’s all it was meant to be.”

or Louis plays "soccer" and falls for the wrong boy and Harry works in a flower shop and falls for Louis — again.

5️⃣ Far Afield by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird {T, 11k}

Harry Styles is a witch who owns the best flower shop in Manchester. Lottie Tomlinson is planning her wedding, and brings her brother along to her first appointment. Both men have been having a bad day and sparks fly.

HIDDEN GEMS:

💎 Sakura Sunset by MsHydeStylinson / @mizzhydes {E, 16k}

Harry and Louis have a tradition. Every spring they stand below hundreds of dazzling cherry blossom trees in Kew Garden, and year after year they come back to walk amongst the trees and experience that love over again.

This year everything changes. Louis is offered a once in a lifetime opportunity in Silicon Valley, California.

Only after Louis has left does Harry realise he made the biggest mistake of his life breaking up with Louis, and he has to live with the consequences of his actions.

Four years later, Harry discovers that Louis has returned to London, and in an effort to find the closure he desperately needs, he must tell Louis the truth behind their break up so he can move on with his life.

💎 To Plant New Seeds and Watch Them Grow by graceling_in_a_suit {T, 10k}

Harry's Hearty Herbs sits in Diagon Alley, filled to the brim with flowers and potion ingredients and the care of its owner. Louis Tomlinson also sits in Diagon Alley, a former Slytherin golden-boy descended from wizarding nobility and now running his very own potion stand. 70s Wizarding Britain isn't the safest place for love between a half-blood and a pureblood to blossom, yet blossom it does.

💎 I Kinda Need A Hero (Is It You) by @fallinglikethis {NR, 5k}

Louis is a barista who’s had his heart broken. Harry is the boy who wants to put the pieces back together.

💎 Monday by @nouies {NR, 2k}

A flower shop AU featuring a one-sided feud, puns, and a missing cat.

💎 Are You Thorny, Baby? by @homosociallyyours {NR, 2k}

When Louis stops in to buy flowers for Lottie’s birthday, he thinks he’s just stumbled upon a hip flower shop. Meeting Harry is just a bonus.

[cynic-spirit]

Indebted I

Mob steve Rogers

fluff

warnings : very long

Steve Rogers, the name alone sent chills down the spines of everyone in the city. He was known not just for his brutality but for his unwavering resolve. When Steve Rogers came for you, there was no escape, no redemption—only the cold, hard consequences of your actions. He ruled the underworld with an iron fist, and today, he was about to remind everyone why his name was whispered in fear.

The meeting was set in a dimly lit warehouse on the outskirts of the city. The walls, stained with years of neglect and shadowed with the memories of countless deals and broken promises, felt almost alive with the tension in the air. Steve sat at the head of a long table, his cold blue eyes scanning the room, waiting for the arrival of the man who had dared to default on his loan.

The door creaked open, and in stumbled a man, his clothes disheveled, his face drenched in sweat. His eyes darted nervously around the room before finally settling on Steve, who remained as still as a statue, his expression unreadable.

"Mr. Rogers," the man stammered, his voice trembling. "I—I just need a little more time. Please, I can get the money, I swear."

Steve said nothing, his gaze steady and unflinching. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. Silence stretched on, suffocating the room, until finally, Steve spoke, his voice calm but laced with menace.

"Time," Steve repeated, the word hanging in the air. "Time is a luxury you don't have."

The man's face paled, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. He knew there was no bargaining with Steve Rogers. The man was infamous for his lack of mercy; those who crossed him never lived to tell the tale.

But then, something unexpected happened. The door to the warehouse opened again, and a young woman stepped inside. She was nothing like the men who usually frequented these places—her presence was almost ethereal, out of place in the dark, foreboding surroundings. Her eyes were wide with fear, but there was a spark of defiance in them as well.

"Y/N!"

The man gasped, his voice a mixture of relief and horror. "What are you doing here?"

She stood tall, though her hands trembled slightly as she faced Steve. "I came to see if there's anything I can do to help," she said, her voice steady despite the situation.

Steve's eyes flicked to her, taking in every detail—the determination in her eyes, the way she held herself, the subtle strength she tried to project. For a moment, he said nothing, simply observing her.

"Your sister?" Steve asked, turning his gaze back to Mr. Walker.

HE nodded quickly, his breath coming in short, desperate bursts. "Y-Yes, she's my sister. Please, Steve, don't involve her in this. This is my mess; I'll find a way to fix it."

But Steve was no longer listening to him. His attention was fully on Y/N now, and an idea began to form in his mind. He could see the fear in her eyes, yes, but also something more—an unspoken strength that intrigued him.

"You came here to help your brother," Steve said slowly, standing up and walking around the table toward her. He was towering over her now, his presence as intimidating as it was commanding. "But helping him may come at a price."

Y/N held her ground, refusing to back away even as Steve loomed over her. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

A slow, cold smile curved Steve’s lips. "Your brother's debt," he said, glancing briefly at her brother before turning back to Y/N, "is substantial. But, I could be persuaded to forgive it."

his eyes widened in shock, his breath catching in his throat. "What… what do you mean?"

Steve didn't answer him. Instead, he took a step closer to Y/N, his eyes locking onto hers. "You," he said softly, though his voice carried an undeniable weight. "You stay with me. In return, your brother walks away, debt-free."

The room fell into a deathly silence. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, and she could feel the weight of her brother's desperate gaze on her. She knew what this meant—what Steve Rogers was asking of her. The choice was impossible, yet she knew, deep down, that she had no real choice at all.

"I—" she started, but the words caught in her throat. Steve’s eyes softened, but just barely. There was no real kindness there, only a calculating interest.

"Think carefully," Steve said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "Your brother's life hangs in the balance. But with me, you will be protected. No harm will come to you—as long as you stay by my side."

Y/N swallowed hard, her mind racing. She glanced at her brother, who was shaking his head frantically, tears streaming down his face. But she knew, just as well as he did, that there was no escaping this. Steve Rogers had made his offer, and she had to decide.

With a deep breath, Y/N nodded, her eyes never leaving Steve’s. "I’ll do it," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I’ll stay with you."

Steve’s smile widened, and he reached out, gently lifting her chin so she was forced to look up at him. "Good," he murmured, his voice dangerously smooth. "Very good."

He turned to Mr. Walker, who had collapsed to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. "The debt is forgiven," Steve said coldly. "But remember this day, Walker. Remember what it cost."

Without another word, Steve took Y/N by the arm and led her out of the warehouse. As they stepped into the cold night air, Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine. She knew she had just made a deal with the devil—a deal that would change her life forever.

But she also knew that, in doing so, she had saved her brother. And for that, she was willing to pay any price.The car’s engine purred softly as it sped through the quiet streets, the city lights flickering past in a blur. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Steve sat beside Y/N in the backseat, his gaze shifting between the road ahead and the woman beside him. She was a picture of nervousness—her fingers twisting together in her lap, her eyes fixed on the window as if the passing scenery could offer her some escape from the reality she was now facing.

Steve couldn’t help but notice the way her shoulders tensed with every passing moment, the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she struggled to keep her breathing steady. She was trying so hard to hold it together, to hide her fear, but Steve saw right through it. And yet, there was something about her—a quiet strength, a kind of gentle resilience—that only drew him in further.

“I’m a mobster, but I’m not a monster,” Steve said softly, his voice cutting through the silence. He watched her closely, hoping for a reaction, but she remained quiet, her gaze still locked on the world outside. “I’ll win your heart,” he added, more to himself than to her.

From the moment he had seen her in that warehouse, Steve had felt something he hadn’t experienced in a long time—a deep, inexplicable longing. There was a beautiful kindness about her, a shyness that was endearing rather than timid. She was withdrawn, yes, but in a way that made him want to draw her out, to uncover the depths of who she was. Her quiet demeanor, so different from the harshness of his world, had caught him off guard. And in that moment, he knew—he wanted her to be his.

As they drove through the city, Steve found himself imagining a future with her, a future he had never allowed himself to consider before. The thought of a family, of someone to come home to, someone who would see past the darkness in him, was almost foreign, yet the idea planted itself firmly in his mind. He had taken many things in his life—power, respect, fear—but this was different. This was something he wanted to earn.

“I’ll give you everything,” Steve promised, his voice steady, carrying the weight of his resolve. He glanced at her again, hoping for a response, but Y/N remained silent, her fingers still fiddling nervously in her lap. She continued to look out the window, as if the outside world was the only thing grounding her in this moment.

The silence was heavy, and Steve felt a pang of frustration mingled with a strange kind of vulnerability. He was used to getting what he wanted, used to commanding obedience and loyalty without question. But this—this was different. Y/N wasn’t someone he could intimidate or control. He knew that if he wanted her heart, he would have to earn it, piece by piece, and that would require patience, something he wasn’t accustomed to.

But he was willing to try.

He reached out slowly, his hand brushing lightly against hers. The touch was brief, tentative, as if he were testing the waters. She stiffened slightly but didn’t pull away. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Steve. For now, he would be patient. For now, he would wait.

Because deep down, he knew that the moment he had laid eyes on her, he had decided that she was going to be his. And Steve Rogers always got what he wanted.The car pulled up to the gates of Steve’s mansion, and as they swung open, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a mix of awe and apprehension. The mansion was enormous, an imposing structure of stone and glass that loomed over the perfectly manicured lawns. It was the kind of place she had only ever seen in magazines or on television, and now, it was to be her home—or prison, she wasn’t sure which.

Steve led her inside, his presence commanding as he moved through the grand foyer. The floors gleamed under the soft glow of the chandelier overhead, and every piece of furniture, every detail, spoke of wealth and power. Y/N followed silently, her eyes wide as she took in her surroundings. She had never been anywhere like this before, and the sheer opulence of it all left her feeling small, out of place.

“This will be your room,” Steve said, stopping in front of a set of double doors. He pushed them open, revealing a suite that was larger than her entire apartment had been. The bed was massive, draped in silk and velvet, and the walls were lined with art she couldn’t even begin to put a price on. There was a walk-in closet that seemed to stretch on forever, and the bathroom was more luxurious than any spa she had ever seen.

Y/N stood in the doorway, unable to hide the surprise and disbelief on her face. “Feel free to roam around,” Steve added, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “You’re free to go anywhere in the house.”

She nodded, but didn’t say anything, her gaze still wandering over the room, trying to process everything. Steve watched her, a part of him hoping for some sign of excitement, some indication that she was pleased, but she remained quiet, reserved.

Days passed, and Steve made it his mission to shower her with everything she could possibly want. He arranged for an entire wardrobe to be delivered to the mansion—clothes, shoes, jewelry, all of the finest quality. He took her to dinners at the most expensive restaurants, their tables always the best in the house, their meals prepared by renowned chefs. But through it all, Y/N remained distant, polite but reserved, offering him nothing more than a few words at a time.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

Those were the answers she gave, nothing more. And though Steve tried to engage her, to draw her out of her shell, she remained quiet, her eyes often turned inward, as if she were lost in her own thoughts. It wasn’t that she was ungrateful—Steve could tell she appreciated the gestures, but she never asked for anything, never demanded more than what she had.

If anything, it seemed as though she didn’t care about the wealth, the luxury, or the attention. She accepted it, but it was clear that none of it mattered to her. And that only made Steve more intrigued, more drawn to her.

He found himself watching her more often, studying the way she moved, the way she spoke, even the way she would pause before giving him those simple, measured responses. She was introspective, always thinking, always considering, and that fascinated him. She wasn’t like anyone else he had ever met.

In his world, people were always wanting, always taking, always demanding more. But Y/N didn’t seem to want anything from him. She was content to be quiet, to keep to herself, and that quiet strength, that calm demeanor, made Steve want to know her even more.

He knew he was falling deeper into something he hadn’t expected—a growing affection, a need to be close to her, to see her smile, to hear her laugh. But he was patient. He knew that she had been thrust into a world that was unfamiliar, overwhelming. And so, he waited, knowing that someday, she would open up to him, that someday, she would see that his feelings for her were genuine.

For now, though, he was content to be near her, to slowly earn her trust, to show her that he was not just the ruthless man the world knew him to be. He wanted to show her that he could be more—that he could be the man she needed, the man who would protect her, care for her, and, one day, win her heart.

It was another one of their dinner nights, set in the private dining room of Steve's mansion. The table was elegantly set, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow over the room. The atmosphere was intimate, but as always, Y/N was quiet, her presence reserved, her eyes focused on the meal before her.

Steve watched her for a moment before picking up his fork and taking the first bite of the ravioli. The moment the flavors hit his palate, his eyes widened slightly in surprise. The dish was incredible—rich, savory, with just the right balance of textures and flavors. He hadn’t expected it to be this good, even for the high standards he was accustomed to.

“This is delicious,” he remarked, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. He glanced at Y/N, hoping for some reaction, perhaps a smile, or even just a nod of agreement.

Instead, she responded softly, “Thank you.”

Steve paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. He hadn’t expected that response. “What?” he asked, his tone laced with curiosity and surprise. It wasn’t the kind of polite acknowledgment he expected; it was as if she was personally accepting the compliment.

Y/N hesitated for a brief moment, her fingers playing with the edge of her napkin. Then, finally, she looked up at him, meeting his gaze for the first time that evening. “I cooked it,” she said quietly, her voice steady but carrying the weight of a small, significant revelation.

Steve blinked, momentarily taken aback. He hadn’t known that she could cook, let alone that she had been the one to prepare the meal they were eating. For a few seconds, he just stared at her, processing this new piece of information, feeling a strange sense of pride mixed with intrigue.

“You… cooked this?” he repeated, his tone softer now, almost gentle.

Y/N nodded, her eyes dropping back to her plate. “Yes. I used to cook a lot before… before all this,” she added, gesturing vaguely at the mansion around them.

A slow smile spread across Steve’s face, a rare, genuine one that reached his eyes. For the first time since she had come into his life, she had shared something about herself, something personal. And it wasn’t just the words—it was the act itself, the fact that she had chosen to cook for him. In a way, it was the most meaningful thing she could have done, more significant than any material gift she could have offered.

“Well, you’re a hell of a cook,” he said, his voice warm with appreciation. “This is the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

Y/N’s lips curved into the smallest hint of a smile, but she quickly looked down, hiding it before it could fully form. “I’m glad you like it,” she murmured, returning to her meal.

But Steve’s smile remained, and as they continued eating, the silence between them felt different—less heavy, more comfortable. It was as if a small barrier had been lifted, and in that moment, Steve felt a new sense of hope. He knew she was still guarded, still unsure of him and her place in his world, but this was a start. She had let him in, just a little, and that was enough for now.

As they finished the meal, Steve found himself thinking not just about how much he enjoyed the ravioli, but about how much he wanted to know more about her—what else she liked to cook, what other interests she had, what made her smile. He realized that he wasn’t just drawn to her quiet strength anymore; he was beginning to care about her, to want her happiness.

And that realization only made him more determined to win her heart, one small step at a time.It wasn’t that Y/N was blind to Steve’s appeal. He was an incredibly handsome man—tall, muscular, with chiseled features that looked like they were carved from stone. His blue eyes could be both icy and warm, depending on his mood, and when he walked around shirtless after his workouts, the sight of his sculpted physique was undeniably captivating. In another life, under different circumstances, Y/N knew she might have found herself falling for him—dating him, maybe even imagining a future together.

But that wasn’t the life she was living. Instead, she was here, in this gilded cage, with a man who had taken her into his world without giving her a choice. The fact that he was a mobster, someone who lived in a world of violence and crime, made it all the more difficult for her to reconcile her feelings. Yes, Steve was doing everything he could to make her comfortable—showering her with luxuries, trying to get to know her, even cooking meals together—but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being held against her will, that her life was no longer her own.

Every time Steve smiled at her, every time he tried to be kind, she felt a pang of guilt and confusion. She didn’t want to resent him—he was, after all, trying to make things right in his own way—but she couldn’t ignore the reality of the situation. She was with him because she had no other choice, and that sense of obligation weighed heavily on her heart.

It wasn’t easy, living in this liminal space between attraction and apprehension. On one hand, she couldn’t deny the chemistry that simmered between them, the way her heart skipped a beat whenever he was near. On the other hand, she was constantly reminded of the circumstances that had brought her here, and the darker side of Steve’s life that she couldn’t ignore.

Steve seemed to sense her hesitation, but he didn’t push her. He was patient, almost painfully so, as if he knew that forcing her would only drive her further away. But his patience only added to her confusion. How could someone who was capable of such ruthlessness also show such tenderness? It was a contradiction that left her feeling unsettled, unsure of what to believe.

In the quiet moments, when she was alone in her room or wandering the halls of the mansion, Y/N often found herself questioning everything. What did Steve really want from her? Could she ever truly be happy with someone who had taken away her freedom? And most importantly, could she trust him? Could she trust herself around him?

These thoughts haunted her, even as she tried to navigate this strange new life. And while Steve’s efforts didn’t go unnoticed, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that she was living on borrowed time, that the life she had known was slipping further and further away. And in its place was something she wasn’t sure she could accept, no matter how much her heart might betray her.The club was buzzing with energy, the low thrum of the music vibrating through the walls and the steady pulse of the lights casting shadows that danced across the crowd. It was one of Steve’s many establishments, a place where he conducted business under the guise of pleasure, blending the two effortlessly. He sat in his usual spot, a private booth overlooking the main floor, his sharp eyes taking in everything around him while his mind worked through the intricacies of the deals being made, the power plays being executed.

Beside him, Y/N sat quietly, as she often did, her presence a stark contrast to the chaos around them. She had never quite adjusted to these outings, but she had learned to blend in, to become almost invisible in her silence. Steve had grown used to her quiet demeanor, but tonight, something was different. She shifted slightly in her seat, her gaze moving from the bustling bar to Steve’s watchful face.

“Can I go get a drink?” she asked, her voice soft yet steady, breaking the silence between them.

Steve turned to look at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. The request was simple enough, but in his world, even the smallest actions carried weight. “Hold on,” he replied, already signaling to one of his men. “Let me get someone to get it for you, doll.”

“No, it’s okay,” she interjected quickly, her tone gentle but insistent. “Please,” she added, her eyes meeting his.

That one word—please—had a way of unraveling him, and she had no idea how much power she wielded with it. Steve felt something inside him soften, a sensation he rarely experienced. She had no idea how she had wrapped him around her finger, how much he enjoyed the subtle control she unknowingly held over him. It was a strange feeling for a man like him, one who was used to commanding every situation, every person around him. But when it came to her, he found himself powerless in the best way.

“Sure, doll,” he finally said, his voice low, almost affectionate. “Go get it.”

Y/N offered him a small, grateful smile before standing up and making her way through the crowd. Steve watched her go, his eyes following her every step, the way she moved so gracefully, even in a place like this. She wasn’t like anyone else here—she didn’t belong in this world of shadows and secrets. And yet, here she was, standing out like a beacon of light in the darkness.

He leaned back in his seat, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. She had asked him for something so simple, and he had given in without a second thought. It wasn’t just about the drink; it was about the way she made him feel, the way she had slowly but surely worked her way into his life, his heart. She had no idea, of course, but Steve found himself enjoying this new dynamic between them—the power she unknowingly held, and the way it made him want to be better, to be someone worthy of her trust.

As Y/N reached the bar, Steve kept his gaze on her, subtly directing his men to ensure she was safe, but not interfering. He knew she needed this moment, this small taste of independence, and he was willing to give it to her. For now, he would let her think she was just a quiet presence in his life, unaware of the profound effect she had on him.

But he knew the truth, and that was enough to keep him anchored in the storm of his world, all because of the power she unknowingly had over him.Y/N stood at the bar, waiting patiently as the bartender prepared her drink. The club was a whirlwind of activity around her, with people laughing, dancing, and losing themselves in the music. She took a deep breath, momentarily closing her eyes to steady herself. Being in Steve’s world was overwhelming, but moments like this—where she could feel a sliver of independence—helped her find her footing.

The bartender handed her the drink with a nod, and she thanked him softly, wrapping her fingers around the cool glass. As she turned to head back to Steve, she felt a sudden, unwelcome presence behind her.

Before she could react, a hand brushed too close against her body, lingering in a way that made her stomach churn with unease. The grip was firm and inappropriate, the touch invasive. It wasn’t an accident, and she knew it.

Y/N gasped, the shock causing her to lose her grip on the glass. It fell to the floor, shattering into pieces as the liquid splashed across the ground. She spun around quickly, her heart pounding in her chest, and found herself staring at a young man who was clearly drunk, his eyes glazed over with a mix of alcohol and poor intentions.

“What the hell?” she whispered, her voice trembling as she instinctively stepped back, putting distance between them.

The man leered at her, seemingly unbothered by the mess he’d just caused or the discomfort in her eyes. He moved closer, his breath reeking of alcohol, a sleazy grin spreading across his face. “Aw, come on, sweetheart,” he slurred, reaching out as if to grab her again.

Y/N’s pulse raced as panic began to set in. She knew she needed to get away, to put even more distance between them, but before she could make a move, a shadow fell over them both.

Steve had been watching the entire scene unfold from his booth. His relaxed demeanor evaporated the moment he saw the man touch Y/N. A slow, burning rage began to boil in his chest, his hand tightening around his glass until his knuckles turned white.

The man was oblivious, too drunk and too arrogant to realize that by touching her, he had just signed his own death sentence.

In an instant, Steve was on his feet, his expression a mask of cold fury. He moved through the crowd with a purpose, the clubgoers instinctively parting for him as they felt the shift in the atmosphere. There was something deadly in the air, something that made everyone step back and give him space.

Before Y/N could react further, Steve was there, positioning himself between her and the drunken man. His presence was commanding, and the drunken fool finally seemed to realize that he had made a grave mistake. Steve’s eyes were dark, filled with a quiet, terrifying rage that sent a chill down the man’s spine.

“Get your filthy hands off her,” Steve said, his voice low and lethal. The words were quiet, but they carried the weight of a threat that was impossible to ignore.

The man stumbled back, suddenly sobering as he registered who he was dealing with. “I-I’m sorry, man, I didn’t—” he began to stammer, but Steve cut him off with a look that could kill.

“Too late for apologies,” Steve snarled, his hand shooting out to grab the man by the collar. He yanked him close, their faces inches apart. “You have no idea who you just messed with.”

Y/N, still shaken, watched in stunned silence as Steve effortlessly manhandled the man. The transformation from the quiet, contemplative Steve she had seen earlier to this vengeful, protective force was startling. She could feel the tension radiating off him, a deadly promise that he wouldn’t let this slide.

Steve glanced back at her for a moment, his expression softening slightly when their eyes met. He didn’t say anything, but the look was enough to reassure her that he was in control, that she was safe.

Then, without another word, Steve turned his attention back to the man, who was now trembling in fear. “You’re going to wish you’d never laid eyes on her,” Steve growled before nodding to his men, who had quickly surrounded them.

The man was dragged away, his protests and pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. Steve didn’t need to give orders—his men knew exactly what to do. The club returned to its usual rhythm, as if nothing had happened, though the regulars knew better than to forget this night.

Steve turned back to Y/N, his expression softening once more as he gently placed a hand on her arm. “You okay, doll?” he asked, his voice quiet, filled with concern.

She nodded, though her heart was still racing. “I’m… I’m fine,” she whispered, trying to steady her breathing. She looked down at the shattered glass on the floor, the remnants of her drink, and then back at Steve. “I didn’t mean for—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve interrupted, his tone firm but caring. “None of this was your fault.”

He guided her back to the booth, his hand never leaving her side, as if he was afraid to let her out of his sight. Once they were seated again, he turned to one of the staff members, his voice authoritative as he ordered them to bring her a new drink.

As they waited, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions—relief that Steve had been there to protect her, but also a lingering unease about the world she was now a part of. The way he had dealt with the man was a stark reminder of who he was, the power he wielded, and the dark side of the life she was caught up in.

But as Steve gently squeezed her hand, offering her a reassuring smile, she felt a strange sense of comfort in his presence. Despite everything, she knew that, in his own way, Steve cared for her deeply, and that he would do anything to keep her safe.

Even if it meant becoming the monster others feared.Steve watched Y/N intently, every detail of her expression etched into his mind. The bustling noise of the club faded away as he focused entirely on her. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft that it could have been lost in the din around them, but Steve heard her perfectly.

“Steve,” she called out quietly.

He turned to her immediately, his expression softening at the sound of her voice. In that moment, nothing else mattered. “What is it, doll?” he asked gently, his concern evident.

Y/N hesitated, biting her lip as she tried to find the right words. “What will happen to that guy?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Steve’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice calm, not wanting to scare her. “Don’t worry about it, doll,” he replied, his hand reaching out to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

But Y/N wasn’t satisfied. She shook her head, her brows knitting together with concern. “You know he was drunk, Steve. It happens… People get out of hand when they drink.”

Her words were a quiet plea for mercy, but Steve couldn’t let it slide. Not when it came to her. His eyes darkened, a shadow of the anger he’d felt earlier returning. He leaned in closer, his voice low and firm as he responded.

“No one messes with my queen,” he said, his tone carrying an unyielding edge. “Drunk or not, he touched what was mine.”

Y/N’s breath caught at the possessiveness in his voice, and she looked up at him, her eyes searching his. “Steve, I—” she began, but he gently interrupted, taking her hand in his.

“Doll,” he said softly, his thumb tracing circles over her knuckles in a soothing motion, “you’re the most important thing in my life. I won’t let anyone disrespect you. Ever.”

As he spoke, his gaze softened, the fierceness giving way to a deeper emotion. “He crossed a line,” Steve continued, “and he has to face the consequences. It’s not about him being drunk; it’s about him thinking he could get away with touching you, thinking he could violate what’s mine.”

Without thinking, Steve leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, taking a chance he wasn’t sure he should. For a moment, his heart raced with anticipation, but when she didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, a wave of relief and elation washed over him. She was letting him in, even if it was just a little.

Encouraged, Steve held her gaze, his voice a quiet promise. “You’re mine, Y/N. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if it means being the monster they all fear.”

Y/N swallowed, her eyes flickering with a mix of emotions. “But… I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

Steve’s grip on her hand tightened slightly, and he leaned in closer, their faces just inches apart. “No one’s going to get hurt because of you, doll,” he assured her, his voice soft yet firm. “They’re going to get hurt because of me. Because I won’t let anyone think they can touch you and get away with it. Not in my world.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers tenderly before brushing his lips against her cheek again, this time lingering just a moment longer. “You’re mine, and I’ll protect you with everything I have. You’ll warm up to me soon enough.”

She didn’t pull away, didn’t recoil from his touch, and that was all the encouragement Steve needed. The walls she’d built around herself were starting to crack, and he knew it was only a matter of time before she let him in completely.

Neither of them spoke after that. They didn’t need to. The silence between them was filled with understanding, a mutual recognition of the bond that was slowly forming. Steve might be a mobster, feared by all, but with Y/N, he was something else—something more. And as he sat there with her, feeling the warmth of her cheek against his lips, he knew that he would do whatever it took to earn her trust, to make her feel safe, to make her his in every way that mattered.The morning sun filtered through the large windows of Steve's mansion, casting a warm, golden light across the dining room. Steve sat at the head of the table, sipping his coffee as he watched Y/N quietly eat her breakfast across from him. The past five months had been a slow journey for both of them, with Y/N gradually opening up, bit by bit, to the man she now shared her life with. Steve had learned to cherish these quiet moments, her presence a soothing balm to his often chaotic world.

As he reached for a piece of toast, he heard her soft voice break the silence.

“Steve.”

There it was again—the way she said his name. No matter how many times he heard it, it never failed to make his heart skip a beat. The simplicity of it, the way it rolled off her tongue, was his undoing. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips, his usual stoic demeanor softening instantly.

“What is it, doll?” he asked, his tone warm and affectionate.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes reflecting a hint of something different—something hopeful. She hesitated for just a moment before she spoke again, her voice tentative but clear. “Can we go out?”

Steve’s brows lifted in surprise. In the five months they had spent together, Y/N had never once asked for anything like this. He knew she was a homebody, content with the comfort and safety of the mansion. She never demanded anything extravagant, never sought out the kind of luxury that his wealth could provide. She was content in her quiet world, and Steve had grown to love that about her.

But this request—this simple question—caught him off guard in the best possible way. He set his coffee cup down and leaned forward slightly, his full attention on her. “You want to go out?” he asked, his voice laced with both curiosity and excitement.

Y/N nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yes. I was thinking… maybe we could spend the day outside, together.”

Steve’s heart swelled at the thought. The idea of her wanting to spend the day with him, outside of the safety of their home, was both surprising and incredibly touching. He would take her anywhere, do anything she wanted. The entire world was at her feet, and he was more than willing to give it all to her.

“Anywhere you want, doll,” he said, his eyes shining with warmth. “Paris, Rome, a world tour—just name it, and we’ll go.”

Y/N blushed at his enthusiasm, but she shook her head with a soft laugh. “No, nothing like that. I was thinking something simpler.“Yes. I was thinking… maybe we could visit a bookshop.”

A bookshop. Steve hadn’t expected that, but the idea of it filled him with a warmth he hadn’t anticipated. He knew how much she loved to read—how she would often lose herself in a book for hours, her expression soft and content. The thought of sharing that with her, of seeing her in her element, made him smile.

“A bookshop?” he asked, his voice tinged with surprise and affection.

Y/N nodded again, her smile growing just a little. “Yes. There’s one I used to visit all the time. I’d love to go back.”

Steve didn’t answer right away. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze steady on her as he took in the moment. This request, so simple and yet so personal, meant the world to him. It wasn’t just about going out—it was about her letting him into a part of her life, a part of herself that she hadn’t shared with him before.

Finally, he smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes. “Doll,” he began softly, “you’ve got it. We’ll go to that bookshop today.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up with a mixture of surprise and happiness. Steve felt a thrill of joy at her reaction, knowing that this small gesture meant more to her than any grand outing he could have planned. The idea of spending the day with her, doing something she loved, filled him with a sense of contentment he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“When do you want to go?” Steve asked, eager to make her day special.

Y/N shrugged slightly, her smile lingering. “Whenever you’re free.”

Steve didn’t need to think about it. “I’m free now,” he said, standing up and reaching out his hand to her. “Let’s go right now, doll.”

Y/N looked at his outstretched hand, then up at him, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and anticipation. She hesitated for just a moment before placing her hand in his, letting him pull her up from her seat. Steve’s heart raced with excitement as he led her out of the dining room, already planning how he would make this day perfect for her.

As they walked toward the door, Steve glanced down at her, his heart swelling with affection. “Thank you,” he said softly, squeezing her hand.

Y/N looked up at him, puzzled. “For what?”

Steve smiled, shaking his head slightly. “For asking me to go out with you.”

She still looked a bit confused, but she smiled back, a quiet understanding passing between them. Steve knew that this was more than just a visit to a bookshop—this was a step toward something deeper, something real. And as they stepped outside into the fresh morning air, he felt a deep sense of contentment.

He might be a powerful man, but right now, all that mattered was the woman beside him and the simple joy of spending the day together in a place she loved. Whatever she needed, wherever she wanted to go, he would be there, making sure she knew just how much she meant to him.Inside the cozy bookshop, Steve found himself more captivated by Y/N than by any of the books around him. He watched her as she moved from shelf to shelf, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she discovered new titles and old favorites. There was something incredibly endearing about the way she browsed, her fingers gently grazing the spines of the books as if she were greeting old friends.

Steve leaned against one of the nearby shelves, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He could stand there all day, just watching her like this. She had a few books in hand already, and he couldn’t help but admire how she carefully considered each choice. Little did she know that he would gladly buy the entire bookstore for her if she so much as hinted at wanting it. But what he loved most was how she valued money—how she never took anything for granted. It made him want to give her the world, to spoil her in ways she couldn’t even imagine.

After a while, Y/N approached him, her arms full of books. She had a stack in one hand and another book in her other hand, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“Can I purchase these?” she asked softly, looking up at him. She then hesitated, holding up the book in her hand. “This one’s an imported version. It’s slightly expensive… I’m not sure if I should get it.”

Steve’s heart melted at her words. Here she was, worried about the cost, while he was ready to buy anything and everything she wanted. Her modesty, her thoughtfulness—these were just a few of the things that made him fall for her even more.

“Doll,” Steve said, his voice filled with affection as he stepped closer to her. He gently touched her cheek, his thumb brushing against her soft skin. “Just take everything you want. Don’t worry about the price.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. Steve could see the uncertainty in her gaze, but he smiled at her, hoping to ease her concerns.

“I mean it,” he continued, his tone full of love. “If you want it, it’s yours. You don’t have to hold back.”

She bit her lip, her eyes flickering between the books in her arms and his reassuring expression. Steve knew that she was still getting used to this—his world, his way of doing things—but he was determined to show her that she deserved all of it and more.

“Thank you, Steve,” she finally said, her voice soft but sincere.

Steve’s smile widened as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Anything for you, doll.”

He watched as she carefully added the imported book to her stack, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of happiness. This wasn’t just about the books—it was about showing her that he would always be there to support her, to make sure she had everything she needed and more. And as they walked to the counter together, Steve found himself already thinking of ways to make their next outing even more special.Steve had grown more confident with his touches lately. It started with simple gestures—a hand on her lower back as they walked together, a brush of his fingers against hers when passing her something, a gentle kiss on her cheek when she least expected it. Each time, he watched with a certain satisfaction as her cheeks flushed, a clear sign that his touches were having the effect he intended.

He found himself seeking out excuses just to be close to her, to feel the warmth of her skin under his fingertips. When they were sitting together, his hand would casually rest on her knee, his thumb lightly stroking the fabric of her jeans. If she passed by him in the house, he’d catch her hand, pulling her closer just to press a soft kiss on her forehead. Every little interaction seemed to draw them closer, and Steve reveled in the way she got flustered, her usual composure slipping just a bit.

He enjoyed watching the changes in her, seeing how she was beginning to respond to his affection, how her body seemed to lean into his touch rather than shy away from it. The more he touched her, the more natural it felt, and he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction knowing that she wasn’t pushing him away. If anything, it felt like she was slowly beginning to welcome it.In her own mind, Y/N was conflicted. At first, she had told herself that Steve’s touches were simply part of his possessiveness, a way to remind her that she belonged to him. But as the days passed, she found herself anticipating those moments—those little touches that sent shivers down her spine, the kisses that left her cheeks warm and her heart fluttering.

She couldn’t understand why she didn’t stop him. She could have pulled away, could have told him that it was too much, too fast. But she didn’t. Instead, she found herself enjoying the attention, the affection he showered her with. It was unlike anything she had experienced before—gentle, caring, almost tender. It was so different from the way she had imagined a man like Steve would behave, especially considering the circumstances under which they had met.

The way he touched her now wasn’t just possessive; it was loving, almost as if he were trying to communicate something deeper. Each caress, each kiss felt like a promise, like he was trying to show her that he could be more than just the ruthless mobster she had feared. And slowly, without even realizing it at first, she began to see herself less and less as a prisoner.

Instead of feeling trapped, she started to feel cared for, cherished even. Steve’s touches were no longer something she endured—they were something she found herself craving, something that made her feel wanted in a way she hadn’t felt before. The walls she had built around her heart were beginning to crumble, and she wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or terrified by that realization.

But for now, she allowed herself to enjoy it, to savor the warmth of his affection. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t as bad as she had feared. Maybe there was something real between them, something that could grow if she let it. And as she looked up at Steve, catching him smiling at her with that familiar, affectionate look in his eyes, she felt a spark of hope—hope that perhaps this was the beginning of something new, something that might just change everything.In the heart of the mansion, Y/N found herself wandering aimlessly through the expansive hallways. The silence was palpable, wrapping around her like a heavy blanket. She felt unusually lonely, an ache in her chest that she couldn’t quite place. Perhaps she missed Steve more than she realized, his presence a reassuring constant in her life. The thought both surprised and confused her.

Dressed in shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, she absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing out of the window at the sprawling grounds below. The sun was shining brightly, yet the warmth outside only deepened her sense of isolation. She couldn’t fathom why she felt this way; it was as if a part of her craved the chaos that accompanied Steve’s world, the vibrancy of his energy.

In an attempt to shake off the loneliness, she grabbed a book from the coffee table, deciding to venture downstairs. After all, Steve had told her more than once that she could roam around freely. With each step down the staircase, she felt a mix of anticipation and unease. What if he was busy? Would she be intruding?

As she reached the lower ground floor, she was greeted by an unsettling noise that made her pause. The sound of shouting and grunting echoed through the hall, sending a shiver down her spine. Y/N hesitated, her instincts urging her to turn back, but curiosity propelled her forward.

As she stepped into the basement, the scene before her unfolded like a nightmare. Steve stood there, his powerful frame towering over a man who was being restrained by two of Steve’s trusted friends, Sam and Bucky. The man was battered and bruised, clearly having received a severe beating for whatever betrayal he had committed.

“Who did you pass this information to?” Steve’s voice was low and threatening, a stark contrast to the warmth she usually experienced from him.

Y/N’s heart raced as she watched, rooted to the spot. She felt a mixture of fear and concern, her instincts battling against the unsettling sight. The tension in the room was thick, every punch landing with an unsettling force. She had always known that Steve had a darker side, but witnessing it firsthand left her feeling more vulnerable than ever.

Suddenly, the man was thrown toward the door, collapsing at Y/N’s feet. She gasped, instinctively bending down. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice laced with genuine concern. The words slipped out before she could stop herself, a reflex born from her caring nature.

Steve groaned, a mix of love and frustration coursing through him. He couldn’t help but admire her innocence, how it shone through even in the midst of chaos. But that innocence also made him want to protect her from the world he inhabited, a world that was all too cruel.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asked, his tone softening slightly as he turned his attention to her, his expression shifting from fury to worry. The juxtaposition of his strength and her fragility was stark, and he felt a protective instinct surge within him.

“I… I was just roaming about,” Y/N admitted, her cheeks flushing slightly under his intense gaze. “I thought I’d come see if you were around.”

The raw vulnerability in her voice tugged at his heart, and he felt an overwhelming urge to gather her close, to shield her from everything that lurked in the shadows of his life. The sight of her standing there, book clutched in her hand, made him realize just how much he cherished her presence, even in moments like this.

“Doll,” he said gently, moving closer to her, the tension of the moment fading slightly as he reached out to touch her shoulder, grounding her. “You shouldn’t be down here. It’s not safe.”

Y/N met his gaze, her expression a mixture of confusion and concern. “I just wanted to see you,” she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Steve’s heart swelled at her words, and he couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of love for her. “I appreciate that, but I need you to stay away from situations like this. I’ll handle it, I promise.”

She nodded, her eyes flickering to the man on the ground before returning to him. Despite the chaos around them, all she could focus on was Steve and the warmth of his hand on her shoulder, a comforting presence amidst the turmoil. Y/N felt a wave of panic wash over her as she realized the gravity of what she had just witnessed. The harsh reality of Steve's world pressed down on her, and she suddenly felt overwhelmed by it all. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling. Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and hurried back upstairs, her heart racing.

As she ran through the halls, she felt the warmth of tears stinging her eyes. Once she reached the library, she quickly sank into one of the oversized sofa chairs, wrapping her arms around her knees and burying her face in them. The plush fabric was comforting, but it couldn’t ease the turmoil within her.

In the library, surrounded by shelves filled with books, she felt both isolated and safe. The soft light filtering through the windows provided a stark contrast to the chaos she had just left behind. Yet, despite the sanctuary of the room, she couldn’t shake the images of violence she had just witnessed, nor the realization that Steve was capable of such brutality.Downstairs, Steve watched her retreating figure with a growing sense of unease. He felt a conflict brewing within him, his heart heavy with concern. Had he scared her? Had he hurt her with the violence she had seen? The thought gnawed at him, and he felt a surge of guilt wash over him.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He had always tried to keep his world separate from hers, to shield her from the darkness that came with his line of work. But now, it felt as though he had failed miserably. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel uncomfortable or afraid because of him.

Sam and Bucky exchanged glances, sensing the shift in Steve’s mood. They had seen how Y/N looked when she entered the room, the concern etched on her face, and now they could see the tension radiating from Steve.

“Hey, man,” Sam said cautiously, “you okay?”

Steve shook his head, his brow furrowing. “No. I don’t think she’s okay. I didn’t want her to see that. I never wanted her to see that.”

Bucky shrugged slightly. “You know how it is. She’s tough. But maybe you should check on her. You know she’ll be thinking about it.”

Steve nodded, guilt swirling in his gut. He knew he needed to talk to her, to reassure her that everything was alright, that she was safe. He glanced down at the man on the floor, still recovering from the beating, before turning back to his friends. “I’ll handle this later. I need to go to her.”

Without another word, Steve made his way upstairs, his heart pounding as he approached the library door. He hesitated for a moment before pushing it open, the sight before him pulling at his heartstrings.

Y/N sat curled up in the chair, her face hidden against her knees. The sight of her vulnerability made him feel like a storm was brewing inside him. He stepped inside quietly, not wanting to startle her.

“Doll?” he called softly, his voice gentle. “Can I come in?”

Y/N lifted her head slightly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I… I’m fine,” she replied, though her voice wavered, betraying her.

Steve felt his heart break a little at her attempt to reassure him. “You don’t look fine,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I never wanted you to be involved in any of this.”

She blinked at him, and he could see the conflict in her eyes—the fear, the confusion, the concern for him. “I just… I didn’t know, Steve. I didn’t know it was like this.”

“I know,” he said, sinking to his knees beside her chair, so they were at eye level. “And I’m sorry. I should have kept you away from it.”

“I just wanted to see you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think…”

“I know,” he interrupted, his expression softening. “You don’t have to apologize. You have every right to be curious, but I need you to understand that this world isn’t safe for you. I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt because of me.”

Y/N searched his eyes, and for a moment, it felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on both of them. “I’m not afraid of you, Steve,” she finally said, her voice steady. “I’m just… scared of what this means for us.”

Steve felt a lump form in his throat at her words. “I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe. You mean too much to me.”

As they locked eyes, he could see her tension start to ease, even if only slightly. In that moment, he knew they would have to navigate the complexities of his world together. And despite the chaos that surrounded them, he would protect her, always.Y/N's question hung in the air, raw and unexpected. “What do I mean to you, Steve?” The directness of her inquiry caught him off guard, and he blinked at her, momentarily speechless. He had never anticipated she would be so bold, so willing to confront the unspoken tensions between them. In the past, he had been surrounded by people who rarely asked him direct questions—most were either too afraid or too wary of the man he had become.

Steve felt a rush of emotions coursing through him, a mixture of fear and exhilaration. He had built walls around his heart, convinced that no one would understand the darkness he carried. Yet here was Y/N, her gaze steady, her vulnerability laid bare, asking him to expose his own feelings. It was both terrifying and liberating.

He took a deep breath, searching for the right words to express the depth of what she meant to him. “You… you mean everything to me,” he finally admitted, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “You’re not just someone I’m protecting; you’re the light in my life.”

As he spoke, he noticed the flicker of surprise in her eyes, the way she absorbed his words as if they were a lifeline. It encouraged him to continue, to delve deeper into the emotions he had kept at bay for so long.

“I’ve never been good at this,” he confessed, running a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. “But you’ve changed me. You’ve shown me a side of myself I didn’t know I was capable of—kindness, tenderness. I’ve spent so long in this world of chaos and violence, and yet with you, I feel… different. Better.”

He hesitated, grappling with his emotions. “I want you to know that I love you, Y/N. I love you in a way I never thought I could love someone. You’ve made me want to be a better man.” The admission was like a weight lifted from his chest, freeing him from the chains of fear that had held him back.

Her expression shifted as she processed his words, and he could see the conflict in her eyes—a mix of surprise, hope, and uncertainty. “But I’m just… I’m just me,” she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No, you’re so much more than that,” Steve insisted, leaning closer to her, his gaze unwavering. “You’re strong and kind, and you have this ability to see through the darkness that surrounds me. You don’t let it define who you are, and that’s something I admire so much.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed at his praise, but her brow furrowed with concern. “But what does that mean for us? For your world? I’m still scared of what I saw earlier, Steve. I don’t want to be a part of that violence.”

“I know,” he said gently, reaching out to cup her cheek in his hand, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his palm. “And I never want you to feel like you have to be. But you’re in my life now, and I’m committed to making sure you’re safe. I’ll fight for you, for us.”

As his thumb brushed over her cheek, he could see her softening, the tension in her shoulders easing. The vulnerability that had once filled her eyes was slowly being replaced with something warmer, a flicker of trust. “I want to be here for you, Steve, but I also want to understand. I need to know that I’m not just a part of your life because of the circumstances,” she said, searching his eyes for reassurance.

“You’re not just a part of my life because of that,” he vowed, his heart pounding. “You’re here because I choose you. I choose you every day, no matter how complicated my world gets. You’re my priority, and I will always do everything in my power to protect you.”

As the weight of his words settled between them, Y/N felt a swell of emotion. The love and determination in his eyes melted away her fears, replacing them with a budding sense of hope. It was clear that despite the chaos that surrounded them, there was something beautiful emerging from their connection—a bond that could withstand even the darkest storms.

“I love you too, Steve,” she said finally, her voice steady and strong. The declaration felt like a promise, a shared commitment to navigate the challenges ahead together. And in that moment, amidst the shadows of his world, they found light in each other’s hearts.Y/N’s heart raced as she whispered, “May I kiss you, Steve?” The words felt both bold and terrifying, a leap of faith that laid bare her emotions. She watched him closely, searching his face for any hint of hesitation, but instead, he chuckled softly, the sound warm and inviting.

“Doll, I have a gun upstairs,” he replied, his voice teasing yet earnest. “If I ever answer no to that question, shoot me with that.”

A playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips, the tension between them dissipating as she relaxed, buoyed by his lightheartedness. The teasing tone in his voice made her feel bold enough to push forward.

Steve closed the distance between them, his gaze locked onto hers, searching for any signs of uncertainty. But all he found was determination mixed with a hint of shyness. The world around them faded into the background, and the only thing that mattered was the moment they were about to share.

His hands came up to cradle her face, his touch gentle yet firm, and Y/N felt her breath hitch in her throat. The warmth of his palms against her skin sent a rush of electricity coursing through her body. She could feel the intensity in his gaze, the way he looked at her as if she were the only person in the world.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, the air thick with anticipation.

With a small nod, Y/N felt her pulse quicken as Steve leaned in closer. Their lips were mere inches apart, and the world outside disappeared entirely. He hesitated for a moment, giving her a chance to pull away if she wanted, but she didn’t move.

As their lips finally met, it was like a spark igniting a fire. The kiss was tender at first, soft and explorative, as if they were both savoring the sweetness of the moment. Y/N melted into him, feeling the warmth radiate from his body, the solidness of him grounding her.

Steve’s lips moved against hers with a gentle urgency, deepening the kiss as he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. Y/N felt her heart soar, the kiss igniting a warmth within her that chased away all her fears. It was a kiss that spoke of promise and passion, of vulnerability and strength.

As they parted, both of them breathed heavily, foreheads resting against each other. Steve’s eyes sparkled with delight, and Y/N felt a soft smile creep across her face, their hearts racing in unison.

“Wow,” she breathed, her cheeks flushed with warmth.

Steve chuckled softly, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Wow, indeed,” he replied, his voice low and filled with warmth. “I could get used to this.”

In that moment, everything felt right. The chaos of the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them and the undeniable connection they had forged. It was a beginning—one filled with love, hope, and the promise of a future they would navigate together.Y/N looked down, her voice barely above a whisper as she said, “I’m sorry I came downstairs without permission.” The weight of her words hung in the air, laced with a mixture of regret and uncertainty.

Steve couldn’t help but smile softly at her. “Sweetheart,” he began, his tone gentle but firm, “and I say this for the final time: don’t apologize to me ever.” He reached out, lifting her chin so she would meet his gaze. “You can kill me, and I’ll still be happy, as long as it’s you.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, the unexpectedness of his words leaving her momentarily speechless. A warmth spread through her, and she could feel her cheeks flush.

“Okay?” he pressed, searching her eyes for understanding.

“Okay,” she replied, her heart swelling with affection. The sincerity in his eyes reassured her, making her feel cherished rather than confined.

“Good,” he said, his voice softening. “You have the right to be where you want to be, and I want you here with me.”

As they stood in that moment, the connection between them deepened, a bond forged not just by love but by understanding and acceptance.“Now I have to finish something downstairs, and I’ll be back, okay?” Steve said, his voice warm but tinged with a hint of seriousness. He wanted to ensure she understood that he would return, that he would never leave her alone for long.

Y/N nodded, a small smile creeping onto her lips. “Okay,” she replied softly, her heart still racing from their earlier exchange.

“Just stay here and relax,” he added, brushing his thumb across her cheek one last time. “If you need anything, call for me. I’ll be right back.”

part 2

[drmajalis]

I feel like talking about Kira Nerys.

She is definitely one of the all time greatest Star Trek characters, and an absolute triumph of character development and payoff. She was a terrorist, she is absolutely open and unapologetic over that fact. Her planet was under a brutal, genocidal imperialist occupation and she did whatever was necessary to frustrate the Cardassians and eventually expel them from Bajor. She starts the series with that initial, momentary victory- the Cardassians have retreated, the resistance- now Bajorian militia have captured Terok Nor, but she barely gets to enjoy it for the day before Bajor's new provisional government decides to invite Starfleet to run the space station, wanting to set up their slow, eventual ascension to the Federation. And she's PISSED. Her literal first scene is arguing with her superiors before reluctantly handing over the commander's office to newly arrived Benjamin Sisko, and while that resentment slowly fades as Sisko shows overwhelmingly that he wants to be the best advocate possible for Bajor, it remains even as he is revealed to be the Emissary, Bajor's literal messiah. Kira never ceases in her struggle to see Bajor truly independent and thriving, even when it comes into conflict with her own conflicted moral code, something she had to adopt while fighting the Cardassians, but is ill equipped to handle the nuances they now have to face. This even eventually leads her to rebel, if briefly, against her own government, because she eventually decides her allegiance is to the Bajorans she fought to liberate, not Bajor the planet, or political entity.

And then there's Kira's complicated, evolving relation to the former Cardassian occupiers. It's easy to understand why she would paint them all with the same brush, they were genocidal, unforgiving, claiming to do what they did in some deluded idea that they were "helping" Bajor. But very quickly events transpire that shake her previously black and white beliefs about them.

What can I even say about "Duet" that hasn't already been said? Being confronted with a Cardassian who was so traumatized by what he witnessed his own people doing to the Bajorans that he pretended to be the very Gul who ordered the killings just so he could beg the Bajorans to put him on trial and execute him! It's such a shocking reveal that it turns Kira from eagerly wanting to put him to the death, to weeping over his murder by the very kind of revenge obsessed Bajoran she started out as.

I still cry over Marritza's confession. And the worst thing was, he was absolutely right. He knew that if Cardassia didn't own up to the crimes they had committed that they would eventually be destroyed, and he was proven right as Gul Dukat's irredentist views led him to ally with the Dominion, which ended up nearly destroying Cardassia in the long run. She even finds it in her heart to welcome Ghemor as a surrogate father figure after the time spent thinking she might actually be his daughter, and fully accept that he was trying to atone both for his own actions and that of Cardassia's, eventually burying him on Bajor next to her own father. She also ends up being confronted with the consequences of her zealotry by Silarin Prin, just a humble, innocent servant who was horribly disfigured by a bombing of a prominent Gul that Kira was involved in. And yet, she's able to recognize that while what she did was not an absolute good, fully justified by what the Bajorans were subjected to, she doesn't denounce her old self and her activities. She doesn't forgive, or forget, and that goes for both her actions, and the Cardassians. That's why she was the perfect person to help the Cardassian resistance against the Dominion, because like Marritza said, to save Cardassia, they have to change, and admit that what they did was wrong. Even Garak, who is really never shown to be that remorseful over his past activities acknowledges this when Kira points out to Damar that his family being executed by the Dominion was no different from Cardassia executing the families of Bajoran freedom fighters. "Yeah, Damar, what kind of people give those orders?" Her character came full circle, and that's why it was perfect to end the series with her finally, fully taking over command of DS9.

She'll always be one of the greatest of all time.

[ladystoneboobs]

[Bran, to Theon:]“But you’re Father’s ward.” [Theon, to Bran:]“And now you and your brother are my wards. [...] You’ll tell them how you’ve yielded Winterfell to me, and command them to serve and obey their new lord as they did the old.” -Bran VI, aCoK “He[Ramsay] is a great hunter,” said Wyman Manderly, “and women are his favorite prey. He strips them naked and sets them loose in the woods. They have a half day’s start before he sets out after them with hounds and horns. From time to time some wench escapes and lives to tell the tale. Most are less fortunate. When Ramsay catches them he rapes them, flays them, feeds their corpses to his dogs, and brings their skins back to the Dreadfort as trophies. If they have given him good sport, he slits their throats before he skins them. Elsewise, t’other way around.” -Davos IV, aDwD [Roose, to Theon, about Ramsay's mother:]"[...]I was hunting a fox along the Weeping Water when I chanced upon a mill and saw a young woman washing clothes in the stream. The old miller had gotten himself a new young wife, a girl not half his age. She was a tall, willowy creature, very healthy-looking. Long legs and small firm breasts, like two ripe plums. Pretty, in a common sort of way. The moment that I set eyes on her I wanted her. Such was my due. [...] This miller’s marriage had been performed without my leave or knowledge. The man had cheated me. So I had him hanged, and claimed my rights beneath the tree where he was swaying. If truth be told, the wench was hardly worth the rope. The fox escaped as well, and on our way back to the Dreadfort my favorite courser came up lame, so all in all it was a dismal day." -Reek(/Theon) III, aDwD

something something the way theon tries to rectify his childhood trauma by taking his captor's place as lord of wf and taking ned's younger sons as his "wards"/hostages, while ramsay repeatedly reenacts different versions of his own conception by hunting and raping peasant women. except theon fails in his role reversal when (unlike him in his own captivity at wf) bran and rickon escape custody. and ramsay enhances roose's "dismal day" by killing all the women he catches to prevent any more bolton bastards and further punishing those of them who fail to give him "good sport" (which his mother apparently did not give roose) while those who do satisfy him are "honored" with a quick death (and a canine namesake). and then the consequences of theon's failure to replace his captor/cold noerthern father figure include losing wf to house bolton and becoming the new "reek"/another of ramsay's dogs. (meaning he made himself ramsay's prey but gave him "good sport" in the experience)

ramsay starts out as deceptive dark trickster figure/evil adviser/devil on theon's shoulder in clash but he's also a dark mirror of theon, and a more successful one at that, not just better suited to villainy but more able to get away with his crimes. neither will ever be truly accepted by their fathers but ramsay is made heir once he's the only son while theon is rejected as such despite his better birth. ramsay profits from the alleged kinslaying of his actual brother by blood, while theon is more openly condemned (and seen as still not punished enough) for (falsely) killing stark boys who were never his actual kin. it's almost as if ramsay is an evil force who came into being to find theon and was drawn to him upon his return to the north. we first learn of the bastard of bolton's existence after theon returns to pyke and learns of his father's invasion plans, then his last hunt with the original reek just shortly precedes the ironborn attacks, all so that he's captured and waiting in wf right in time for theon's real plan to go into action, and we don't actually meet (disguised) ramsay in-person through dialogue with rodrik cassell or any other northerner but only when theon arrives as the new lord to free him from the dungeon. as the first reek may have corrupted ramsay, ramsay-as-reek corrupts theon. reek belongs to ramsay and ramsay belongs to reek.