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roguehongsami · 7 months

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Cult Leader.

—★ pairing/s: professor!hongjoong x fem!student

—★ genre/s: slow burn, fluff, smut, au

—★ synopsis: the struggle between freedom & autonomy, and routine in a relationship leaves you at crossroads. hongjoong waits at the end of one road w. his heart on his sleeve, hoping you eventually make the turn.

—★ content: teacher-student (late & early 20s, consensual), toys, dacryphilia, unprotected sex (condomize), mirror sex, creampie, cockwarming, breast play, overstimulation, spanking, degradation, praise.

—★ word count: 7.8k

—★ author's note: read cs to avoid confusion. story is focused on aaliyah from cs. her name is now Y/N, and Y/N from cs is now solana. have fun w. both perspectives. also, thank you for interacting w. my last story. it got 10x the traffic i was expecting. your support doesn't go unnoticed. xoxo.

* DISCLAIMER: THIS IS FICTIONAL. IT IS NOT A REPRESENTATION OF KIM HONGJOONG'S CHARACTER, PERSONALITY OR BEHAVIOUR. THIS IS SOLELY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES. *

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ lana del rey // cult leader

Solana had not been answering Y/N's calls. All of her attempts would go to voicemail after a few rings. The show was about to start and Solana was nowhere in sight. Not knowing what to do next, she started making her way through the crowd. Her best option was to go home at that point. The show was Solana's idea yet she was late for it. Frustrating doesn't even begin to cover it. She felt a hand grab her wrist. Startled, she whipped her head around and came face-to-face with the culprit.

Her eyes wide, she said, "Professor Kim?"

"What are you doing here?" he wore a beautiful smile.

"I came here for the show." Y/N said, matter-of-factly. "And maybe to get drunk." she admitted shamefully.

Hongjoong released her hand and pocketed his hands in his jeans. He smirked. "Aren't you supposed to be prepping for Yunho's test tomorrow?"

"Yes and no." she shrugged nonchalantly. "I already understand time signatures. And the test isn't until three o'clock."

"Did you come alone?"

"Well, I was supposed to be here with Solana but she's not answering my calls. I think she got held up at her drum lessons." she sighed, unable to hide her disappointment.

Hongjoong pondered on his thoughts before he let out, "Instead of ditching the show, why not keep each other company?"

Y/N chewed on her lower lip, uncertain if that would be a wise move. As much as she would've loved to spend time with Hongjoong, the last thing she wanted was to incur the wrath of the school committee. She only had one semester left but let's be honest, it was never in her nature to play by the book. Challenging authority and taking risks had always been her hallmark.

She accepted Hongjoong's offer, weaving their way through the crowd that was growing by the minute. He led them to a pub table with two chairs. A waitress took their drink orders and came back with a mai-tai for Y/N, and a beer for Hongjoong.

"I never pegged you for a Molchat Doma fan." Hongjoong took a swig of his beer.

She took a sip of drink. "Somebody said something similar when I went to a Selofan show in April." she chuckled lightly. "I don't look the part."

"To be fair, you wear a lot of yellow." he pulled his face jokingly. "Doesn't really scream 'goth', now does it?"

She fake gasped with her hand over her chest. "I just don't wanna box myself. Is that a crime?"

"No, it is not. And frankly, I admire your refusal to be bound by rules."

"So what's the story behind the split dye?"

He ran his fingers through his hair and gave the most charming smile. She could feel her heart skip a beat. If there was anybody who could capture Y/N's undivided attention, it was Hongjoong. Although it never seemed so, Y/N thought a lot about her professor. Hongjoong had the entire student body wrapped around his finger; girls wanted him and boys wanted to be him. The man's charisma was incomprehensible and his word was rule. He knew how far his influence could stretch but Y/N, she never gave him that satisfaction.

For every swoon, she snickered. Every compliment was met with a scoff.

Hongjoong reminded Y/N of everything she was. Even with the very little interaction they shared, he could read her like a book. The way he spoke, the way he carried himself, his lack of consideration for rules... He was her. Her nonchalance was merely a method of deflection. She was smitten. Hongjoong was well aware and he enjoyed indirectly pushing her buttons. This game of cat-and-mouse was just a subtle way to communicate with one another.

"I wanted to try something new. Something that could get everyone's attention." he smirked.

"Was the red not enough?" she rolled her eyes.

"The red never got your attention." he coaxed her.

Not expecting that response, Y/N's drink went down the wrong pipe and she choked. She regained her composure and mumbled, "Well played, Joong."

Hongjoong boasted. He had finally managed to crack her armour. His efforts were getting recognised but if Y/N was truly anything like him, she was going to make him sweat. And he was in it for the long run. It was the first chase he was fully going to commit himself to. He wanted her, and he was willing to work for her. "Desperation" was not the word, no. With a legion of girls who were dying to be bedded by the Kim Hongjoong, it was the girl with a stone in the place of her heart whom he desired. He was motivated.

As the night progressed, the pair exchanged more words than they ever had in during the year. Bartender was placing drinks on their table every hour. The background music fell away, both forgetting that they came for the very thing they were ignoring. The number of people began dwindling as soon as Molchat Doma finished their set. A few local bands came on but nobody was really attentive. It was 23:30 and the club was closing. Hongjoong paid for their drinks. They made their way outside, still chatting about. He drove her back home and watched as she entered her apartment complex, before taking himself back home.

"Y/N, can I borrow you for a sec?" Professor Jeong Yunho called out to Y/N as she was stepping out the door.

She backtracked and went to Yunho's desk. "Yes?"

"Do you have any idea why Solana's isn't attending my class?" his eyebrows creased.

"She won't tell me either. And I won't force her to." Y/N sucked her teeth and crossed her arms over her chest. "If you want an answer, just get her in a very public space. She hates getting cornered."

Yunho laid back in his chair and put his arms on the armrest. "Like after class?"

"No. 'Cause then she'll make up an excuse about needing to get to another class. The mixer next week, she'll be there."

"Thank you, Y/N. I'm starting a new chapter and she's going to fall behind." Yunho grabbed a paper on his desk and handed it to Y/N. "Monday's test results. Get it to her, please?"

As she walked down the hallway about to journey back to her complex, Lecture Hall 1117 — Guitar. Her hand hovered over the handle, unsure of her own actions. She pulled it down and slowly opened the door. As her eyes scanned the empty hall, different types of guitars stacked at the very back, Hongjoong's eyes landed on her frame with his eyebrows arched. An unexpected surprise. He had not spoken to Y/N since the show, and they had barely exchanged any words in class either.

Slowly entering the classroom, holding Hongjoong's gaze, she locked the door behind her. He turned around in his chair and set his pen on the table, seizing with grading papers. She stood awkwardly at the door, toying with her fingers like a little child. As terrified as she was, she was ready to start making an effort with Hongjoong.

That'll be freedom and a half.

"Thought you'd be gone by now." she spelled, her voice meek.

"Wanted to get some work done first." a shit-eating grin materialised across his face.

He sensed how uneasy she was, as if she had just admitted defeat. As much as he would have loved to revel in the situation, he was not about rub it in her face and ruin whatever chances he had with her.

He opened his arms and motioned for her to come to him. "Come here."

She remained planted in her place at the door.

"No funny business, I promise. Just come here." She moved into his embrace. He positioned her on his lap and begun rubbing circles on her back. Her head laid in the crook of his shoulder. She couldn't help but purr under his touch.

"Are we finally making progress?" he asked as he picked up his pen and continued grading papers.

"A little bit." her head still buried in his shoulder.

"A little bit." he parrotted. "You wouldn't even look at me in the first semester, so I'll take what I can get." he chuckled lightly, which prompted Y/N to reciprocate the gesture.

On the outskirts of the city, Hongjoong had his car parked on the side of a road near a field. The skies were gloomy, clouds a deep grey and a light breeze that made the grass sway. Y/N sat between Hongjoong's legs, with him leaning against the door, as they watched outside. He had his arms wrapped over her shoulders, chin rested on the top of her head.

"You really love the seventies, don't you?" she spoke softly.

"The clothes, the cars, the music. There's a flair to that decade that's just... special."

"'The freedom land of the seventies'." she slipped out of his hold and sat up, turning around to face him. "I'd always hear stories from my grandma from then."

His eyebrows creased in the middle. "Like what?"

"She was a free-loving hippie then, flowers in the hair and everything. Before she left the States, she got to see Jimi and Janis at Woodstock."

"You're lying, right?" he gave her a suspecting look.

"On the day Janis performed, she met a man named Graham. They were glued at the hip the whole weekend. Eventually they started dating."

"That doesn't sound so bad." Hongjoong chuckled.

Y/N gave him a blank stare, biting on the inside of her cheek. "Graham... was a cult leader. When they dated, grandma joined his cult. She never left his side. He could convince her to do anything."

Hongjoong sat upright and watched Y/N intensely, waiting for her to say she was lying.

"But Graham died in seventy-eight."

"What happened to the cult after he died?"

"It just dissipated, grandma was devastated. She loved him, no man has ever measured up to Graham in her eyes. Everyone thinks she's just a senile old woman with raging dementia but I don't." she leaned back on the seat, laying her head on the headrest. "She said it was the best time of her life. Always encouraging me to find my own freedom. She wants me to live." she turned her head to face Hongjoong. "'Lay down, my child'. Something Graham used to say to her."

"How does your grandpa feel about her loving Graham that much?"

"Probably tooting his own horn." A mischievous smile spread across her face, unable to mask her amusement. "Graham is my granddad."

Hongjoong was too dumbfounded to gather the words to speak. He stared at her blankly and all she could do was keep smiling. They sat in silence for a few moments, holding each other's gaze. Hongjoong fixed his posture and planted his feet on the floor. He cupped her face. She held his wrists, looking at him through her lashes. She gulped to ease the anxiety creeping in. The atmosphere suddenly became heavy, all that could be heard was their breathing.

"Everyone either wants to be you or be with you. Your personal 'yes-men'. They're so desperate for your approval, for you. It's very..." she broke the silence, their lips grazing.

"Cult-like?" he let go of her face and held her hands. A smirk breaking out. "Do I make you feel free?"

She nodded in agreement. "I think our little back and forth is freeing. You don't rush me." her voice was faint. She dropped her head, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"It took an entire semester to get you to talk to me, acknowledge me. I can wait a while longer."

"I just need you to hold my hand until I'm ready. I don't think you'd ever stifle my freewill but I need to be sure."

He pressed his lips to hers. She happily obliged. He snaked his arms around her waist, hoisting her up to his lap. Her hand was pressed against the window, the other slinked over his shoulder. Their breathing picked up, body temperature slowly rising. He slid his hands under her shirt, sending shivers down her spine. His lips moved down to her neck, nipping at the skin.

A downpour struck down on Hongjoong's car, jolting them out of their little bubble. As he kept tracing kisses and bites on her neck and shoulders, she was distracted by the droplets on the window. Her fingers following the drops sliding down. She broke away from Hongjoong. His eyebrows creased, confused. She opened the door and stepped out. The rain smacking against her skin.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" Hongjoong asked as he slid to the door.

He grabbed her wrist and she looked down on him while he sat in the car. "I don't know."

She ran off into the field until she reached the very center. Her head cocked up to the sky, eyes closed. Rain washed down her face. Her shirt became translucent, sticking to her skin. Her entire body was drenched. She spread her arms out.

"I did everything I wanted. I lived. I loved. And now it's your turn."

"But I don't know how..."

"Yes, you do. You're just scared, that's it." she handed her a bowl of snacks. "As for love, you'll know when you've found the one. He'll be there no matter what."

Spin. Spin. Spin.

She recalled a conversation she had with her grandmother. Her words rang true. There was fluttering in her stomach. But sometimes those butterflies could be warning signs. Unsure which it was. Harbingers of a beautiful something or an awful auspice.

Hongjoong snuck up on her as she was so engrossed with what was in her head. He grabbed her waist and held her hand in his. He spun her around once more, with one knee bent, he dipped her. They held their position a few seconds before he reeled her back in and held her. She rested her hands around his neck and leaned in to kiss him. She rested her head on his shoulder.

"Soon you'll realise that you can have me without sacrifice. And I'll be right here when you do."

Most students had already taken their place in the hall. Some were in the back getting their guitars of the rack. Y/N was tuning her guitar, readying herself for the day's lesson. She was feeling a bit under the weather that day; her face was flushed and nose congested, an occasional sneeze into her sweater sleeve. Her little liberty expedition into the rain had left her with a parting gift; a cold.

Once all the students were seated, Hongjoong began his lesson. He paced up and down in front of the students, asking questions about various scales. The class was engaged in the lesson but Y/N, not so much. Her cold medication had put her in her a state of delirium. She could barely keep her eyes open.

"I put you into groups of three last time and assigned you solos to analyse. Get to it." Hongjoong spoke authoritatively as he sat in his chair, feet propped up on his desk.

Y/N rummaged in her tote bag, the little device hiding from her, then pulled forth a small device the size of her hand. She plugged the amPlug into her guitar. The headphones that hung around her neck were pulled over her head and covered her ears. She plugged the wired headphones into the amPlug.

Kathy brought her hand up over her head, waving, which got Hongjoong's attention. Diverting his attention from his phone screen to an eager Kathy, he sighed.

"Kathy?" his tone low and uninterested.

She twirled her hair in her fingers, giggling with her friends upfront the class. "So... mister Kim, do you like... have a girlfriend?"

Kathy had never shied away from making passes at Hongjoong. She had always been shamelessly vocal about her desire to get with him. Half the student body knew and even the faculty caught wind. It played off more as a joke to everyone, but not Kathy. Not Kathy.

Hongjoong never held any animosity towards anyone. He got along with everyone, always as respectful as he could be. Thing is, he also had one hell of a reputation for flirtatious behaviour. Albeit with no intention to follow through with something more, he'd either wink at students or mindfully caress the female staff just to get a reaction out of them. He loved the influence he had over everyone. It was all a game to him.

Half the class was taken aback by the question, feeling as if it was a bit intrusive. The other half were more engrossed by the assessment that was due. Y/N held her head up, curious to what his answer might be. Hongjoong smirked, standing up from his chair. He strolled to Kathy and stood in front of her, arm slinked over the music stand.

"Why Kathy, do you want a date?" Hongjoong smiled with a wave of confidence washing over him.

Kathy playfully rolled her eyes and giggled some more. "I mean-"

Hongjoong briefly glanced at Y/N. "I flirt a lot but I don't do students. And I'm not on the market." he said arrogantly, shooting her a wink.

Embarrassment washed over Kathy as she sunk into her seat. Hongjoong pat her on the shoulder, then pocketed his hands into his slacks. He took a few laps around the hall, as his students spoke amongst themselves. Y/N put her headphones over her ears and began strumming. She felt a sense of relief hearing Hongjoong's response, but couldn't help think a part of what he said may have been a silent jab at her. Setting aside her thoughts, she focused on her playing.

Solana tapped Y/N on her shoulder, bringing her out her bubble of notes and chords, and pushed the headphones behind her ears.

"I need a pick, I think I lost mine."

Y/N took out a small metal container from her tote bag. "What kind do you use?"

Solana pondered as her index finger was pressed on her chin. "Standard three-five-one, point-eight gauge."

She opened up the metal container. Her finger swiping through the various collection of picks. Bringing forth a lime green pick, she inspected it then held it out to Solana. She took it between her fingers, pouting, she looked up at Y/N.

"Don't you have it in celluloid?"

"You know I only use nylon."

Solana shrugged. "Thanks anyway." her fingers flipped through the music sheet on the stand in front of her. "Can't believe Professor Kim gave us Free Bird. I don't get the physics behind sliding. I like the glissando though."

Y/N passed a breathy chuckle, amused by Solana's complaint. "I did it with a bottle neck once, I'll show when we get home."

Solana puts on her headphones, strumming away on her guitar. Y/N pages through the music sheet, making notes on the sheet with her pencil and jotting down in her notebook. Engrossed with her work, she didn't realise Hongjoong was nearing her as he took laps around the hall. A tingling sensation played around in her nasal cavities, eliciting a sneeze that was directed into her sleeve. She took out a handkerchief a swiped it across her nose.

Hongjoong shook his head in discontent, tsking as he halted right beside her. "Told you not to fool around in the rain." he whispered.

She glanced up at Hongjoong with a death stare, a shiver meandering in his nerves.

He sunk to her eye level, eyes studying the notes on the sheet. "I'll drop off some food and medicine later tonight." he whispered as his fingers paged through the sheet. His finger landed on a highlighted line. "That's dee-over-eff sharp."

"Thanks." she muttered, fingers adjusting the distortion level on her amPlug.

It was the night of the Waldorf Music Academy mixer. From nerves of steel to absolute anxietude, Y/N was trying to regain her composure. She had spent months preparing for this night. Hair and makeup to shoes and dress. Counting in her head to calm herself, fingers tapping incessantly on her thigh.

"I'll see you later, okay?" Solana rubbed Y/N on the back and gave her a small smile.

Y/N nodded as she watched Solana walk down the steps into the hall, her red gown in hand to keep from tripping. She stood at the entrance, inspecting the venue. She wore a blush pink tulle dress that halted above her knees, a bejeweled belt hugging her waist. Her beige stilettos with gemstone straps decorated her feet. A white and yellow diamond négligée hung befittingly around her neck, sure to draw attention to her chest. The necklace was paired with yellow diamond studs and bracelet. Her getup was completed with a beige clutch. She was magnificent. breathtaking really.

Hongjoong sat in his car that was parked across the street, watching her stand frozen at the door. He wore a midnight blue regular fit suit with a notch lapel, the top three buttons of his dress shirt undone. A white pocket square adorned his chest, and dark brown oxfords to complete the look. His split dye hair was slicked back, a black strand dancing on his forehead and his undercut fresh as it could be.

He exited his car and made his way across the street, into the building. His heart was thumping faster the closer he approached. Of all the beauty he had come across in his lifetime, nothing and no one ever measured up to Y/N. He stood beside her, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"You are beyond... mesmerizing." he smiled. "You're very beautiful, Y/N."

She returned the gesture. "Thank you, Hong." she playfully nudged at his shoulder. "You clean up really well. I see why Kathy's always making passes."

They both chuckled lightheartedly, easing the atmosphere. Most of the anxiety that held her mind hostage had slowly begun to fall away with every second Hongjoong stood beside her.

"Too bad for her, she's not you."

He held her gaze. She looked away, heat rushing to her cheeks. Time felt as if it had slowed down.

"Just breathe, okay? You'll blow them away, that I'm certain of." he gave her a wink before descending down the staircase. "Come find me if you need a pep talk."

[ . . . ]

It had been about two hours since the mixer started. Chatting up a myriad of industry officials. She wrapped up her conversation with Joe Satriani after discussing his thought process while composing, and his experience mentoring Kirk Hammett and Steve Vai. He gave her some much needed pointers, also offering his number so he could tutor her in the future. She humbly accepted the offer, as she walked away.

She spotted Hongjoong sitting at the bar, alone. He was downing a glass of whiskey, uninterested in the event. Chaperoning was his least favourite part of the job. He called on the bartender, shaking the glass a few inches above the counter, signalling for a refill. Y/N sat on the stool beside him and ordered a long island iced tea. The bartender positioned the beverage in front of her and disappeared to tend to other guests.

"Enjoying the evening?" Hongjoong downed his whiskey in one go. "Saw you chatting up Satriani."

Y/N twirled the straw in her drink. "He said he'd tutor me after I graduate."

He looked down at his glass and smiled halfheartedly. "Guess you're outgrowing me. I've taught you all that I could."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a minute or so.

"All this talk of graduation..." she released a shaky breath. "I realised how much I love having you around, even though it doesn't seem so. I'm ready to take the next step, if you feel like you've waited long enough."

He glanced up and saw her looking down at her drink. He knew it took a great deal of courage for her to bear her heart out. The step he'd been waiting for. She finally opened up her heart to him. All he could think of were the ways he wanted to show her new experiences and above it all, how love could be liberating and safe. He was determined to create an environment where their mutual admiration for each other could be cultivated.

Hongjoong looked back down at his drink. "You have no idea how badly I've been wanting to hear that. Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack."

He reached into his pant pocket. Presenting to her, he discreetly put a pink rubber device in her hand. She looked at her hand, her eyebrows creasing with confusion. In no less than a second, it dawned on her as her eyes were bewildered and her mouth grew into an 'O'. She swiftly dumped the device into her clutch, eye laser-focused on Hongjoong.

He looked her straight on, expressionless. "What are you still doing here?" his voice hushed.

[ . . . ]

She jerked up in her seat, the people around her the table casting confused glances. A simple "Shiver down the spine" was enough for them to brush her off, giving her reassuring nods. Her legs were shaking and she could barely hold the fork in her hand. When the tables were cleared, she took it as an opportunity to bury her face in her arms. Her heart was beating irregularly. Her breathing was all over the place.

Solana came back to their table and sat beside Y/N. She heard her sniffling and grew concerned. Her hand rubbed her back as she leaned in.

"Babe, what's wrong?" Solana asked innocently.

"It's nothing. Don't worry." she said with a tremble laced in her tone.

"Are you sure? You're literally shaking."

Why wouldn't she shake? Any time she felt as though it was all over, Hongjoong would crank up the setting of the remote-controlled vibrator. She was pooling at her core and her clitoris was throbbing to the point of detonation. One wrong move, she would probably collapse. She avoided being on her feet for the time being, worried her legs may give out. All she wanted was for the evening to end.

And it was far from.

Hongjoong was seated two tables away, smirking cunningly to himself. Everytime she lurched in her seat, he stifled a laugh. Having his way with her was what he considered his "single greatest achievement". He had her in his grasp and he wasn't loosening his grip for as long as he lived.

Y/N sat up, wiping the tears off her face. She put her finger on Solana's mouth, confusing her, Solana looking down at her finger.

"I'm f-fine, just... shush. I need quiet." Y/N hissed. Her eye caught the ebon stone on her finger. She squinted as she focused on it. "Er- where'd you get the rock?"

Solana pursed her lips, eyes wandering. "I, uh... a gift."

Her clutch was buzzing on the table, catching her attention. She took out her phone, her eyes greeted by a text message notification.

Hongjoong: i'm turning it off. gather yourself and meet me in room 1205 in 30 min.

Hongjoong: and DON'T take it out unless i say so.

She slipped her phone back into her clutch. As she was about let out a sigh of relief, the device went off one last time, prompting her jerk up again. Hongjoong listened to her quietly whimper as he walked past her table, not giving her a second look.

"I'll probe you later." she tilted her head to the side. "You don't mind going home alone, do you?"

Solana shook her head. "I'm meeting somebody in the hotel in..." she looked at the time on her phone. "Right now, actually. I'll see you tomorrow."

Solana stood up and swiped her purse off the table, flattening whatever creases she could find on her gown. She took out a tube of lip gloss, glistening her lips before making her exit. "Kiss kiss."

She was greeted with a 'floor 12' silver lettering when she stepped out of the elevator. Taking small strides to the room, she stood in front of the door. 1205. The grip on her clutch tightening. Deep breath in, shaky breath out. Hand balled into a fist, her knuckles met the door. Two knocks. The device still buried inside her buzzed to life, forcing an involuntarily half-loud whimper out of her. Her knees buckled and she held herself up using the door frame.

The door opened, her eyes landing on a grinning Hongjoong. He clutched her waist, pulling her into the room. She threw her arm over his shoulder, legs trembling with every step. Her clutch thrown on the coffee table. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands squeezing her hips and face buried in her stomach. She held herself up with his shoulders, staring at the top his head. He was inhaling every bit of her Issey Miyake perfume.

"Stand back a bit for me, will you?"

Y/N took a few steps back, making space between her and Hongjoong. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, a scowl evident on her face. He looked her up and down, a lustful yet dark gaze focused on her being. Their eyes competing with one another. Tension thick in the atmosphere.

Bzzzz.

She whimpered painfully, doubling over and supporting herself with her hands on her knees. "You said you'd stop."

"Long enough for you to be able to get here." he shrugged. "There's five settings on this thing and I've only taken it to four. How long is it gonna take for you to cave under five?"

"I came, like, twice in the hall. What more do you want?" she growled. She bent down to undo the straps of her heels and set them aside.

The vibrator went up to the fifth setting immediately after Hongjoong brought it back to life. "That's one hell of an attitude for someone who's under my mercy."

"I'm sorry." she cried.

It seemed the longer the buzzing went on, the more her legs would tremble. She stood by the coffee table, holding herself up. The tears mixed with sweat beads came down her face endlessly. Counting to a hundred and back in her head, trying to keep her mind off her situation. The feeling of her heart thumping violently against her chest was making her panic. Her entire body was shaking.

"Call it. I'll stop." Hongjoong deigned.

It had only been three minutes at this point. Two orgasms had washed over her. A third one was quickly materializing. An tight sensation taking up residence in her stomach. She managed stand upright. Pacing up and down in front of Hongjoong. Fisting two handfuls of her hair, she was breathing erratically, tears never seizing. As her third orgasm crept in, she bowed with her hands on her knees. Her cries more audible this time.

Down her leg came some of her nectar, underwear beyond drenched. Catching Hongjoong's attention, head cocked to the side and eyebrow arched. A smile mixed with satisfaction and bewilderment appeared. He leaned forward to get a closer look. Her knees buckled as she brought down her entire body weight. Hands pressed to the floor, her crying grew stronger.

Trying to string together a coherent sentence, unable to find her words. She managed, "Please..."

The device died. Hongjoong slipped the remote into his pocket. He went down on his knees, cupping her face and wiping away her tears. He planted his lips on hers, burying her head in his shoulder. As he took his hand into her underwear, he accidentally grazed her overly sensitive bud. Whimpering and jerking up. His fingers journeyed up inside her, retrieving the vibrator. Smeared with her juices, he brought it to his mouth and licked off the residue.

She casted him a disgusted look, eyeing him through her wet lashes and glossy eyes. Unsure if she was aroused or found it off-putting to watch her boyfriend slurp her discharge, her core released a bit more of her juices in response. Talk about cognitive dissonance. Hongjoong chuckled, as he put the toy into his pocket. He grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her. His tongue requesting entry into her mouth. She tasted herself on him.

He draped his arms around her waist, undoing her belt. His fingers unzipped her dress. He stood up, bringing her up along with. The dress pooled around her legs as she stepped out of. He sat down on the bed, straddling her around his waist. She began undoing his dress shirt, then traveled down his pants. Her fingers fumbling the zip. He smacked her ass, making her moan into their kiss.

"Five-seven with the confidence of six-foot tall man." she spoke against his lips, her hand caressing his throbbing cock. "I admire that. I think it's hot."

He flicked his finger over her throbbing bud, a yelp filling his ears. "Gutsy, when I quite literally have you in the palm of my hand."

He grabbed her waist and pushed her off, taking off his pants. He sat back down on the bed. Her eyes stuck on his member. Smooth with a vein running along the base, head pink and leaking with precum. Girthy and lengthy. Her mind was racing through all the possibilities of how he'd make her fall apart. She licked her lower lip.

"Come on, take a seat." he coaxed her, pulling her hand. His other hand pumping to get him harder. "I'm gonna stuff you so good, baby."

He spun her around, her back turned to him. His hands planted firmly on her waist, he slowly descended her on his cock. Both of their bodies erupting from the slight contact. As Hongjoong was taking deep breaths, Y/N whimpered at the feel of his stretch. Her walls clamped so tight, barely allowing him entrance. Hongjoong was careful to not force her down hastily.

Patience wears thin for everyone, it's ruled by circumstance. As appreciated as it was, she was peeved. He was taking his sweet time, enjoying her feel. She balanced herself using his thighs and forced herself all the way down, until he bottomed her out.

"Will you relax? I can feel your heart beating on my dick." Hongjoong groaned when she fit him in, his arms wrapped around her stomach.

She gave a light chuckle, through shallow breaths. "Sorry Hong, you were taking too long."

After a few breathers, she began bouncing on his cock. His hands playing with her breasts, fondling away at her nipples. Her moans filled the silence in the room. The constant squelching replaying in both their heads. His grunting had her spiraling. She wanted to hear more. Kegeling on his cock. His grip on her breasts growing tighter. He traced wet kisses on her back, inevitably sinking his teeth into her skin. Marks plastered all over her back.

The warmth and slick that encapsulated his cock, paired with forceful clamping, it was coming. It wasn't long until he was painting her walls. He stilled her on his cock while he spasmed inside her. Grunting her name, over and over, in her ear.

He took her face by the jaw and cocked it to the mirror in front of them. "Don't worry, baby. You'll get yours."

He spread her legs open, rubbing the inside of her thigh. Trailing kisses on her back and shoulder. Her jaw still in his hand, his other ventured to her core. As he played with her bud, she squirmed in his hold. Any time she tried looking away, he'd force her to look at the mirror.

As she closed her eyes, tears running, he said, "Open your eyes, and don't make me ask again." he whispered into her ear, shivers traveling down her spine.

Her chest heaving up and down as she watched herself in the mirror, falling apart in his hold. Her cunt squeezing his cock in intervals. The decibels of her moans escalating. Materialising her nth orgasm of the night. He felt her clamping down, reporting on her nearing release. She mumbled incoherent strings of nothing, Hongjoong's name caught in the mix. Her head slumping down, he forced her gaze into the mirror.

Hand still toying with her, he spoke softly into her ear as she wept, "I want you to have this image of yourself engraved so deeply into your subconscious, not even a lobotomy could make you forget."

Her moaning grew and her clenching got tighter.

Planting a kiss on her neck, he said, "Cum on daddy's cock, baby. I know you can."

She held Hongjoong's gaze in the mirror as she unraveled at his words. Shallow breaths were all she could manage. Her body quaking as she creamed on his cock. He stood up, his cock slipping out of her cunt. Arousal dripping on the floor and going down her leg.

On all fours on the bed, facing the mirror, he slotted himself between her legs. His hand pumping to get himself hard again. His tip running over her folds, gathering their combined juices. Spanking her ass just to behold the recoil. His tip was sliding in and out of her cunt, teasing her. She was anxious for what was to come.

Easing into her wet hole, he buried his cock deep inside. This position was sure to have him grazing her cervix and hitting her erogenous zone at a pristine angle. She moaned into the sheets. He leaned forward, taking her hands and pinning them down on her lower back with one hand. The other hand smacking her ass before squeezing her hip for balance.

His thrusts started off slow and steady. Every pounding had her ass jiggling. His balls grazing her clit. As he picked up speed, the sound of skin clapping, Y/N moaning Hongjoong's name and Hongjoong grunting profanities occupied the room's atmosphere. Sure enough to disturb the neighbours but who cares? The bed wanted in on the action as it was vocal too, bed frame squeaking with every powerful pound.

"My pretty little slut." he panted, breathlessly. "You love daddy's cock, my perfect little whore?"

She moaned. "Yes baby, I do."

He spanked her ass once more. "You're more beautiful as my fucktoy, princess. I'm gonna fill you up with all my seed."

He slowed down a bit and released her hands. His hand wrapped around her neck, careful not to bother her négligée. She brought him up to his chest, his other hand on her stomach. Pumping in and out of her. She clenched around, this new angle had his cock brushing her sweet spot. He knew he had her in the right position when her tears started welling.

His lips pressed to her ear and grip getting tight, he grunted, "I may have everyone wrapped around my finger but I need you to be obsessed. I want to be the center of your universe. I want you to get sick at the idea of a man who's not me."

"You don't have to ask twice." she moaned, her hands grappling at his hips.

The last few brushes past her sensitive zone played around with her eyes, she was seeing stars before her eyes. Her nails sinking into his skin. Incoherent mumbles leaving her lips. The visual of her tits bouncing as he pounded her into oblivion, aroused her. As his hips were bucking, short thrusting into her, he delivered his final load for the night. She soon came undone on his cock, her cunt squeezing every bit of him out.

Once the high started subsiding, still inside her, he laid her on her back. Her legs laced around his waist, he massaged the inside of her thighs. They looked at each other lovingly through smiles, though hers was dopey and his smug.

"Thank you for giving our relationship a real shot. I know it wasn't easy for you." he cooed. "I promise I won't waste your time. And I definitely won't cage you."

Her hand ran over her stomach, rubbing circles. "I trust you, Hong. I'm not sure of a lot of things in my life but not you. You stayed when most men would've left. You waited for me and held my hand while I prepared to take that leap."

He leaned in for a kiss, her hands caressing his back. He hovered over her, bucking her hips up. "And I would do it all over again."

Afternoon had come and at around 12:30, they found themselves standing at opposite sides in the elevator. The clicking from Hongjoong's phone filling the silence. Y/N was picking and prodding at the pimple forming on her cheek. As the elevator continued descending down the building, it stopped at another floor. The doors opened and an awkward silence fell.

Everyone's eyes dancing between one another, exchanging shocked glances. Yunho and Solana stepped into the elevator, Solana standing beside Y/N and Yunho beside Hongjoong.

A sardonic smile spread across Y/N's face. "So that's why you were bunking classes..."

Solana bowed her head shamefully, heat racing to her cheeks. "I didn't know how to tell you." she spoke with a hoarse voice.

Y/N and Hongjoong exchanged bemused glances. Hongjoong cleared his throat, smirking as he looked at Yunho. "Eventful night, I see..."

Yunho's ears turned red, face turned towards the floor. Hongjoong and Yunho spoke amongst themselves, as did Y/N and Solana. The rest of the ride down was fairly normal, the awkwardness no longer felt. As the elevator stopped at the ground floor, Y/N and Solana walked a few feet ahead of their professors.

As they stood on the other side of the street, about to head their separate ways, Hongjoong stepped away as a call came in. He spoke on the phone for a minute or so then returned.

"Yunho, you mind taking Y/N home for me? There's something I need to get to." Hongjoong spoke with urgency in his tone. He pecked Y/N on the cheek before leaving. "I'll call you tonight."

Yunho opened the door to the driver's side, halfway inside. "No problem. Girls, in the car."

On the ride back to the complex, Solana asked Yunho to get them takeaways. He went into a drive-thru and journeyed back to their home. The car was parked at the gate. As they were about to exit, Yunho stopped them.

"You cannot, under any circumstance, tell anyone about last night. All of us could get in trouble." he spoke authoritatively, face stern to emphasise the urgency of his words.

The girls nodded in unison. Y/N took the bag of food and exited the vehicle. Solana remaining behind to share a few more moments with Yunho. Ascending the stairs, her eyes land on a brown box at their doorstep. As she approached, Solana came trailing behind. Both wearing confused looks.

"Were we expecting a delivery?" Solana said.

Y/N shook her head, handing over the takeaways to Solana as she inched closer to the box. She scooped it up off the floor and inspected it. Box nestled under her arm as she searched for the keys, she unlocked the door. They stepped into their apartment, Solana setting down the food on the counter. Y/N grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer. As she opened the box filled with packing peanuts, there was a card inside with her name on it.

"Guess it's for you." Solana shrugged. "What's it say?"

"'Thought you might love this. I have a feeling that it's right up there on your list of interests. -Hongjoong'." she read the card out loud.

Solana screamed, her arms wrapped around Y/N's shoulders as she jumped up and down. "Oh-em-gee, open it! Open it!"

She set the card aside and lifted the package inside the box. As she removed the yellow packing paper and bubble wrap, she felt the air leave her lungs. She held up the vinyl record a few inches away, inspecting the black cover with red detailing. Her eyes focused on the two women on the cover, finger running over their name at the very top. In awe and all, she could find words to speak.

"No. Fucking. Way." Solana exasperated. "I couldn't even get you that for your birthday."

Y/N was brought out of her trance. "I never told him about Strawberry Switchblade."

They looked at each other, eyebrows creased down the middle. "Then how'd he know?"

She shrugged, eyes still inspecting the vinyl.

[ . . . ]

The rest of the day went on as normal. The girls spent their afternoon on the couch, watching 'Our Blues'. Food spread out on the coffee table. As the final episode concluded, Solana cleared the living room. Y/N went into her bedroom, moonlight illuminating the space. She pushed the covers aside and laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her phone vibrated on the nightstand as it rang.

Hongjoong.

She answered.

"So you remember that call I had earlier?"

"Yeah? Who was it?"

"I got scouted by an executive, said a doe sent them my raw recordings. They want me to produce Rihanna's next album... in Amsterdam City, but I told them I'd think about it. Said I'd run it by you."

"Hong, that's great! What do you need my opinion for?" she sat up on the bed. "Plus, Rihanna's been on hiatus for almost a decade. If this album blows up, everyone's gonna come looking for your expertise."

"We just started dating, I don't think distance would be a great idea." he sighed. "Y/N, you're the only person who knows about those recordings."

There was silence for a few moments. "I just thought you're too good for WMA, so I sent your work to as many labels as I could." she frowned a bit as she laid back down. "As for distance, I called Satriani and his people said he'll take me on after graduation... in Ivory Canyon, it's fifteen minutes away from Amsterdam. If you leave now to get settled, I'll join you in a few months."

"And you'd be okay with it?"

"We've waited this long, what's four more months?"

"How'd you like the gift?"

"Beyond love it. I've been looking at it all day, can't believe it's in my hands." she smiled as the fluttering in her stomach got stronger. "But how'd you know?"

There was rustling on his end as he laid himself down in his bed. "I noticed that you always wear polka-dot ribbons in your hair that match your outfits, sometimes with mesh flowers. Never got that."

"They're pretty." she whined.

"They are. But when I saw you at the Molchat Doma show and you mentioned Selofan... it clicked." he chuckled. "I looked up eighties goth bands that wore polka-dots and lo and behold-"

"Strawberry Switchblade. No one I've met has ever got that reference, not even Solana." she said softly. "Thank you, Joong."

"You're welcome, princess. And thank you for sending out my work, I'm usually big on risks but this..." he smirked to himself.

"You deserve somebody who'll give you a push whenever you're not sure of yourself. You're good at what you do and the world needs to hear it."

He released a deep breath. "I've got tickets to a Sextile show next Saturday."

"It's a date."

#ateez #kim hongjoong #hongjoong smut #hongjoong fluff #roguehongsami

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from-memphis-with-love · 1 month

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A Cowboy for Clementine - An Elvis Presley AU Cowboy Fanfic

Summary: Clementine looked to Elvis, her expression coolly determined. "If there's nothing else, I'll go unpack and change. See you at the barn."

With that, Elvis turned on his heel and strode off, spurs jingling. Clementine released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Lord, what had she gotten herself into? Wrangling cattle was one thing. Wrangling a surly cowboy with an itchy trigger finger and an apparent grudge was quite another. She had a feeling this Elvis Presley would prove as untamed as the land itself.

Word count: 26,000 (first four chapters)

Chapter 1

The stagecoach lurched and swayed as it wound its way through the rugged mountain pass. Inside, Clementine Olivetti gripped the worn leather seat, her knuckles white from the effort. She peered out the dust-caked window at the forbidding landscape rolling by—jagged peaks, skeletal trees, sun-baked earth. A far cry from the cobblestone streets and genteel townhouses of New York.

What am I doing out here? Clementine thought, not for the first time since beginning this journey west. Traveling across the country to take ownership of some rustic ranch she'd never laid eyes on, bequeathed by an uncle she barely knew. It was rash, reckless even. Very out of character for the practical, level-headed Clementine. A girl who always had a plan.

But perhaps that was precisely the point. To do something unexpected, impulsive for once. To break free from the comfortable confines of her predictable city life. There was a certain romantic notion to it all—a young woman striking out on her own to start anew in the untamed frontier. Like something out of the dime novels she and her best friend Bonnie used to giggle over late at night.

Bonnie Mae Blakely. Her vivacious partner in crime since childhood. The yin to Clementine's yang—bold where she was cautious, impetuous where she was measured. They had shared so many dreams and secrets over the years. When Clementine told her about the surprise inheritance, Bonnie had squealed and hugged her fiercely.

"Oh Clemmie, it's just like a storybook! A rugged ranch out west, waiting for a plucky heroine to make it her own. Promise you'll write and tell me every adventure! And maybe I'll even come visit once you're all settled."

Clementine smiled at the memory, picturing Bonnie's pretty face alight with excitement. In truth, having her friend's unconditional support had given Clementine the courage to undertake this journey. To believe she could reinvent herself and start fresh, even without any family left to tether her to New York.

Her parents had passed on years ago and she had no siblings. Just an uncle out west she scarcely remembered from childhood. The letter from the lawyer informing her of Uncle Ned's death and his bequeathing of Windy Creek Ranch had come as a shock. Almost as much as his written words, which she now withdrew from her handbag to read once more:

"Dearest Clementine,

If you are reading this, then I am gone and the Good Lord has finally called me home. I regret that I did not make more of an effort to be a presence in your life. But know that not a day went by that I did not think of you and wish for your happiness.

I leave to you my most prized possession: the Windy Creek Ranch. Six hundred and forty acres of prime grazing land nestled in the heart of cattle country. It isn't much to look at, but it has potential. Like a rare gem in the rough just waiting to be polished. I built this spread from nothing, with just grit and determination. I know you have that same strength within you.

There is a small town close by called Crossroads. You'll be able to purchase any supplies there and the townsfolk are generally amiable. But be warned, there have been rumors lately of cattle rustlers and claim jumpers looking to prey on the local ranches. Trust your instincts and keep your wits about you.

I wish I could be there to guide you as you begin this new chapter. But I take comfort knowing the ranch is in capable hands. Take care of it and it will take care of you. Never forget, you are my niece. We are made of tougher stuff than most.

Yours, Uncle Ned"

Clementine folded up the letter, blinking back tears. She barely remembered Uncle Ned—a grizzled, wild-eyed man who would occasionally blow into town like a tumbleweed, his clothes smelling of leather and horses and endless sky. Her father's eldest brother. A dreamer. An adventurer. Everything her straight-laced father was not... and did not approve of. The brothers had a falling out when Clementine was just a girl and Ned rode off into the sunset, never to return.

She used to envy his freedom, his daring. While her days were filled with needlework and piano lessons, she imagined Uncle Ned out there living a thrilling life. Herding cattle, exploring the wilderness, sitting around a campfire under a canopy of stars. It all seemed terribly romantic to her younger self.

But as she grew older, Clementine came to accept her lot. Became the obedient daughter, always striving to please, to fit the mold of a proper young lady, accepting decisions made for her and on her own behalf. She buried those yearnings for adventure deep down where they couldn't hurt her. Convinced herself that she was content with her sensible, uneventful existence.

Until that letter arrived and reawakened something within her. A spark. A hunger for more that she could no longer ignore. It was high time Clementine Olivetti started living life on her own terms. Even if that meant venturing into the unknown wilds of cattle country to claim her unexpected inheritance—a ranch that would be hers and hers alone. The prospect both thrilled and terrified her.

The stagecoach hit a particularly deep rut, jolting Clementine from her musings. She clutched her carpet bag closer and said a silent prayer that her worldly possessions would survive the journey intact.

As if reading her thoughts, the driver called out, "Almost there, miss! Crossroads is just up ahead."

Clementine's heart rate quickened. This was it. No turning back now. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and prepared to meet her destiny. Whatever that may be.

The stagecoach rumbled down the main thoroughfare of Crossroads, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake. Clementine peered out at the rustic frontier town, all wooden storefronts and hitching posts. Rough-hewn men ambled down the street in dungarees and cowboy hats. Bonneted women swept front porches and corralled children. A distant clang rang out from the blacksmith and the mouthwatering scent of baking bread wafted on the breeze. Quaint yet industrious. A town where everyone knew everyone else's business and no secret stayed buried for long.

The coach rolled to a stop and the driver hopped down to assist Clementine. A few coins were plunked into his hand. She stepped out into the bright sunlight, stretching her travel-weary limbs. Her legs wobbled a bit, unaccustomed to solid ground after so many hours.

"Miss Olivetti?" a voice inquired. Clementine turned to see a short, wiry man hurrying toward her, his bald pate gleaming.

"Yes, I'm Clementine Olivetti," she replied.

"Hezekiah Gruber, attorney at law," he said, pumping her hand enthusiastically. "We exchanged telegrams about your inheritance. My condolences for your loss."

"Thank you, Mr. Gruber. It was a shock to us all."

"Your uncle was one of a kind, that's for sure. Now then, I imagine you're eager to get out to the ranch and take possession. I won't keep you but let's get your signature on a few documents at my office to make it all official-like."

Clementine followed him down the creaking wooden sidewalk to the lawyer's storefront, noting the curious glances directed her way. She was used to it—a fashionable girl with a funny surname drew attention even back east. She could only imagine the gossip her arrival would stir up here.

"Here we are," said Gruber, ushering her into his cluttered office. "Won't take but a minute to get you squared away."

He shuffled some papers on his desk and handed Clementine a pen. She dutifully signed her name on the dense lines of legalese, the gravity of the moment not lost on her. With a few strokes of ink, she was now the rightful owner of Windy Creek Ranch. Her future.

"It's all yours, Miss Olivetti," said Gruber, blotting the documents. "I'll file these with the deed office today. In the meantime, let's get you on your way to your new home. I'll have Jebediah bring 'round the rig."

"The rig?" asked Clementine, perplexed.

"For your baggage. Unless you were planning to carry those trunks to the ranch yourself?"

Clementine blushed. Of course. This wasn't New York where deliveries arrived directly at one's doorstep. What would Bonnie say if she could see her now, preparing to rattle off in a dusty wagon toward an uncertain future? Probably clap her hands in glee and tell her it was the start of a grand adventure, the kind they'd always dreamed of having.

"Much obliged, Mr. Gruber," Clementine managed, her smile bittersweet. "I'm afraid I have a lot to learn about life out here."

"You'll get the hang of it," he assured. "Now remember, if you run into any trouble out there at Windy Creek, you just send word. I've been looking out for the place since your uncle took ill. I'd hate to see it fall into the wrong hands."

Something in his tone gave Clementine pause. Was that a note of warning? But before she could inquire further, Gruber had ushered her out into the dazzling daylight where a rickety wagon waited.

A grizzled old man sat hunched on the bench. He squinted at Clementine and gave a gap-toothed grin. "All aboard for Windy Creek Ranch!"

Trepidation pricked at her insides but Clementine forced a smile, determined to meet each new challenge with pluck and poise. She clambered up beside Jebediah, her trunk secured in the wagon bed.

"Much obliged," she told the driver. He clicked his tongue and snapped the reins. The mules lurched forward and they set off at a bone-rattling pace. Clementine gripped the sideboard, already regretting her choice of footwear. Perhaps button-up kid boots weren't the most practical for a cross-country trek.

The road out of town quickly turned to a rutted dirt track winding through a patchwork of ranches and farmsteads. Jebediah kept up a steady stream of chatter, pointing out local landmarks and the neighboring spreads.

As Crossroads receded behind them, the landscape opened up into a vista of endless grassland and rolling hills. Herds of cattle grazed in the distance, mere specks on the horizon. The air smelled of sage and leather and something else... of possibility.

"That there's the Circle J, belonged to old Joe Abernathy nigh on forty years 'til he passed on last spring. His boys run it now. And over yonder's the Triple Cross—biggest outfit in the county, but too big for their britches if you ask me."

She thought again of the cryptic warning from Mr. Gruber. Claim jumpers and cattle rustlers, he'd said. The untamed frontier was full of dangers she knew nothing about. As if sensing her unease, Jebediah spoke up.

"Yep, Windy Creek is a right fine piece of property. Yer uncle was real proud of what he built out there. 'Course, ranch life ain't for the faint of heart. Takes grit and know-how to make a go of it."

"I'm a quick study," replied Clementine with more confidence than she felt. "And I'm not afraid of hard work."

"That's good 'cause there'll be plenty of it," said Jebediah with a dry chuckle. "Between the repairs and the brandin' and the drives, ranch folk earn ever' penny of their keep. And that's assumin' the weather cooperates and the rustlers keep their distance."

"I've heard tell of such threats," said Clementine carefully. "Have there been many incidents hereabouts?"

"More'n there oughta be," said Jebediah. "Buncha no-good varmints that'll stop at nothing to line their own pockets. Thievin' cattle, cuttin' fences, raidin' homesteads. Even murderin' folk that get in their way."

Clementine suppressed a shudder, trying not to let her imagination run away with grisly scenarios. If only Bonnie were here to bolster her courage with a saucy quip or two. Her friend had always been the brave one, ready to take on any challenge with a laugh and a toss of her auburn curls. But Bonnie was thousands of miles away, living her own life. This was Clementine's adventure now. Her dream to chase, for better or worse.

"Still, a body can't borrow trouble," continued Jebediah. "Windy Creek's got a solid crew of hands to help you protect what's yours."

Clementine nodded, somewhat reassured. She knew there would be cowhands and ranch staff to assist her, though Uncle Ned's letter had been scarce on specifics. No matter. She would learn everyone's roles and prove herself a capable mistress. How hard could it be?

The wagon crested a hill and suddenly the breathtaking expanse of Windy Creek Ranch stretched out before them—640 acres of pristine range, just like Uncle Ned had said, framed by distant blue mountains under an endless dome of sky. Clementine's heart swelled at the sight of the whitewashed ranch house, the red-roofed barn, the towering windmill spinning lazily in the breeze. Cattle dotted the pasture, fat and healthy. Chickens pecked in the dust and a pair of ranch hands paused in their work to regard the newcomers with frank curiosity. It was more beautiful than she'd dared imagine. Raw and wild and brimming with promise. And it was all hers.

Clementine drank it in, marveling that this was all a part of her uncle's spread. Her spread now. Doubt niggled at her again. What did a city girl know about running a cattle operation? About negotiating with cowhands and driving livestock to market? There was so much to learn, so much riding on her getting this right. She couldn't afford to fail, not when Uncle Ned had entrusted her with his legacy.

As they rolled to a stop in the front yard, Clementine gathered her skirts, preparing to descend with as much dignity as possible given her ungainly boots and the long journey. But before her foot touched the running board, a rifle shot cracked the air. Clementine yelped as a bullet gouged a tree trunk mere inches from her hand.

Heart pounding, she whirled toward the source to see a tall, black-clad figure emerge from behind the water trough, his features obscured by a low-pulled Stetson. He racked the lever of his Winchester with fluid ease and took aim again.

"That's far enough," he growled, his voice rough as saddle leather. "This here's private property. State your business or hit the road."

"Don't shoot!" cried Clementine, throwing up her hands. "I'm... T-this is my ranch now. I've c-come to take possession."

The man lowered his rifle a fraction but kept it at the ready. "That so? Got any proof?"

With shaking fingers, Clementine fumbled to produce the deed from her handbag. "It's all here. Signed and notarized."

She held out the document but he made no move to take it, his stance unwavering. Clementine bristled at his rudeness. Of all the welcomes she'd imagined, being shot at by her own ranch hand was not one of them.

Jebediah, who had wisely taken cover, peeked out from behind the wagon bench. "Now Elvis, what's the big idea? This here's Miss Clementine, Old Ned’s niece and heir."

Elvis? Clementine looked again at her antagonist. Was he one of the hardworking ranch foreman Uncle Ned had spoken so highly of? He certainly hadn't mentioned the man's alarming propensity for gunplay.

"Never heard of her," said Elvis flatly. "And I ain't about to hand over the keys on the say-so of some pretty city gal. Could be anyone—a rustler scoutin' the place or worse. Ned never said nothin' 'bout no niece."

Clementine scowled at his dismissal. "Yes, well, I suspect there's quite a lot Uncle Ned neglected to mention all around. Starting with the presence of an armed squatter on my property!"

Elvis darkened at that but before he could retort, a hulking bear of a man in a sweat-stained union suit came lumbering out of the barn.

"What's all the ruckus?" he called, scratching his fiery beard. "I heard shootin'."

"Stay back, Red," ordered Elvis. "We got us a trespasser."

The big man squinted at Clementine and broke into a slow grin. "Well I'll be hogtied. If it ain't Miss Clementine in the flesh! Spittin' image of ol' Ned, ain't she? 'Specially 'round the eyes."

"You know her?" demanded Elvis.

"'Course I do! Ned's been braggin' on his pretty niece comin' to take over the place for weeks now. Clear 'fore he passed."

Red was a huge bear of a man with a shock of fiery hair and a bushy beard to match. Clementine thought he looked like he could lift a steer with one hand. He stepped forward, his face split by a friendly grin. "Pleased to meetcha, Miss Clementine. I'm Moses Redding, but everyone calls me Red on account of, well..." He gestured to his hair self-consciously.

Clementine couldn't help but return his smile. "A pleasure, Red. I look forward to working with you."

Realization dawned on Elvis' stony features. "Hellfire," he muttered. "Reckon that's my cue to start packin'."

"What on earth are you talking about?" said Clementine.

Elvis met her gaze, resigned. "Way I figure, a fine lady owner ain't gonna want the likes of me hangin' around. Know when I'm not wanted."

Comprehension clicked into place and Clementine gasped. Good lord, Uncle Ned hadn't just failed to mention a few cowhands. He'd neglected to tell her about the man living on the ranch itself! This Elvis character had obviously made himself quite at home in her absence, acting the lord of the manor. And now with her arrival, he assumed he was out of a job and a place to lay his head.

She ought to be livid at the presumption. Ought to send him packing that instant for his insolence and trigger-happy reception. But something in his defeated posture and faraway look stirred an inconvenient pang of sympathy in her breast. Curse her soft heart. As satisfying as it might be to give him his marching orders, the fact remained that Windy Creek was woefully shorthanded. She couldn't afford to lose a single man, especially not one who knew the spread top to bottom. Elvis had been Uncle Ned's right hand. It stood to reason he would be valuable in her transition to ownership, prickly attitude notwithstanding.

Clementine drew herself up, mustering an air of unruffled authority. "That won't be necessary, Mr... Elvis, was it? I've no intention of displacing anyone, provided they pull their weight. If you've been a loyal employee to my uncle, I see no reason why that should change on my watch."

Surprise and something like relief flickered across Elvis' rugged features before he could school them into impassivity. "That so?"

"It is," said Clementine firmly. "I'll need all hands on deck to keep Windy Creek thriving. Starting with a thorough tour of the premises and a briefing on daily operations. As the new owner, I plan to take a very active role in management."

Elvis looked as if he wanted to argue but thought better of it. He gave a curt nod. "Whatever you say, boss lady. Reckon we best start in the barn then. Red can see to your bags."

"Very well," she said crisply. "I'll change into suitable attire and meet you at the barn in half an hour."

Elvis looked mildly impressed by her ready acquiescence, but his expression quickly shuttered. "Suit yourself. But I should probably introduce you to the rest of the gang before you get too high on that horse of yours."

He turned and hollered over his shoulder. "Slim! Rusty! Get on over here!"

Two men materialized from various corners of the ranch yard, ambling over to join them on the porch. The first was a wiry old-timer with a weathered face and a wad of chaw bulging in his cheek. The second was a gangly youth who couldn't have been more than eighteen, all freckles and awkward limbs.

"Boys, this here is Miss Clementine Olivetti," Elvis announced. "Ned's niece and the new owner of Windy Creek. She aims to learn the ropes, so I expect you to show her the same respect you would've shown Ned. We clear?"

The men nodded, touching their hats respectfully. The old-timer spat a stream of tobacco juice and nodded curtly. "Slim Jackson. Been wranglin' beeves since before you was born, missy. You need any pointers, you just holler."

The young man ducked his head shyly, scuffing a boot in the dust. "Rusty Calhoun, miss. I'm real sorry about your uncle passing. He was a fine man and a heck of a boss."

"Thank you, Rusty. I hope I can live up to his example." Clementine turned back to Elvis, her expression coolly determined. "If there's nothing else, I'll go unpack and change. See you at the barn."

But Clementine was no shrinking violet. She had not traveled hundreds of miles to be cowed by one ornery ranch hand, no matter how unsettling his smoky gaze or how broad his shoulders. She would meet this challenge as she intended to meet all others—with grace, gumption, and a stubborn refusal to back down.

Elvis looked Clementine up and down appraisingly as she approached.

"Well now, don't you clean up nice," he drawled. "Those dungarees suit you. Almost take the city polish off."

Clementine wasn't sure if it was meant as a compliment or an insult. Likely both, knowing this man. She tilted her chin and replied evenly, "I believe in dressing for the occasion. So, show me around the barn?"

Lifting her chin, Clementine marched after Elvis, determined to assert her authority and begin this new chapter on her own terms. Ranch life was already proving far more complicated and unpredictable than she'd bargained for. But she had to believe that with hard work, an open mind, and perhaps a bit of that famous Olivetti pluck, she would find her way.

She thought fleetingly of Bonnie, no doubt going about her day back in New York, blissfully unaware of the upheaval in her friend's life. What would she make of all this—the sprawling ranch, the motley crew of cowhands, the arrogant and mysterious Elvis? Clementine could almost hear Bonnie's laughter, could picture her delighted grin and twinkling green eyes.

"Oh Clemmie, it's better than any dime novel!" she would say. "Handsome cowboys, wild horses, wide open skies... and you, the unlikely heroine out to prove herself and tame them all! Just think of the adventures you'll have!"

The corners of Clementine's mouth twitched with an unbidden smile. Trust Bonnie to see the romance in even the most daunting of circumstances. Perhaps there was something to that unshakable optimism. With any luck, Clementine would live to write her friend a bushel of thrilling letters detailing her exploits as the mistress of Windy Creek Ranch.

Provided she survived her first day as Elvis' employer, of course.

Clementine forced down a flutter of trepidation as she neared the looming barn door. Steeling her nerve, she stepped across the threshold into the cool shadow, the pungent scents of hay and horses and honest sweat enveloping her. Her heels sank into the earthen floor, the faint clucking of chickens and a few falling feathers drifting from the loft above.

Elvis stood at the far end of the aisle, backlit by a shaft of sunlight. He had one hip cocked against a stall door, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her approach with an inscrutable expression. Clementine tried not to notice the way his chambray shirt pulled taut across his muscled torso or how his worn denims hugged his lean thighs. She had no business admiring the physical attributes of a subordinate, no matter how undeniably attractive.

He started further into the barn, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. "You alright there, princess? Need me to fetch you a fainting couch?"

Clementine glowered at him behind his back.

"Welcome to the heart of Windy Creek," he said as she drew near. "This here's where the magic happens."

Clementine arched a brow. "Magic?"

Elvis' mouth twitched, his eyes glinting with something suspiciously like amusement at her primness. "Figure of speech. I mean this is where we break the horses, mend the tack, store the feed. Pretty much everything that keeps the place runnin' starts and ends right here."

He pushed off the stall and gestured for her to follow. "C'mon, I'll show you the layout. Reckon you'll be spendin' a fair bit of time in here, seein' as how you're aimin' to be a hands-on boss and all."

Clementine chose to ignore the note of condescension in his tone and fell into step beside him. For the next half hour, Elvis led her through the barn and corrals, rattling off details about everything from the hay inventory to the farrier schedule to the breeding records of the small remuda. His taciturn demeanor thawed by degrees as he spoke of Windy Creek's prize bloodlines and the foals he hoped to see come spring. It was clear this ranch was more than a job to him; it was his life's work, his pride and joy.

Despite herself, Clementine found she was hanging on his every word, absorbing the intricacies of a world so different from her own. The easy confidence with which Elvis navigated this domain, the surety of purpose in his every move, was oddly compelling. She could see why Uncle Ned had trusted him implicitly.

As they circled back to the main barn, Elvis nodded to a large fenced pasture dotted with grazing cattle. "That there's the heart of the herd. 'Bout 300 head of prime Hereford. The real moneymakers. They'll be your bread and butter once we drive 'em to market come fall."

Clementine shaded her eyes against the glare, marveling at the sea of dun backs and lowing faces. Never in her life had she been responsible for so many living creatures. The weight of it settled on her shoulders like a tangible thing.

"And you're certain we have enough hands to see them safely to market?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "I won't pretend to be an expert, but it seems an awful lot of ground to cover with just the few men I've seen so far."

"We're a lean crew but we're solid," said Elvis. "Me, Red, a couple fellas who drift through as needed. Ain't never lost a steer yet and don't aim to start now." He cut her a sidelong glance. "Course, an extra pair of hands come drive time is always welcome. You any good with a horse?"

Clementine's cheeks warmed at the challenge in his eyes. "I'm a fair rider," she said, lifting her chin. She had ridden in Central Park quite a few times when she was younger. "Though I'll admit it's been a while since I've sat anything beyond a sedate little mare on a bridle path."

"Ain't nothin' sedate about the mounts we raise here," said Elvis with a slow grin that did funny things to her insides. "But I reckon we could find you a steady cow pony, get you back in the saddle."

"I'd like that," said Clementine, pulse quickening at the thought of flying across the open range with the wind in her hair. Yearning for speed and freedom and a taste of the untamed life that had always been denied her.

Something shifted in Elvis' gaze, his eyes darkening as they dipped briefly to her mouth. "Bet you would."

The air between them thickened, charged with a sudden crackling tension that raised the hairs on Clementine's nape. For a long, suspended moment, neither of them moved. Clementine hardly dared breathe, caught in the snare of Elvis' penetrating stare. What was happening? Why did it feel as if the very ground had tilted beneath her feet?

Then Elvis blinked and the spell was broken. He took a measured step back, features shuttering. "Best we get you settled in the house," he said brusquely. "Red's probably fixin' to break down the door wonderin' where we got to."

Clementine swallowed, her tongue darting out to moisten her suddenly dry lips. "Of course," she managed. "After you."

They walked in silence back to the ranch house, a palpable charge still shimmering in the scant space between their bodies. Clementine's mind raced as she tried to make sense of the strange, heated little moment in the barn. Surely it was just a trick of the light, an odd fluke of exhaustion and overwrought nerves. There could be no other explanation for the way her skin had flushed and her stomach fluttered under Elvis' intent gaze.

She was just tired, that was all. Tired and overwhelmed and in desperate need of a bath and a good night's sleep in a proper bed. Everything would seem much more manageable in the clear light of morning. Including a certain confounding cowboy who seemed to swing between hostility and allure at the drop of a hat.

By the time they reached the house, Clementine had convinced herself she had imagined the whole unsettling interlude. Elvis deposited her on the front porch with a perfunctory nod and a promise to have one of the hands bring up a hip bath and hot water. Then he was gone, striding off towards the corrals with that swagger that drew entirely too much of her attention.

Clementine pushed through the door, resolved to put the perplexing man out of her head for the time being. She had more pressing concerns, like acquainting herself with her new living quarters and trying to impose some order on the chaos of this abrupt upheaval.

But as she climbed the creaking stairs to the second floor, dusty carpetbag in hand, she couldn't shake the feeling that her true adventure was only just beginning. That Elvis and Windy Creek Ranch might wind up changing her life in ways she had never dared dream.

With a flutter of nervous anticipation, Clementine stepped across the threshold of her new bedroom, ready to embrace whatever challenges and surprises lay ahead. She could only hope she proved equal to them.

As Clementine explored her new bedchamber, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the rustic charm that surrounded her. The room was simply furnished with a sturdy oak bed, a weathered dresser, and a washstand bearing a chipped porcelain basin. Faded calico curtains fluttered at the open window, letting in a breeze that carried the scent of lavender and distant pine.

It was a far cry from her cozy apartment back home, with its gas lamps and indoor plumbing and nosy neighbors just a thin wall away. But there was something undeniably appealing about this rough-hewn space, with its sense of history and hard-won comfort. She could almost imagine Uncle Ned sitting on the edge of this very bed, pulling off his boots after a long day in the saddle.

A lump rose in Clementine's throat as she thought of her uncle, of the legacy he had entrusted to her. She still couldn't quite believe he was gone, that she would never again hear his booming laugh or see the twinkle in his eye as he regaled her with tales of the wild west. He had been a larger-than-life figure, a beacon of adventure in her otherwise orderly world.

And now he had given her the greatest adventure of all. A chance to build something of her own, to carve out a place for herself in this untamed land. It was a daunting prospect, but also an exhilarating one. For the first time in her life, Clementine felt truly free. Free to make her own choices, to chase her own dreams, to become the woman she had always longed to be.

Oh, there would be challenges aplenty. She was under no illusions about that. Running a ranch was backbreaking work, and she had no experience with any of it. She would have to learn everything from scratch, would have to earn the respect of the men who worked for her. Men like Elvis, who seemed determined to undermine her at every turn.

Clementine's mouth tightened as she thought of the infuriating cowboy. He had made it abundantly clear that he thought she was in over her head, that a city girl like her had no business trying to run a cattle operation. Well, she would just have to prove him wrong. She would work twice as hard as anyone else, would study and practice until she knew this ranch inside out. She would show Elvis and everyone else that Clementine Olivetti was more than just a pretty face in a fancy dress.

With renewed determination, she set about unpacking her trunk. She carefully hung up the simple frocks and sturdy boots she had brought for work, then tucked away the few more fashionable items she couldn't bear to leave behind. Her fingers lingered on a photograph of her parents on their wedding day, their faces alight with joy and promise. She placed it gently on the dresser.

A knock at the door startled Clementine from her reverie. "Come in," she called, smoothing her skirts self-consciously.

The door swung open to reveal a plump, motherly woman with greying hair and a flour-dusted apron. She bobbed a curtsy, her lined face creasing into a warm smile.

"Beggin' your pardon, miss, but I thought you might be ready for some supper. It's been a long day for you, I reckon."

Clementine's stomach rumbled at the mention of food. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, too nervous to do more than nibble on the journey. "That would be wonderful, thank you. Mrs...?"

"Jameson, miss. Ida Jameson. I've been cookin' and cleanin' for Windy Creek nigh on twenty years now. Ever since Mr. Ned hired me on after my dear Henry passed."

"I'm so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Jameson," said Clementine sincerely. "I hope you'll be patient with me as I learn my way around. This is all quite new to me."

"Oh, don't you fret none. We'll get you settled in right quick. Ain't nothin' to runnin' a house once you get the hang of it." Mrs. Jameson's eyes twinkled with kindly amusement. "And don't mind that Elvis none. His bark's worse than his bite. He's just used to havin' things his own way."

Clementine felt her cheeks heat at the mention of the exasperating foreman. Did her consternation show so plainly on her face? "I'll keep that in mind, Mrs. Jameson."

"You do that, miss. Now, let's get you fed afore you faint dead away. I've got a nice beef stew on the simmer and fresh bread just out of the oven."

Clementine's mouth watered at the thought. Suddenly ravenous, she followed Mrs. Jameson down to the kitchen, the delectable scents wafting up the stairs making her stomach growl audibly.

The kitchen was a large, homey space, dominated by a massive cast iron stove and a long wooden table that could easily seat a dozen. Bunches of drying herbs hung from the rafters, jars of preserves lined the shelves, and a motley collection of skillets and kettles dangled from hooks on the walls. It was a far cry from the convenient, modern kitchens Clementine was accustomed to, but there was a cozy charm to it that put her instantly at ease.

Mrs. Jameson bustled about, ladling steaming stew into a blue willow bowl and cutting a thick slice of crusty bread. She set the meal in front of Clementine with a flourish, then poured a tall glass of cool, creamy milk from a stoneware pitcher.

"There you are. Eat up now, and don't be shy about askin' for seconds. Lord knows there's plenty to go around."

Clementine breathed in the savory aroma, her eyes fluttering shut in anticipation. She couldn't remember the last time a simple meal had looked so enticing. Murmuring her thanks, she dug in with gusto, the rich flavors exploding on her tongue.

For a few blissful minutes, there was no sound but the clink of Clementine's spoon against the bowl and the occasional appreciative hum as she savored each mouthful. Mrs. Jameson puttered about, wiping down counters and setting a pot of coffee to brew, a small, satisfied smile on her face as she watched her new mistress eat.

But the peaceful moment was shattered by the sudden bang of the screen door flying open. Elvis strode into the kitchen, his spurs jingling and his hat pulled low over his brow. He drew up short at the sight of Clementine, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly.

"Mrs. J, we got any of that stew left? I'm powerful hungry after wranglin' that new string of horses all afternoon."

"Sit yourself down, Mr. Elvis, and I'll fetch you a bowl," said Mrs. Jameson placidly, seemingly impervious to the sudden tension in the room.

Elvis hesitated, his gaze flicking between Clementine and the empty chair across from her. For a moment, she thought he might make some excuse and flee, but then he shrugged and sank down onto the bench, his long legs stretching out beneath the table.

Clementine kept her eyes fixed on her bowl, her appetite suddenly deserting her. She could feel Elvis watching her, could sense the coiled energy radiating off him like heat from a stove. It made her skin prickle and her heart thump erratically in her chest.

Mrs. Jameson set a heaping bowl in front of Elvis, then tactfully withdrew, muttering something about needing to tend to the laundry. Clementine silently cursed the woman for abandoning her, even as she understood the impulse. The air between her and Elvis was thick with a strange, charged energy that made it hard to breathe, let alone carry on a normal conversation.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Clementine pushed a chunk of potato around her bowl, acutely aware of Elvis' every move as he tore off a hunk of bread and sopped up the rich gravy. She could hear the soft, wet sounds of his chewing, could catch the faint scent of horse and leather and sweat that clung to his skin.

It was all suddenly too much. Too intimate, too unnerving. Clementine pushed back from the table, nearly upending her milk glass in her haste. "Please excuse me," she mumbled, not meeting Elvis' eyes. "It's been a long day and I'm quite exhausted."

She fled the kitchen before he could respond, her cheeks burning and her pulse pounding in her ears. She didn't slow down until she reached the sanctuary of her bedroom, the door slamming shut behind her with a satisfying bang.

Clementine leaned back against the solid oak, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. What on earth was wrong with her? She had never been one to let a man fluster her, had prided herself on her poise and composure in even the most trying of circumstances. But something about Elvis made her feel off-balance, unsettled in a way she couldn't quite define.

It was more than just his rough manners and challenging attitude. There was a rawness to him, a sense of barely leashed power that sent a thrill down her spine even as it set her nerves on edge. When he looked at her, she felt stripped bare, as if he could see straight through her proper facade to the wild, yearning heart beneath.

It was terrifying. And if Clementine was being honest with herself, it was also strangely exhilarating. All her life, she had played by the rules, had done what was expected of her. She had been the dutiful daughter, the demure debutante, the efficient employee. But here, in this rugged land so far from everything she had ever known, she could feel those old constraints falling away. Here, she could be anyone she wanted to be, could chase dreams she had never dared voice aloud.

Even if those dreams involved a certain brooding, impossible cowboy with eyes the color of a stormy sky.

Clementine pushed off the door, shaking her head at her own foolishness. She was being ridiculous. Elvis was just a man, no different from any other. A bit rougher around the edges, mayhap, but certainly not worth losing her head over. She had more important things to worry about, like learning to run this ranch and proving herself worthy of her uncle's trust.

With a resolute nod, Clementine began to undress for bed, her fingers deftly unfastening the long row of buttons down the back of her bodice. She slipped the heavy garment off, sighing with relief as the cool air hit her sweat-dampened skin. She reached for her nightgown, a simple cotton shift that fell to her ankles in soft folds.

But as she lifted the garment over her head, a sudden gust of wind from the open window sent the curtains billowing inward, the fabric brushing against her bare skin like a lover's caress. Clementine shivered, gooseflesh rising on her arms and legs. For a moment, she imagined it was Elvis' hands on her, his callused fingers tracing the curve of her spine, the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breast...

With a gasp, Clementine wrenched the nightgown down, her face flaming with mortification. Good heavens, what was she thinking? She must be more tired than she realized, to let her mind wander down such inappropriate paths. Elvis was her employee, nothing more. To allow herself to entertain such lurid fantasies was not only foolish, but dangerous.

Flustered and out of sorts, Clementine crawled beneath the patchwork quilt, the bed creaking beneath her weight. She thumped the pillow a bit harder than necessary, then lay back with a huff, staring up at the shadowy rafters above.

Sleep. That was what she needed. A good night's rest to clear her head and settle her nerves. Tomorrow would be a new day, full of challenges and opportunities. She would rise with the sun, would throw herself into the work of the ranch with all the energy and determination she possessed. And if her thoughts should happen to stray to a certain dark-haired, blue-eyed cowboy, well... she would just have to deal with that when the time came.

With a sigh, Clementine closed her eyes, willing her racing mind to quiet. But even as she drifted off to sleep, she couldn't shake the feeling that her life was about to change in ways she had never dared imagine. That Elvis and Windy Creek Ranch would test her in ways she had never been tested before.

And that maybe, just maybe, she was ready for the challenge.

Chapter 2

The shrill crow of a rooster jolted Clementine from a dreamless sleep. She sat up with a start, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then memory came flooding back - the long journey west, the startling confrontation with Elvis, the strange, charged moment in the kitchen the night before.

Clementine groaned, flopping back against the pillows. She had hoped that a good night's sleep would clear her head, would settle the unsettling flutter in her stomach whenever she thought of the taciturn cowboy. But if anything, the light of day only made her confusion and trepidation worse.

How was she supposed to face him this morning, after fleeing from him like a frightened rabbit? He must think her a complete fool, a silly city girl who couldn't handle the slightest hint of rough manners. And what must the other ranch hands think, seeing their new boss so easily flustered by their foreman?

Clementine set her jaw, a spark of determination igniting in her chest. No. She refused to let Elvis or anyone else rattle her. She was Clementine Olivetti, mistress of Windy Creek Ranch. She had faced far greater challenges than one surly cowboy, and she would face this one with the same grit and grace that had gotten her this far.

With a resolute nod, Clementine threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She winced as her feet hit the cold floorboards, the chill of the early morning air raising gooseflesh on her arms. Shivering, she hurried to the washstand and poured a measure of tepid water from the pitcher into the basin. She splashed her face and neck, the bracing coolness helping to chase away the last vestiges of sleep.

As she toweled off, Clementine caught sight of herself in the small, spotty mirror hanging above the washstand. Her reflection stared back at her, wide-eyed and a bit wan. The long journey and the stress of the previous day had taken their toll - there were shadows beneath her eyes and a pinched look to her mouth. But there was also a new resolve in the set of her chin, a glint of steel in her gaze.

She was not the same woman who had left New York. The old Clementine would have balked at the idea of manual labor, would have blanched at the thought of getting her hands dirty. But the new Clementine, the Clementine who had crossed a continent to claim her inheritance, was ready to roll up her sleeves and get to work.

With that thought firmly in mind, Clementine set about dressing for the day ahead. She chose a simple frock of sturdy blue calico, the skirt full enough to allow for ease of movement. Over it, she layered a crisp white apron, the bib protecting her bodice from any stray bits of dirt or debris. She pulled her hair back into a practical bun at the nape of her neck, then topped the ensemble with a wide-brimmed straw hat to shield her face from the sun.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Clementine felt a surge of satisfaction. She looked like a woman who meant business, a woman ready to take on whatever challenges the day might bring. With a nod of approval, she turned away from the glass and made her way downstairs.

The kitchen was already a hive of activity when Clementine entered. Mrs. Jameson stood at the stove, stirring a pot of bubbling oatmeal with one hand while flipping pancakes with the other. The air was thick with the scent of frying bacon and fresh coffee, making Clementine's stomach rumble in anticipation.

"Good morning, Mrs. Jameson," she said, taking a seat at the long wooden table. "That smells heavenly."

"Mornin', Miss Clementine," the housekeeper replied, casting a smile over her shoulder. "I hope you slept well. I know the first night in a new place can be a bit unsettlin'."

"I slept just fine, thank you," Clementine lied, not wanting to admit to the restless thoughts that had kept her tossing and turning half the night. "Is there anything I can do to help with breakfast?"

Mrs. Jameson looked scandalized at the very idea. "Heavens no, miss! You just sit right there and let me take care of everything. It's my job to make sure you're well-fed and rested, not the other way around."

Clementine opened her mouth to protest, but the housekeeper cut her off with a stern look. "I mean it, miss. You've got enough on your plate as it is, learnin' the ropes of runnin' this ranch. Leave the cookin' and cleanin' to me."

Chastened, Clementine sat back in her chair, feeling a bit useless. She was used to being busy from sunup to sundown, to having a full day's work ahead of her. The idea of sitting idle while others bustled about made her itch with restlessness.

But before she could dwell on it too long, the kitchen door swung open and Elvis strode in, his spurs jingling with each step. Clementine's heart gave a traitorous leap at the sight of him, her skin prickling with awareness as his gaze landed on her.

"Mornin', Mrs. J," he said, tipping his hat to the housekeeper. Then, almost as an afterthought, "Miss Clementine."

"Good morning, Elvis," Clementine replied, proud of how steady her voice sounded. "I trust you slept well?"

Elvis shrugged, hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. "Well enough. Got a full day ahead, so I reckon I'll sleep when I'm dead." His blue eyes glinted with something that might have been amusement, or might have been challenge. "You ready to get your hands dirty, boss lady?"

Clementine lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "I am. Just tell me where to start."

Elvis' mouth twitched, as if he were fighting back a smile. "Reckon we'll start with the chickens. Gotta collect the eggs and feed the birds 'fore we do anything else."

Clementine's nose wrinkled at the thought of mucking about in a chicken coop, but she nodded gamely. "Lead the way, then."

Elvis cocked a brow, looking almost impressed by her easy acquiescence. He jerked his chin toward the door, then strode out into the morning sunlight without a backward glance.

Clementine hurried to follow, her heart hammering with a mix of nerves and excitement. This was it - her first real test as mistress of Windy Creek. She could only hope she was up to the challenge.

The chicken coop was a ramshackle affair, all weathered wood and rusting wire. It stood at the edge of the yard, a few dozen scrawny birds pecking and scratching at the dirt around its base. They scattered as Elvis approached, clucking and flapping in agitation.

"Little bastards," Elvis muttered, kicking at a particularly bold rooster who dared to dart across his path. "More trouble than they're worth, most days."

Clementine eyed the birds warily, keeping a safe distance as Elvis unlatched the coop door and ducked inside. She could hear him moving about, the soft cluck and coo of the hens as he gathered their eggs. A moment later, he emerged, a basket hooked over one arm.

"Here," he said, thrusting the basket into Clementine's hands. "Hold this while I scatter the feed."

Clementine took the basket gingerly, peering down at the warm, speckled eggs nestled in the straw. They were still faintly damp from the hens' nests, and they gave off a rich, earthy scent that made her think of new life and green growing things.

As Elvis scattered handfuls of cracked corn across the yard, the chickens swarmed around his feet, pecking and jostling for position. Clementine watched in fascination as they darted and fluttered, their beady eyes bright with greed. She had never seen anything so vibrantly alive, so utterly unconcerned with human affairs.

"They're quite something, aren't they?" she murmured, almost to herself.

Elvis glanced up at her, surprised. "What, the chickens? I suppose so. Never gave 'em much thought, to be honest. Just another chore to be done."

Clementine shook her head, a small smile playing about her lips. "There's a lesson in that, I think. They don't worry about yesterday or tomorrow. They just live in the moment, taking what they need and letting the rest go."

Elvis straightened, dusting his hands off on his chaps. He regarded her with a new intensity, as if seeing her for the first time. "Ain't you just full of surprises, Miss Clementine."

Clementine felt a flush creep up her neck at his words, at the way his gaze seemed to linger on her face. She ducked her head, suddenly fascinated by the eggs in her basket.

"We should get these inside," she said briskly, turning back toward the house. "Mrs. Jameson will be wanting them for breakfast."

She could feel Elvis' eyes on her back as she walked away, could sense the weight of his regard like a physical touch. It made her skin tingle and her stomach flutter, made her feel alive in a way she never had before.

But she couldn't let herself dwell on it. Couldn't let herself get distracted by the way he made her feel. She had a ranch to run, a legacy to uphold. And she would do it with or without Elvis' approval.

With a determined set to her shoulders, Clementine marched up the porch steps and into the kitchen, ready to face whatever the day might bring. And if her thoughts kept straying to a pair of piercing blue eyes and a crooked, knowing smile, well...that was nobody's business but her own.

As the morning wore on, Clementine found herself thrown headlong into the daily rhythms of ranch life. After breakfast, Elvis put her to work mucking out stalls in the barn, a task that left her sweaty and aching but oddly satisfied. There was something soothing about the repetitive motions, the earthy scent of hay and horse, the soft whickers and snuffles of the animals as she worked.

Next came a lesson in saddling a horse, Elvis' hands guiding her through the intricacies of cinches and stirrups. Clementine tried not to think about how close he stood, how the heat of his body seemed to seep into her skin through the layers of her dress. She focused instead on the task at hand, on the supple leather beneath her fingers and the solid weight of the saddle as she hefted it onto the horse's back.

By the time the sun reached its zenith, Clementine was sore and sweat-streaked but buzzing with a sense of accomplishment. She had never worked so hard in her life, had never pushed herself to such physical limits. But there was a deep satisfaction in it, a pride in knowing that she was capable of more than she had ever imagined.

As they made their way back to the house for dinner, Elvis fell into step beside her, his long legs easily matching her shorter strides. Clementine glanced up at him, surprised to find a glint of approval in his eyes.

"You did good today," he said gruffly, as if the words pained him. "Reckon you might just have what it takes to make a go of this place after all."

Clementine felt a warm glow of pleasure at his praise, even as she bristled at the note of surprise in his voice. "Did you doubt it?" she asked archly.

Elvis' mouth twitched, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Let's just say I had my reservations. But you're full of surprises, Miss Clementine. Reckon I'm gonna have to keep an eye on you."

There was something in the way he said it, a hint of challenge and something else, something that made Clementine's pulse skip and her skin tingle. She met his gaze squarely, refusing to back down.

"I suppose you will," she said, her voice steady even as her heart raced. "But I intend to keep an eye on you as well. We're in this together, Elvis. Whether you like it or not."

For a moment, Elvis just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, a glimmer of respect in his eyes.

"Reckon we are," he said, his voice low and rough. "Reckon we are."

And with that, he turned and strode off toward the barn, leaving Clementine to watch him go, her heart hammering in her chest and a new determination burning in her veins.

One morning, Elvis gathered the ranch hands for the afternoon's work—a cattle drive to the south pasture to check on the herd and survey the fence lines. Clementine insisted on going along, despite Elvis' skeptical look and Slim’s poorly concealed grin.

Elvis gestured to a small bay mare tethered nearby. "That there is Nutmeg. She's gentle as a lamb and sure-footed on any terrain. Figured she'd suit a greenhorn like you."

Clementine eyed the saddle and tack warily. She knew she was badly out of practice. But she'd be damned if she let Elvis see her falter.

"Lovely," she said brightly, untying Nutmeg's reins and leading her out into the sunlight.

Now came the tricky part. How in blazes did one mount a horse unassisted whilst wearing trousers? Clementine's mind raced as she tried to recall the particulars. There had been talk of a mounting block or some sort of assistance from a groom...

Before she could make a bigger fool of herself, a large, work-roughened hand appeared in her peripheral vision.

"Allow me," Elvis murmured, his breath tickling her ear.

Clementine stiffened but managed a jerky nod, steeling herself as he gripped her waist and practically tossed her into the saddle as if she weighed nothing at all. Good lord, the man was strong as an ox!

"There now," Elvis said, sounding faintly amused. "Snug as a bug. Let's hit the trail."

He swung aboard his own horse, Rising Sun, with effortless grace and set off at a brisk trot, leaving Clementine scrambling to gather her reins and urge Nutmeg to follow. The mare fell into step readily enough, but the motion of the saddle had Clementine lurching and sliding like a sack of potatoes. She clung to the horn for dear life, her teeth rattling and her hat threatening to fly off with every jolting stride.

“You alright there, city slicker?” Elvis offered with a smirk.

Clementine scowled at him, her face flushed with exertion and embarrassment. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you. It's just been a while since I've ridden."

"I can see that. You're bouncin' around up there like a flea on a hot griddle." Red, Slim, and Rusty chuckled.

Clementine's temper flared. "Well, forgive me for not being born in the saddle like some people. We can't all be insolent, arrogant cowboys!"

Elvis' eyes narrowed, his smile fading. "Careful now, missy. That insolent, arrogant cowboy is the only thing standing between you and a long walk back to the house. Might want to mind your manners."

“Aw hell, Elvis, leave the little lady alone,” Slim attempted to diffuse the budding argument.

Clementine knew she should back down, should swallow her pride and apologize. But something about this man just rubbed her the wrong way, stirring up a reckless, contrary streak she didn't even know she possessed.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said sweetly to herself, not expecting anyone to hear her. "I thought I was the boss around here. My mistake."

Elvis' jaw clenched, his hand tightening on the reins. "Boss or not, out here you're just another greenhorn. And greenshorns who don't listen to good sense often end up buzzard bait. So you can either stow that snippy attitude and let me teach you a thing or two, or you can take your chances on your own. What'll it be?"

Red, Slim, and Rusty slowed their horses down, holding their breath and waiting for her answer. Clementine glared at Elvis, her pride warring with her common sense. As much as it galled her to admit it, Elvis was right. She was out of her depth out here and antagonizing her only guide was foolish at best, deadly at worst.

"Fine," she bit out. "Teach away, oh wise one. I am your humble student."

Elvis snorted, shaking his head. "You sure don't make it easy, do you? Alright, first things first—loosen up on them reins. You're holding 'em like you expect Nutmeg to bolt any second. She ain't going nowhere, trust me."

Clementine forced her white-knuckled grip to relax, letting out a shaky breath as the mare flicked an ear back curiously.

"Good. Now, stand up in them stirrups a bit. Let your knees absorb the motion 'stead of your backside. And keep your heels down for balance."

Clementine did as instructed, wobbling precariously for a moment before finding a rhythm. To her surprise, the ride smoothed out considerably, Nutmeg's rocking gait almost pleasant now that she wasn't being jounced to pieces.

"Well, would you look at that," Elvis drawled. "She can be taught. Keep that up and we might make a passable rider out of you yet, Miss Clementine."

Clementine felt an absurd flush of pleasure at his gruff approval. Honestly, what did she care what this uncouth lout thought of her? Still, perhaps it wouldn't kill her to bend a little, to put aside her wounded pride in service of the greater goal. She needed Elvis' cooperation if she hoped to make a go of this venture. Catching more flies with honey and all that.

Red’s mare caught up to hers, and he gently squeezed Clementine’s arm. “Don’t pay old Elvis no mind. He’s always a little ornery in the morning.”

The four of them rode on in relatively companionable silence, the raw beauty of the landscape stealing Clementine's breath. Towering buttes and mesas rose up from the sun-baked earth, their banded layers glowing red and gold in the slanting light. Gnarled junipers dotted the hillsides, providing scant shade for the cacti and scrub brush that clung tenaciously to the rocky soil. In the distance, a band of wild mustangs kicked up dust as they fled across the flats, tails streaming behind them like banners.

It was a harsh, unforgiving land, but stunning in its austerity. Clementine tried to imagine her uncle Ned riding these same trails, his weather-beaten face creased in a smile as he surveyed his domain. She may not have known him well, but she sensed a kindred spirit—someone drawn to challenge and adventure, to pitting themselves against an untamed wilderness and emerging the victor.

Well, here I am, Uncle Ned, she thought. Following in your boot prints at last. I just hope I'm up to the task.

Lost in thought, Clementine scarcely noticed when Rusty reined in his horse at the crest of a rise, his keen gaze scanning the horizon.

"There," he said, pointing to a distant smudge of brown against the green and gold. "The herd's just over that next ridge. About three hundred head of prime Hereford, Ned's pride and joy. Let's ease up on 'em slow and quiet-like. Don't want to spook 'em into a stampede."

They approached the grazing cattle cautiously, Clementine's heart thudding with anticipation. Her first real look at her newfound livelihood. What would Ned have thought, seeing her astride a ranch horse, ready to take the reins of his empire? Would he be proud or appalled? Amused or aghast?

"You sure you're up for this, Miss Clementine?" Red asked, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth. "Ridin' herd ain't no picnic, 'specially for a greenhorn."

Clementine lifted her chin, giving him a cool smile. "I'm tougher than I look, Mr. Redding. And I'm a quick study. I'll be just fine."

The cattle regarded the riders placidly, chewing their cud and swishing their tails at the flies. Up close, they were even more enormous than Clementine had imagined, their heavy bodies and wickedly curved horns dwarfing the horses. She felt a flicker of unease, remembering tales of cowpokes gored and trampled by unruly steers.

As if sensing her trepidation, Elvis murmured, "Easy now. They're more scared of you than you are of them. These are good, docile beasts, well-used to human handling. Just keep your movements slow and predictable and you'll be fine."

Clementine nodded jerkily, fighting the urge to wheel Nutmeg around and gallop in the opposite direction. She trusted Elvis' expertise, even if she didn't particularly like or respect the man himself. He'd kept this herd thriving for five years—that had to count for something.

They meandered through the milling cattle, Elvis pointing out choice specimens and explaining the finer points of branding, breeding, and husbandry. Clementine did her best to absorb the onslaught of information, her head fairly spinning with talk of bloodlines and feed supplements and market prices.

One thing was becoming crystal clear. She was hopelessly out of her depth when it came to the day-to-day realities of running a ranch. Short of a miracle or divine intervention, Windy Creek would be bankrupt and in ruins within a month under her ignorant guidance.

Clementine's throat tightened with despair at the thought of failing her uncle, of losing this land that meant so much to him. And what of the people who depended on Windy Creek for their livelihood? Red and Slim and Rusty and the other hands she had yet to meet—how could she face them if her incompetence cost them their jobs, their homes?

No, it was unthinkable. She needed help, loath as she was to admit it. She needed Elvis.

Clementine was just working up the nerve to broach the subject when the quiet afternoon exploded into chaos. One moment the cattle were grazing peacefully, the next they were bellowing in alarm, eyes rolling and hooves churning the earth. The cause of their distress soon became apparent—a pair of snarling, yipping coyotes had burst from the underbrush, harrying the herd's flanks in search of an easy meal.

"Damnation!" Elvis swore, spurring his mount towards the threat. "Slim! Red! Rusty! Get after 'em 'fore they scatter the herd!"

Clementine watched in amazement as the cowhands sprung into immediate action, whooping and hollering as they rode to head off the predators. Red in particular was a sight to behold, his enormous frame dwarfing his horse as he thundered after a fleeing coyote, his lasso whirling overhead.

In the midst of the pandemonium, Clementine lost sight of Elvis. She reined in Nutmeg, heart in her throat as she scanned the milling herd for any sign of him. Panic clawed at her insides as horrible visions flashed through her mind—Elvis thrown from the saddle, trampled beneath a hundred hooves, bleeding and broken on the unforgiving ground...

A flash of movement caught her eye and Clementine shrieked in alarm, instinctively wrenching Nutmeg to the side. Too late, she realized her mistake as a coyote darted from the brush directly underfoot, spooking the mare into a wild, twisting buck.

Clementine felt herself slipping, her tenuous grip on the saddle horn failing as Nutmeg crow-hopped and whirled beneath her. She had one instant of sickening clarity, the knowledge that this was going to hurt, before the ground rushed up to meet her with stunning force.

The impact drove the air from her lungs in a whoosh, black spots crowding the edges of her vision. Dimly, she registered the thud of approaching hoofbeats, the bawl of frightened cattle, someone shouting her name with increasing urgency.

"Clementine! Clementine, goddammit, answer me!"

Rough hands seized her shoulders, rolling her onto her back. Clementine blinked up at Elvis' ashen face, his blue eyes wide with fear.

"I'm... alright," she croaked, wincing at the stabbing pain in her ribs. "Just had the wind knocked out of me."

"You're hurt," Elvis said roughly, his fingers coming away from her temple sticky with red. "What the hell were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that? You're lucky you didn't break your damn fool neck!"

"I was thinking that I didn't particularly want to be some coyote's dinner," Clementine snapped, struggling to sit up. "What was I supposed to do, let it take a chunk out of Nutmeg?"

"Better the horse than you!" Elvis shot back. "Christ almighty, do you have any idea what it would've done to me if you'd been killed on my watch? On your first day here?"

There was something raw and desperate in his voice, an emotion Clementine couldn't quite name. She stared at him, struck speechless by the intensity of his reaction.

Before she could formulate a response, the sound of pounding hooves announced the return of the other cowhands. Red reined up hard beside them, his ruddy face creased with concern.

"Miss Clementine! You okay? We saw you take that spill and feared the worst!"

"I'm fine, Red," Clementine assured him, accepting Elvis' hand up with as much dignity as she could muster. "Just a little tumble. No permanent damage."

Rusty looked skeptical, eyeing the bloody gash on her forehead. "That's gonna need some doctorin'. We best get you back to the house and have Juanita take a look."

"I said I'm fine," Clementine insisted, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over her. "There's no need to fuss."

Elvis made a wordless sound of frustration, scooping her up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour. "Stubborn woman! You're gettin' patched up and that's final. Rusty, ride back to the ranch and tell Juanita to put the kettle on and set up a place on the porch.”

"Yessir, boss!" Rusty wheeled his horse and took off at a gallop, stirring up a cloud of dust.

"Slim, you get this heard settled and head on back when you can. Red, you lead Nutmeg back. I'm takin' Miss Accident-Prone here home before she finds more trouble to get into."

Elvis plunked Clementine onto his saddle and swung up behind her, caging her in with his long arms. She opened her mouth to protest the indignity of it all, but a stern look from those flinty blue eyes had her subsiding into sullen silence.

The ride back to the house seemed to take an eternity, every jolt and jostle sending fresh sparks of pain through Clementine's battered body. She could feel the heat of Elvis' chest at her back, the tickle of his breath ruffling her hair. It was unsettling, being in such close proximity to him. Like trying to relax with a loaded gun at your temple.

By the time they reached the ranch yard, Clementine's head was throbbing and her stomach was churning alarmingly. Black spots swarmed her vision as Elvis lifted her down from the saddle, his hands exceedingly gentle for all their strength.

"Easy there, darlin'. I got you."

Clementine leaned into him, too woozy to protest the endearment. He smelled of leather and sweat and something uniquely male, a scent that made her pulse flutter in a way that had nothing to do with her injuries.

She was only vaguely aware of being carried up the porch steps and settled onto a low cot, clucking female voices buzzing around her like concerned hens. Cool hands smoothed her brow, a damp cloth dabbing at the sticky mess at her hairline. The sting of alcohol made her hiss, flinching away.

"Hush, child," crooned Juanita, the middle-aged Mexican woman who served as the ranch’s de facto doctor-slash-veterinarian. "This will clean the cut, keep it from putrefaction. Drink this now, for the dolor de cabeza."

A cup was pressed to Clementine's lips, bitter tea laced with something sharper, medicinal. She gulped it obediently, desperate for anything to dull the relentless pounding behind her eyes.

Gradually, blessedly, the pain receded to a distant ache, her limbs growing heavy with languor. Clementine felt herself sinking into the downy embrace of the cot, the muted sounds of the ranch fading to a distant hum. Just before oblivion claimed her, she thought she felt the calloused touch of a hand smoothing her hair, the gruff timbre of a voice rumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "rest now, wildcat."

But it was probably just a dream, a product of her exhausted, concussed brain. Elvis Presley would never be so tender, so solicitous. Not to her. Not in a million years.

Clementine slept, and did not dream at all.

She awoke slowly, surfacing from the depths of unconsciousness like a diver ascending sunlit waters. Her head felt muzzy, her mouth dry as cotton, but the pain had faded to a faint, distant throb. Blinking gummy eyes, she struggled to focus on her surroundings.

She was lying on the cot on the front porch, a patchwork quilt tucked around her legs. The sun was setting in a blaze of orange and pink, the long shadows of the outbuildings stretching across the yard like grasping fingers. Somewhere nearby, a lone cicada buzzed in the cooling air, a herald of the approaching dusk.

"Well now, look who's back among the living."

Clementine turned her head, wincing at the twinge in her neck. Elvis was seated in a rocking chair a few feet away, his long legs stretched out before him and his hat tipped low over his eyes. He looked relaxed, indolent even, but Clementine could sense the coiled energy beneath the languid facade, the watchful tension of a predator at rest.

"What happened?" she croaked, struggling to sit up. "How long was I out?"

"Couple hours," Elvis replied, leaning forward to hand her a tin cup of water. "You took a pretty good knock to the head when that mare bucked you off. Juanita cleaned you up and dosed you with one of her concoctions. Said you'd be right as rain after some rest."

Clementine sipped the water, frowning as memory returned in fits and starts. The coyote, Nutmeg's panicked thrashing, the sickening weightlessness as she flew through the air...

"The cattle!" she exclaimed, slopping water down her front in her agitation. "Did they scatter? Was anyone hurt?"

Elvis shook his head, a faint smile playing about his lips. "Nah, we got 'em rounded up and settled quick enough. And other than a few bumps and bruises, everyone came through just fine. Except for you, a'course. Damn foolish stunt you pulled out there."

Clementine bristled at the censure in his tone, even as a tiny part of her acknowledged the truth of it. "I was just reacting on instinct. I didn't want Nutmeg to get hurt."

"And I didn't want you to get dead," Elvis retorted, a sudden edge to his voice. "Do you have any idea how close you came to dying today? How it felt to see you layin' there in the dirt, bleedin' and still as a corpse? Christ, Clementine, you 'bout stopped my heart."

Clementine stared at him, caught off-guard by the admission.

She flushed, both at the scolding and the backhanded compliment. "Yes, well, I suppose I've learned my lesson about playing the hero. Ranch work is a sight more dangerous than minding a shop or keeping accounts."

To her surprise, Elvis chuckled. "Reckon that's true enough. But you showed some real grit out there today, greenhorn or no. Not many city gals would have stuck it out like you did."

His praise, grudging as it was, warmed Clementine down to her toes. She ducked her head to hide her pleased smile, suddenly very aware of his nearness, of the way his knee brushed her hip through the quilt.

"I guess I'm tougher than I look," she said, aiming for nonchalance.

"Guess you are," Elvis agreed. Something in his tone made Clementine look up, her breath catching at the intensity in his blue eyes. For a long, charged moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them fairly crackling with an unnamed tension.

Then Elvis blinked and looked away, clearing his throat gruffly. "Best you get some more rest," he said, rising from the rocker. "I'll have Ida bring you up some supper later. Holler if you need anything."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Clementine alone with her whirling thoughts. She lay back against the pillows, her heart racing and her skin tingling where his gaze had lingered. What on earth had just happened? One minute Elvis was his usual gruff, scolding self, the next he was looking at her like... like...

Like a man looks at a woman he desires, a traitorous voice whispered in her head. Clementine shook the thought away, scandalised. Surely she was imagining things, seeing more than was there. She and Elvis were like oil and water, always rubbing each other the wrong way. He tolerated her for the sake of the ranch, nothing more. The idea that he might feel something deeper, something tender and passionate and real... it was impossible.

Wasn't it?

Clementine groaned and turned her face into the pillow, suddenly exhausted. Her head ached abominably, and her heart felt like a bird beating its wings against the cage of her ribs. She needed sleep, needed time to sort through the jumble of her emotions and the strange, unsettling effect Elvis Presley seemed to have on her good sense.

But even as she drifted off into a fitful doze, Clementine couldn't shake the memory of his eyes on hers, intense and searching and full of something that looked achingly like longing. It haunted her dreams, that look—a promise, a challenge, a invitation to something thrilling and terrifying and utterly forbidden.

Something Clementine knew she shouldn't want... but lord help her, she did.

She wanted it with every fiber of her being.

Over the next few days, as Clementine recovered from her injuries, she had ample time to reflect on her growing feelings for Elvis. It was maddening, the way he seemed to invade her every waking thought. She would be in the middle of some mundane task—shelling peas with Ida in the kitchen, or mending a torn shirt in her room—and suddenly his face would swim before her mind's eye, those piercing blue eyes and that crooked, knowing smile making her stomach flutter and her cheeks heat.

It was ridiculous. It was inappropriate. It was... inevitable, if Clementine was being honest with herself. From the moment she'd first laid eyes on Elvis, standing tall and proud on the porch of Windy Creek Ranch, she had felt the pull of him. The attraction, the fascination, the infuriating urge to crack that stony facade and see the man beneath.

But it was more than just physical allure. As the days turned into weeks and Clementine settled into her new life at the ranch, she began to see glimmers of the real Elvis: the loyal friend, the tireless worker, the unexpected jokester. Oh, he could be maddening, with his gruffness and his stubborn pride. But he could also be unexpectedly kind, unbelievably patient, and downright entertaining when the mood struck him.

Like the time he'd caught her trying to sneak a peek at his guitar, the one he kept propped in a corner of the bunkhouse. She'd been sure he would scold her for snooping, or worse, laugh at her clumsy attempts to pluck out a tune. But instead, he'd just shaken his head and smiled that crooked smile of his, then sat down beside her and showed her how to hold the instrument, his callused fingers guiding hers over the strings until she could pick out a passable melody.

Or the night he'd found her crying in the hayloft, homesick and overwhelmed and halfway convinced she'd made a terrible mistake in coming to Windy Creek. He hadn't said a word, just sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms, letting her sob into his shirt until she was spent. Then he'd tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes, his own gaze fierce and tender all at once.

"You're doing just fine, Clementine," he'd said, his voice low and rough. "You're right where you're meant to be."

It was moments like those that made Clementine's heart ache with a longing she couldn't quite name. A yearning for something more than friendship, more than partnership.

Something that felt suspiciously like affection.

But it was impossible. She and Elvis were too different, too stubborn and set in their ways. They would drive each other mad within a year, Clementine was sure of it. And even if by some miracle they could make a go of it, there was still the ranch to consider. Windy Creek needed her, needed Elvis. They couldn't afford any distractions or entanglements.

No, it was better to put such foolish notions out of her head. To focus on her duties and her goals, and let her heart's desire remain just that—a secret, wistful dream.

But oh, how she dreamed.

As the weeks passed and Clementine grew stronger, she threw herself into life at Windy Creek with renewed determination. She rose with the sun each morning, joining Mrs. Jameson in the kitchen for a hearty breakfast before heading out to tackle the day's chores. She rode herd with the cattle, mended fences with Red and the boys, even tried her hand at roping and branding.

She still felt hopelessly out of her depth at times, but she was learning fast. And she had Elvis to thank for that. He was a patient teacher, though a demanding one. He pushed her hard, expecting nothing less than her very best effort. But he was also quick with a word of praise when she got something right, or a steadying hand when she faltered.

Slowly but surely, Clementine could feel herself changing. Growing tougher, more resilient. The blisters on her palms turned to calluses, the ache in her muscles to a pleasant sort of soreness. And though her prim city dresses were a thing of the past, she found she didn't miss them all that much. There was a freedom in denim and calico, a practicality that suited her new life.

She knew she still had a long way to go before she could truly call herself a rancher. But for the first time since arriving at Windy Creek, Clementine felt like she might actually belong here. Like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

And if her gaze still strayed to Elvis more often than it should, if her heart still raced at his nearness and her skin tingled at his touch... well. That was her secret to keep. Her cross to bear.

But lord, what a sweet burden it was.

One evening a few months later, as the sun dipped low on the horizon and painted the sky in shades of gold and pink, Clementine found herself alone with Elvis on a bluff overlooking the ranch. She'd gone up there to get away from the noise and bustle of the house for a while, to let the peace of the prairie soak into her bones and ease the remnants of the day's tension.

She hadn't expected Elvis to follow her. But then, he seemed to have a knack for turning up wherever she was. A coincidence, she told herself each time. Just a quirk of ranch life, two people whose paths were bound to cross often. It didn't mean anything.

But as Elvis came to stand beside her, his shoulder brushing hers as they looked out over the rolling expanse of Windy Creek, Clementine felt that old familiar flutter in her chest. The hitch in her breath, the skip of her pulse.

It meant something. It had to.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the wind rustling through the grass, the distant lowing of the cattle in the pasture. Clementine breathed it in, let it fill her lungs and settle in her bones. This place, this land. It was a part of her now, as vital as her own beating heart.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, almost to herself.

Elvis hummed in agreement, his gaze never leaving the horizon. "Never get tired of this view. No matter how many times I see it."

Clementine glanced at him, struck by the wondering note in his voice. "You really love this place, don't you?"

Elvis nodded slowly. "It's in my blood. Has been since I was old enough to sit a horse. Used to dream about having a spread like this, a place to call my own." He paused, his jaw working as if wrestling with some inner debate. Then, quietly, "Never thought I'd find someone to share it with, though."

Clementine's heart stumbled, then began to race. Surely he didn't mean... no. He couldn't have.

They rode home in silence.

Chapter 3

The sun beat down on Clementine's back as she rode across the pasture, her eyes scanning the herd for any signs of trouble. It had been just over a year since she'd arrived at Windy Creek Ranch, and in that time, she'd learned more about cattle and cowboying than she'd ever thought possible.

She'd also learned a thing or two about herself. Like the fact that she was stronger than she'd ever given herself credit for, and that the wide-open spaces of the West felt more like home than the bustling streets of New York ever had.

As she turned her horse back towards the ranch house, Clementine couldn't help but smile. Despite the long days and the hard work, she'd never been happier. She had a purpose here, a place where she belonged.

She had Elvis.

Of course, he was as quiet as ever. Truly, the strong and silent type. But somewhere along the way, through all the disagreements and teasing, a comfortable companionship had grown between them, and Clementine was grateful.

She dismounted in front of the house, handing the reins off to one of the ranch hands. "Take good care of him, Johnny," she said, giving the boy a pat on the shoulder. "He worked hard today."

Johnny grinned, his freckled face beaming with pride. "Yes, ma'am, Miss Clementine. I'll give him a good rubdown and some extra oats."

Clementine nodded, grateful for the enthusiasm and dedication of her crew. Over time, the workers at the ranch had become like her family. In addition to Red, Slim, and Rusty, there was Johnny, the eager young newcomer; Hank, the grizzled old-timer who'd been working the ranch since before Clementine was born; Juanita, the no-nonsense veterinarian who kept the animals healthy and her affable husband Gerónimo; Ida, the motherly housekeeper and cook whose fried chicken was legendary around these parts; and a handful of other steady, reliable hands.

She made her way into the house, sighing with relief as the cool shade enveloped her. She had just taken off her gloves and settled down at her desk to go over the day's receipts when a letter caught her eye. It was postmarked from New York.

Clementine smiled as she unfolded the pages, eager for news from home. But before she could read more than a few lines, the door burst open and Elvis strode in, his face grim.

"We got trouble," he said without preamble. "Rustlers hit the Falling Tree Acres last night. They're missing a dozen head."

Clementine's blood ran cold. Rustlers. The scourge of the open range, the nightmare of every rancher west of the Mississippi. She had heard the stories, had listened to the ranch hands swap tales of cattle thefts and midnight raids. But she had never thought it would happen here, in their peaceful valley.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Elvis nodded grimly. "They found tracks this morning, out by their western pasture. Looks like the bastards cut the fence and drove off a dozen head in the night. Took ‘em 'til now to make sure there weren't no stragglers."

Clementine sank back into her chair, her knees suddenly weak. A dozen head. It didn't sound like much, but she knew that every animal counted, that even a small loss could be devastating to any ranch.

“What’ll they do?” she asked, hating the tremor in her voice. "What if the rustlers come here?"

Elvis sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Ain't gonna be easy. These rustlers, they're smart. They know how to cover their tracks, how to disappear into the wilderness like ghosts. We could spend weeks chasin' 'em and never see hide nor hair."

Clementine's heart sank even further. Something had to be done, but... weeks of fruitless searching, of neglecting the ranch and the rest of the herd? They couldn't afford it, not now. Not when they were just starting to find their footing. Then again, they needed to do something about it—prevent any losses before they happened.

But then, a sudden thought struck her. A memory of something her uncle had said, long ago, when she was just a girl. Something about the importance of neighbors, of community, of banding together in times of trouble.

"What about the other ranchers?" she asked, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Surely we're not the only ones who have been hit by these rustlers. What if we joined forces, pooled our resources and manpower?"

Elvis looked at her in surprise, as if the idea had never occurred to him. "You mean, like a meeting?"

She took a deep breath, her mind already racing. "Yes," she said, standing up from her desk. "Let's get the word out. I want every rancher in the valley here tonight. We need to figure out a plan."

Elvis nodded, his jaw tight. "I'll send Rusty and Johnny to spread the news. You want me to ride over to Big Sky, let them know?"

Clementine hesitated, remembering the last time she'd seen Nathaniel Hawthorne. The man had been cold and dismissive, making it clear that he didn't think much of a woman running a ranch. But Big Sky was one of the largest spreads in the area, and they needed all the help they could get.

"No," she said finally. "I'll go myself. It's time Nathaniel and I had a little chat."

Elvis's eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue. "Alright then. I'll hold down the fort here, make sure everything's ready for tonight."

Clementine nodded, grateful for his support. She knew that Elvis had his doubts about her plan, but he trusted her enough to follow her lead. It meant more to her than she could say.

She rode hard for Big Sky, her thoughts churning as she tried to come up with a way to convince Nathaniel Hawthorne to join their cause. The man was as stubborn as a mule, and twice as mean. But if they had any hope of stopping the rustlers, they needed Big Sky on their side.

When she arrived at the ranch, she was surprised to be greeted not by Nathaniel, but by his son Aaron. The young man was a few years older than Clementine, with sharp hazel eyes and a no-nonsense air about him.

"Miss Olivetti," Aaron said, his tone cool but polite. "I'm afraid my father is indisposed at the moment. What can I do for you?"

Clementine dismounted, dusting off her hands on her skirt. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said, though she wasn't entirely sure she meant it. "I've come to talk to him about the rustler problem. We're calling a meeting tonight, and I was hoping Big Sky would be represented."

Aaron’s eyes narrowed, and Clementine got the sense that she was being sized up. "I see," the young man said finally. "Well, I can't speak for my father, but I'll be there. Big Sky takes the rustler threat very seriously."

She rode back to Windy Creek feeling accomplished, like they might just have a chance against the rustlers after all. But as the sun began to set and the ranchers began to arrive, Clementine felt her confidence waver.

The main room of the ranch house was crowded, the air thick with tension and the murmur of voices. Clementine looked around at the gathered men, recognizing most of the faces. There was Jake McAllister from the Circle B, his weathered face set in a scowl. Tom Hawkins from the Rocking H, his fingers drumming an agitated beat on his thigh. Hank Brewster from the Lazy J, his shoulders slumped with weariness. Of course, Jake Dawson from Falling Tree Acres was there, too, hopping mad. And a half-dozen others, all looking to her for answers.

Her own men were there as well—Red and Slim and Rusty, their expressions grim. And a few more she'd come to rely on over the past year: Jeb Thompson, a grizzled hand who could coax a calf from the orneriest of heifers; young Billy Turner, eager to prove himself; and Lyle Davis, quiet and steady, with a gift for gentling horses.

But there was one face Clementine didn't recognize—a woman, standing slightly apart from the rest. She was tall and slim, with honey-blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. When Elvis saw her, he stiffened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.

"Katie," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Didn't expect to see you here."

The woman—Katie—smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Desperate times, Elvis. My father and Aaron sent me in their stead." Aaron Hawthorne. Katie was Aaron’s brother, and Nathaniel’s daughter.

There was a story there, Clementine could tell. A history between Elvis and this Katie Hawthorne. But now was not the time to dwell on it. They had bigger problems to deal with.

As if on cue, Tom Hawkins spoke up, his voice tight with anger. "We all know why we're here. These rustlers are bleeding us dry, and something needs to be done about it. But I think we ought to wait and see." A murmur went around the room, heads shaking and fists clenching.

"And what good would hunkering down do?" demanded Sam Johnson, his fists clenched at his sides. "They'd just pick us off one by one, like lambs to the slaughter. No, we need to take the fight to them, hit them hard and fast before they can hit us again."

"Are you out of your mind?" Hank Brewster's voice cut through the din like a knife. "You're talking about going up against armed men, men who won't hesitate to put a bullet in your back. It's suicide, plain and simple."

"I say we let the law handle it," said Hank Brewster, his tone weary. "It's their job, ain't it?"

Jake McAllister snorted. "The law? You mean Sheriff Hodges? That old drunk couldn't find his own ass with both hands and a map. We'd be better off hiring a pack of coyotes to guard the henhouse."

A ripple of uneasy laughter went through the room. Clementine frowned, her patience wearing thin. They were getting nowhere with this bickering. Soon, the men all erupted into argument, voices rising and tempers flaring. Clementine looked from one angry face to another, her heart sinking. This was exactly what she'd been afraid of—that the ranchers would be too divided, too set in their ways to find common ground.

"We have to do something," she said, her voice ringing out clear and strong. "We can't just sit back and watch everything we've worked for be taken away."

"And what do you suggest, Miss Olivetti?" Katie asked, her tone faintly mocking. "That our men go out there, guns blazing, and get themselves killed?"

Clementine opened her mouth to retort, but Elvis beat her to it, his deep voice cutting through the din like a knife.

"Seems to me," he said slowly, "that we don't have much choice in the matter. Either we take the fight to the rustlers, or we sit back and watch everything we've worked for get stolen out from under us. I don't know about y'all, but I ain't too keen on the second option."

A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the occasional cough or shuffle of feet. Clementine could see the indecision on every face, the warring impulses of self-preservation and solidarity.

But then, slowly, heads began to nod. Shoulders straightened, jaws set with determination. "The man's right," Jake McAllister said grudgingly. "We can't just sit back and let them pick us off one by one. We have to stand together, or we'll all fall alone."

There were murmurs of agreement from around the room, a sense of purpose beginning to take hold. Clementine felt a surge of pride and gratitude, her eyes seeking out Elvis's across the sea of faces. He met her gaze steadily, something warm and reassuring in the blue depths.

"Alright then," Elvis said, his voice ringing out with confidence. "Let's get to planning. We'll need every able-bodied man who can ride and shoot. We'll track the rustlers to their hideout, and we'll make sure they never trouble us again."

The meeting broke up soon after that, the ranchers dispersing to make their preparations for the evening. As she was lighting a candle, Clementine caught a glimpse of Katie Hawthorne deep in conversation with Elvis, their heads bent close together as they spoke in low, urgent tones.

Something twisted in Clementine's gut at the sight, a flare of jealousy that she didn't quite understand. But she pushed it down, focusing instead on the task ahead. There would be time to worry about Katie Hawthorne later.

Later that evening, Clementine found herself wandering the quiet halls of the ranch house, her mind too full of worries to settle. She was just about to open the cupboard when she heard a noise from the living room, a soft clink of glass on wood.

Curious, she padded over to the doorway, peering into the dimly lit room. Elvis sat at the table, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him and a troubled expression on his face. He looked up as she entered, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Clementine,” he said, his voice rough. “What are you doing up?”

She shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious in her nightgown and robe. “Couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind, I guess.”

Elvis nodded, his gaze dropping to the glass in his hand. "I know the feeling," he said, taking a swig of whiskey.

Clementine's heart clenched at the weariness in his voice, the vulnerability he so rarely showed. "You don't have to go tonight, you know," she said softly, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. "The other men can handle it. You've done enough already, Elvis. More than enough."

He looked up at her then, something fierce and determined in his eyes. "Ain’t no way," he said, his voice low and intense. "I promised your uncle I'd look after this place, Clem. I ain't about to break that promise now."

Clementine felt a rush of warmth at his words, a flutter of something deeper and more complicated than gratitude. But she tamped it down, focusing instead on the danger ahead.

"It's going to be risky," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "I don't want you getting hurt on my account, Elvis. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

He covered her hand with his own, his skin warm and rough against hers. "Good thing I ain't planning on gettin’ hurt, then," he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Besides, it’s just a search party. We ain’t gonna do no shooting tonight. We’re just gonna track the rustlers, that’s all.”

Clementine laughed, the tension draining out of her in a rush. "Well, I suppose I can live with that," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Just promise me you'll be careful out there, alright?"

"I promise," Elvis said, his voice solemn. "And you promise me, Clementine. You’ll be waiting when I get back?"

She nodded, her throat suddenly tight. "I promise," she whispered, meaning it with every fiber of her being.

They sat like that for a long moment, hands clasped and eyes locked, the silence stretching out between them like a promise of its own. And then Elvis cleared his throat, releasing her hand and standing up from the table.

"Best get some rest," he said, his voice gruff. "Got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Clementine stood as well, her heart racing as she followed him to the door. "Goodnight, Elvis," she said softly, her hand on the knob. "And thank you. For everything."

He paused, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair back from her face. "Anytime, Clem," he murmured, his eyes soft. "Anytime at all."

And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him, leaving Clementine alone with her thoughts and the pounding of her own heart.

The ranch house was quiet that night, the usual bustle and chatter replaced by a tense, watchful silence. Clementine wandered the halls like a ghost, her mind spinning and her heart aching.

She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that some disaster was looming just beyond the horizon. And she couldn't help but wonder if she had made the right choice, staying behind while her men out to face the danger alone.

She found herself in the kitchen just as dawn was breaking, staring blankly at the coffeepot as it burbled and hissed on the stove. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten there, or why she'd come. All she knew was that she needed something, anything, to take her mind off the worry and the fear.

And then, like a miracle, Elvis appeared in the doorway. He looked haggard and worn, his face lined with exhaustion and his eyes shadowed with some dark emotion. But he was alive, and whole, and Clementine felt her heart leap with relief.

"You're back," she breathed, stepping forward to meet him. "What happened out there? Did you find them?"

Elvis shook his head, his jaw tight. "No. We rode hard all night, followed their trail as far as we could. But they're clever bastards, know how to cover their tracks. We lost the scent somewhere around Coyote Creek, and by then it was too dark to go on."

Clementine's heart sank, disappointment and frustration welling up in her throat. "So what now?" she asked, her voice small. "What do we do?"

Elvis sighed, running a hand over his face. "We start again the day after tomorrow, at first light. Keep searching until we find them, or until we can't search no more."

He looked at her then, his eyes dark and intense. "I need you to be strong, Clementine. I need you to keep this place running, keep the men in line. Can you do that for me?"

Clementine swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in her throat. "Of course," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'll do whatever needs to be done, Elvis. You know that."

He nodded, something like pride flickering in his gaze. And then, to her surprise, he reached out and pulled her into his arms.

Clementine stiffened for a moment, unused to such displays of affection from the taciturn cowboy. But then she melted into him, her hands fisting in the back of his shirt and her face pressing into the warm, solid strength of his chest.

"I'm scared, Elvis," she whispered, the words muffled against his skin.

He tightened his hold on her, his chin resting on the top of her head. "I know, darlin'. I'm scared too. But we can't let that fear control us, you hear me? We gotta be strong, for each other and for this ranch."

Clementine nodded, drawing in a shuddering breath. And then, before she could lose her nerve, she tilted her head back and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was quick and chaste, a gentle exploration that made her heart race and her blood sing. Elvis made a low, desperate sound in the back of his throat but before things could go any further, he tore himself away, his breath coming hard and fast. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’ta done that." he said, his voice rough with wanting. "We can’t. I ain’t gonna take advantage of you.Not when we both don't know what tomorrow might bring."

“I—you’re right.” Clementine knew it, even as her body screamed in protest. She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off the chill of his absence. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling. "I don't know what came over me. It's just... the thought of losing you..."

"Shh." Elvis placed a finger over her lips, silencing her.

"Don't talk like that. We're gonna make it through this, you and me. And when we do, we'll have all the time in the world to figure out what this is between us."

Clementine nodded.

He leaned in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her forehead. "But for now, we gotta focus on the task at hand. We gotta be strong for the ranch. Can you do that for me, Clem?"

She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. "I can. I will."

He smiled then, a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made her heart skip a beat. "That's my girl. Now, let's get some rest. We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

The first rays of the sun were just beginning to paint the sky in shades of pink and gold when Clementine stepped out onto the porch, a rifle slung over her shoulder, two pistols at her hip, and a steely glint in her eye.

The ranchers were already gathered in the yard, checking their tack and loading their saddlebags with grim determination. Elvis stood at the center of the group, his black hat pulled low over his brow as he issued last-minute orders and instructions, saddling his mount quickly and efficiently.

He looked up as she approached, his eyes widening in surprise and something like consternation. "What do you think you're doing? I thought I told you to stay put," he demanded, striding over to block her path. "You ain't comin' with us, Clementine. It's too dangerous."

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "The hell I'm not," she said, her voice ringing with conviction. "This is my ranch, Elvis. My land, my cattle, my responsibility. My men. And I'll be damned if I'm going to sit back and let someone else fight my battles for me."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture. "I know what you're going to say," she said. "That I'm just a woman, that I don't know how to handle a gun or ride with a posse. But you're wrong, Elvis. I've been learning this past year. I can shoot as straight as any man here, and ride twice as quick."

Red’s face split into a big, knowing smile. Elvis elbowed him, and his ruddy companion stood ramrod straight. She saw the flicker of surprise in Elvis’ eyes, too, the grudging respect that warred with his instinctive need to protect her. But she wasn't about to back down, not now, not when so much was at stake.

"I'm coming with you," she said, her voice low and intense. "And that's final. You can either accept it, or you can try to stop me. But either way, I'll be riding out of here at your side, come hell or high water."

For a long, tense moment, Elvis just stared at her, his jaw working as if he were chewing on a particularly tough piece of rawhide. Then, slowly, he nodded, his eyes glinting with something that might have been pride, or exasperation, or a little bit of both.

"Alright, then," he said gruffly. "But you stay close to me, you hear? And if I give you an order, you follow it, no questions asked."

They rode out in a thunder of hoofbeats, the sun high overhead and the wind whipping at their faces. Clementine could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, the thrill of the hunt mingling with a cold, creeping fear. She knew that they were riding into danger, that there was no telling what they might face out there on the open range.

But she also knew that she was not alone, that she had Elvis and the others by her side, ready to fight for what was theirs, and that knowledge gave her the courage to keep riding.

They rode for hours, following the rustlers' trail across the rugged terrain. The sun beat down on them, the heat shimmering off the rocks and the scrubby brush. Clementine could feel the sweat trickling down her back, the dust caking her face and hair. But she hardly noticed, her mind focused on the task at hand, on the need to find the stolen cattle and bring the thieves to justice.

It was nearly sundown when they finally caught sight of the rustlers' camp, a thin plume of smoke rising from a hidden canyon up ahead. Elvis called a halt, his hand raised in warning.

"We'll have to go in on foot from here," he said, his voice low and tense. "Can't risk them hearing us coming."

Clementine nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it, the moment of truth. She slid from her saddle, her legs stiff and sore from hours of riding. She checked her rifle, making sure it was loaded and ready, then fell in behind Elvis as he led the way toward the canyon.

They crept through the underbrush, the only sound the crunch of their boots against the dry leaves and twigs. Clementine could feel the tension in the air, the sense of impending danger. She knew that the rustlers would be armed, that they would fight to keep their stolen herd. But she also knew that they were outnumbered, that the posse had the element of surprise on their side.

As they neared the edge of the canyon, Elvis held up a hand, signaling for them to stop. He peered over the edge, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene below.

"They're down there, alright," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Looks like they've got the cattle penned up in that box canyon. I count six men, maybe seven."

Clementine swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. Six men. Six armed, desperate men who would stop at nothing to keep what they had stolen. She knew that the odds were in their favor, that they had the rustlers outnumbered and outgunned. But she also knew that anything could happen in the heat of battle, that there was no guarantee that they would all make it out alive.

She looked at Elvis, saw the grim determination in his eyes, the set of his jaw. And she knew that he was thinking the same thing, that he was weighing the risks and the rewards, the need to protect their own against the danger of the unknown.

"What's the plan?" she asked, her voice steady despite the hammering of her heart.

Elvis took a deep breath, his gaze still fixed on the canyon below. "We'll split up, come at 'em from both sides. Jake, you take half the men and circle around to the north. Tom, you take the other half and come in from the south. Clementine, you're with Jake. I’ll go straight down the middle, try to draw their fire and give the others a chance to get in close."

Clementine felt a sudden, sharp fear at his words, a sense of dread that she couldn't quite shake. She knew that Elvis was putting himself in the greatest danger, that he was using himself as a distraction to give the others a chance. And she knew that she couldn't let him do it alone.

"I'm coming with you," she said, her voice brooking no argument.

Elvis looked at her, his eyes widening in surprise. "Clementine, I don't think—"

"I'm not asking, Elvis," she said, cutting him off. "I’m coming."

For a moment, Elvis just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, a flicker of something like pride in his eyes.

"Alright then," he said, his voice gruff. "Let's do this."

They made their way down the steep slope of the canyon, the loose shale and gravel sliding beneath their feet. Clementine could hear the low murmur of voices from the camp below, the soft lowing of the penned-up cattle. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her palms slick with sweat on the grip of her rifle.

As they neared the bottom of the canyon, Elvis held up a hand, signaling for her to stop. He peered around the edge of a boulder, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

"Alright," he said, his voice low and tense. "On my signal, we move in. You stay close to me, you hear? And if things start to go south, you get the hell out of there and don't look back."

Clementine nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She knew that he was trying to protect her, that he was willing to lay down his life to keep her safe. And she knew that she couldn't let that happen, that she would fight to her last breath to keep him alive.

Elvis took a deep breath, his hand tightening on the grip of his pistol. Then, with a nod to Clementine, he stepped out from behind the boulder, his voice ringing out across the canyon.

"Drop your weapons and let the cattle go!" he shouted, his pistol leveled at the nearest rustler. "You're surrounded and outnumbered. There's no way out!"

For a moment, there was silence, the only sound the low moan of the wind through the canyon. Then, with a shout of defiance, the rustlers opened fire, their bullets whizzing past Clementine's head and shattering the rock at her feet.

She dropped to the ground, her heart pounding in her chest. Beside her, Elvis was returning fire, his pistol barking in the still air. She could hear the shouts and curses of the rustlers, the panicked bellowing of the cattle as they milled about in their makeshift pen.

Clementine leveled her rifle, her hands steady and her aim true. She squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times, watching with grim satisfaction as the rustlers fell, clutching at their wounds.

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something that made her blood run cold. Elvis, locked in hand-to-hand combat with one of the rustlers, his gun lying forgotten on the ground.

The man was huge, easily a head taller than Elvis and twice as broad. He had a knife in his hand, the blade glinting wickedly in the sun, and a feral grin on his face as he bore down on the smaller man.

Clementine didn't hesitate. She got up from her position, charging towards the two men with a shout of fury. She leaped, tackling the rustler around the waist and sending them both tumbling to the ground.

They grappled in the dirt, the man's knife slashing at the air as Clementine tried to wrestle it from his grip. She could hear Elvis shouting her name, could feel the impact of bodies hitting the ground all around her as the battle raged on.

And then, with a final, desperate twist, she wrenched the knife free. The man lunged for her, his eyes wild with rage and desperation, but Clementine was faster. She plunged the blade into his chest, feeling the sickening give of flesh and bone.

The rustler's eyes went wide, his mouth opening in a silent scream. And then he was falling, his body hitting the ground with a dull, final thud.

Clementine staggered to her feet, her breath coming in great, heaving gasps. She looked around wildly, taking in the scene of carnage and chaos.

All around her, the canyon exploded into chaos. The posse had burst from cover, guns blazing as they bore down on the rustlers. She could hear shouts and screams, could smell the acrid tang of gunpowder on the air. Bullets whizzed past her head, kicking up puffs of dust at her feet.

It seemed to go on forever, that nightmarish battle in the heart of the canyon. But in reality, it was over in a matter of minutes. The rustlers, outnumbered and outgunned, threw down their weapons and surrendered, their hands raised in supplication.

Clementine sagged with relief, her knees suddenly weak. She looked around, taking in the scene of carnage—the bodies sprawled on the ground, the wounded men groaning in pain, the cattle milling about in confusion.

And then her gaze fell on Elvis, and her heart stopped.

He was lying on the ground, his face pale and his eyes closed. There was a spreading stain of red on his shirt, a wound in his chest that pulsed with each labored breath.

"No," Clementine whispered, stumbling forward on numb, leaden feet. "No, no, no."

She fell to her knees beside him, her hands shaking as she pressed them to the wound, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. Elvis's eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.

"Don't you dare," she said fiercely, her tears falling hot and fast on his face. "Don't you dare leave me, Elvis Presley. Not now, not like this."

"Somebody help me!" Clementine shouted, her voice raw with desperation. "Please, he's hurt, we need to get him back to the ranch!"

The others crowded around, their faces grim as they took in the sight of their fallen comrade. Tom Hawkins knelt down on Elvis' other side, his fingers searching for a pulse.

"He's alive," he said, his voice tight. "But he's lost a lot of blood. We need to get him back to Windy Creek, and fast."

Clementine nodded, her vision blurring with tears.

“Put him on White Lightning!” Rusty cried, “Clem’s horse is the fastest.” She watched as the men lifted Elvis onto the back of her horse, his head lolling limply against his chest. She wanted to go to him, to gather him into her arms and will the life back into his broken body. But she knew that she couldn't, that she had to be strong now, for him and for herself.

"I'll go with you," said Jake, swinging up into his own saddle. "Red and Tom, you, round up the herd and head on back. The rest of you, tie the rustler up. We'll meet you there."

The ride back to the ranch was a blur, a nightmare of dust and sweat and clenching fear and Elvis’ limp form cradled against her chest as she urged White Lightning onward. She could feel his blood soaking through her shirt, could hear the rattling wheeze of his breath in her ear.

But she refused to give up hope, refused to let the fear and the despair take hold. Elvis was a fighter, a survivor. He would make it through this. He had to.

They reached the ranch just as the sun was setting, the sky painted in shades of orange and gold. Clementine leapt from the saddle, shouting for Juanita and the ranch hands as she half-carried, half-dragged Elvis inside.

"Help him!" she demanded, her voice tight with fear.

Mrs. Jameson hurried over, her face creased with worry. "They took him straight up to his room, miss. Juanita's with him now, doing what she can to stop the bleeding. But he's in a bad way, I won't lie to you."

The next few hours passed in a haze of activity and dread, the ticking of the clock on the mantel the only sound in the silent house. Juanita worked tirelessly, cleaning and stitching and bandaging, her face set in grim determination.

It had been hours, and Clementine had no news. "I need to go to him, Ida" she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to be with him."

The housekeeper nodded, her eyes soft with understanding. "Of course, miss. You go on up. I'll see to the hands and the stock."

Clementine managed a grateful nod, then turned and fled into the house, her heart pounding and her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She took the stairs two at a time.

She burst into Elvis' room without knocking, her eyes wide and wild as she scanned the dimly lit space. He was lying on the bed, his shirt torn open to reveal the ugly, seeping wound in his chest. Juanita was bent over him, her hands bloody as she worked to staunch the flow.

"How is he?" Clementine asked, her voice thin and reedy to her own ears. "Will he... will he live?"

Juanita looked up, her dark eyes unreadable. "I don't know, Clem. He's lost a lot of blood, and the bullet's still in there. I've done what I can to clean and bind the wound, but he needs a real doctor, and soon."

Clementine nodded, her throat too tight for words. She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her hand reaching out to brush the sweat-soaked hair back from Elvis' brow. He was burning with fever, his skin hot and dry beneath her palm.

"Oh, Elvis," she whispered, the endearment slipping out before she could stop it. "What have they done to you?"

She sent Red to fetch Doc Jamison from town, his saddlebags laden with all the medical supplies they could spare. And then there was nothing to do but wait, and pray, and hope against hope that Elvis would pull through.

The sun rose and set, the hours bleeding into days.

Clementine sat by Elvis's bedside, holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement. She barely slept, barely ate, her whole world narrowed down to the rise and fall of his chest, the fluttering of his eyelids, the faint pulse at his wrist.

And then, on the eighth day, a miracle. Elvis's fever broke, his breathing easing and his color returning. He opened his eyes, blinking up at Clementine with a weak, crooked smile.

"Hey there, darlin'," he rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Fancy meeting you here."

Clementine let out a sob, tears of relief and joy streaming down her face. She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck and breathing in the warm, familiar scent of him.

"Don't you ever do that to me again," she whispered fiercely. "You hear me, Elvis Presley? Never again."

He chuckled softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured. "I promise."

The next morning, Clementine awoke to Elvis screaming in agony. Before long, Doc Jamison was at his bedside, procuring a large needle from his medicine bag and injecting it into the patient’s arm. Clementine watched with bated breath as Elvis slowly settled back into a comfortable sleep, floating in the twilight of morphine.

She sat at his bedside, keeping vigil, praying for him. At one point, he whispered something.

"Marry me," she thought she heard. "Be my wife, Clementine."

Chapter 4

Clementine sat at her desk, sorting through the mail that had arrived the previous week. Among the various bills and correspondence, one letter caught her eye. The familiar handwriting on the envelope made her heart skip a beat. It was from Bonnie.

With trembling fingers, Clementine opened the letter and began to read:

"My Dearest Clemmie,

I hope this letter finds you well and thriving in your new life at Windy Creek Ranch. I miss you terribly, and the city feels empty without your laughter and companionship.

I have exciting news! I've decided to take a break from the hustle and bustle of New York and come visit you at the ranch. I long to see the beautiful landscapes you've described and meet the intriguing characters you've mentioned in your letters.

Expect me to arrive within the fortnight. I cannot wait to embrace you and hear all about your adventures.

Your loving friend, Bonnie"

Clementine clutched the letter to her chest, a wide grin spreading across her face. The prospect of having Bonnie at the ranch filled her with joy and excitement. She couldn't wait to show her best friend around and introduce her to everyone, especially Elvis.

Elvis. The thought of him made Clementine’s smile falter.

Since his injury, their relationship had been somewhat strained. She had been tending to him diligently, changing his bandages and ensuring he was comfortable. However, every time she tried to bring up his morphine-induced mumblings, Elvis would change the subject or feign exhaustion. It was starting to worry her.

A knock at the door startled Clementine from her thoughts.

"Come in," she called, setting the letter aside.

To her surprise, Katie Hawthorne stepped into the room, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed and her blue eyes sparkling. She looked stunning in a sage green day dress that complemented her fair complexion.

"Good morning, Clementine," she greeted, her voice polite but cool. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

Clementine forced a smile, trying to ignore the twinge of unease that Katie's presence always seemed to evoke. "Not at all, Katie. What brings you here?"

Katie walked over to the desk, her posture poised and confident. "I was hoping to visit Elvis. I heard he's recovering well, and I thought he might appreciate a familiar face."

Clementine's stomach churned at the thought of Katie spending time alone with Elvis. She knew there was a history between them, but the details remained a mystery. "I'm sure he would appreciate that," she managed to say, her voice even. "He's in his room, resting."

With a nod and a polite smile, Katie left the room, leaving Clementine alone with her thoughts. Unable to concentrate on her work, Clementine decided to take a walk around the ranch to clear her head.

As she stepped outside, the warm sun and gentle breeze greeted her. The sound of laughter caught her attention, and she spotted Red and Slim engaged in a lively conversation near the stables.

"Miss Clementine!" Red called out, waving her over.

Clementine made her way over to them, eager for a distraction. "You're just in time. Slim here was about to share a story about the time he singlehandedly fought off a pack of coyotes."

Slim grinned, puffing out his chest. "It's true! I was out on the range, minding my own business, when suddenly..."

But as Slim launched into his tale, Clementine found herself only half-listening. Her mind wandered to the conversation she had overheard earlier between Katie and Elvis. She had been passing by Elvis' room when she heard their voices, low and intense.

"Elvis, I know things ended badly between us," Katie had said, her tone sincere. "But I want you to know that I still care about you. I always have."

"Look, I appreciate you coming to see me, but things are different now," Elvis had replied, his voice firm but not unkind.

Katie had scoffed. “I know you don't mean that—”

“Katie, I’m not the same man I was back then.”

"I know that, Elvis. And I respect it. I just... I don't want us to be strangers. We have too much history for that."

There was a pause, and Clementine could picture Elvis considering her words. "You're right. We can be friends, Katie. But that's all we can be."

Clementine hurried away before she could hear Katie's response, her heart racing and her mind reeling. What exactly had happened between them? And why did the thought of them together make her feel so unsettled?

Feigning a stomachache, Clementine gently extracted herself from Slim and Red and started back for the house.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice Ida approach until the older woman placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Miss Clementine, you look troubled," Ida said, her kind eyes filled with concern. "Is everything alright?"

Clementine sighed, offering Ida a weak smile. "I'm fine, Ida. Just a lot on my mind, I suppose."

Ida nodded, understanding dawning on her face. "It's about Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie, isn't it?"

Clementine's eyes widened. "How did you know?"

Ida chuckled softly. "I've been around long enough to notice things, Miss Clementine. And I can see the way you look at Mr. Elvis, and the way Miss Katie looks at him too. Frankly, I’d look at him that way too if I were younger,” she chuckled.

Clementine felt her cheeks heat up. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ida."

The housekeeper smiled knowingly. "It's alright, Miss Clementine. You don't have to pretend with me. I know it's not my place to gossip, but I feel like you should know the truth about Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie."

Curiosity got the better of Clementine, and she found herself leaning in closer. "What truth, Ida?"

Ida glanced around to make sure they were alone before lowering her voice. "Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie were engaged to be married once, years ago. They were young and in love, or so they thought. But then Miss Katie got it into her head that she wanted to see the world, experience life beyond the ranch. She left Mr. Elvis behind without so much as a goodbye, broke his heart into a million pieces." She sighed, shaking her head. "It was a terrible thing to see."

Clementine's heart sank. "I had no idea," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Ida patted her hand reassuringly. "Mr. Elvis was never the same after that. He threw himself into his work, closed himself off from the world. But then you came along, Miss Clementine. I've seen the way he looks at you, the way he smiles when you're around. You've brought light back into his life."

Clementine felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. "But what about Katie? She's beautiful, and wealthy, and she knows this life. How can I compete with that?"

"Miss Clementine, you listen to me. You are a smart, strong, and kind-hearted young woman. You have brought so much good to this ranch, and to the people who live and work here. Don't you ever doubt your worth."

Clementine nodded, blinking back her tears.

The housekeeper smiled warmly. "Now, why don't you go and check on Mr. Elvis? I'm sure he could use some company."

Taking a deep breath, Clementine squared her shoulders and made her way back upstairs. She waled down the hall to Elvis' room, her heart pounding in her chest. She raised her hand to knock on the door, but hesitated when she heard voices coming from inside.

"... and do you remember that night by the creek? The stars were so bright, and you held me so close. I felt like I could stay in your arms forever." Katie's voice was soft, tinged with nostalgia.

“Sure do.” Elvis’ deep chuckle reverberated through Clementine’s bones.

"Hold still," Katie's voice was soft, almost tender. "This poultice will help with the pain."

There was a moment of silence, followed by a sharp intake of breath from Elvis. "Ouch! Careful, Katie."

"Don't be such a baby," Katie chided, her tone playful. "You've had worse."

Then, a sigh.

"Katie, we can't keep doing this. I told you things are different now." Elvis sounded tired, his voice strained.

"Are they? When I'm with you, it feels just like old times. We sure had something special, didn’t we, Elvis? Don't you miss it?"

Clementine's stomach churned as she imagined Katie sitting close to him, her hands gentle on his skin. She knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping, but she couldn't seem to make herself move.

There was a long pause, and then Elvis spoke, his words hesitant. "I... I don't know, Katie. It's been so long. I’m not the same man I was before."

Katie's voice turned pleading. "But you could be. We could be happy again, Elvis. Just like we used to. If you just give me a chance—"

Another pause, heavy with unspoken words. "I can't make any promises, Katie. But... I won't deny that being with you brings back a lot of memories. Good ones."

Clementine's heart raced, her palms sweating as she listened to their exchange. Did Elvis still have feelings for Katie? Was she just a temporary distraction, a way to forget his past heartbreak?

“Why, Elvis? Why can’t you make any promises? Is it... because of her?” Katie asked, Katie asked, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice. "The city girl who's come to play at being a rancher?"

"Don't do that, Katie."

Katie scoffed, the sound sharp and brittle. "Oh, Elvis. Can't you see? She doesn't belong here. She's not one of us. Sooner or later, she'll realize that and go running back to her fancy city life. And where will that leave you?" She got up, dusting herself off. "Sometimes, you're a damned fool, Elvis Presley."

Clementine backed away from the door, her mind reeling. She couldn't bear to hear any more, couldn't face the possibility that Elvis might choose Katie over her. With a choked sob, she turned and fled down the stairs, out into the yard where she could breathe, where she could think.

Shaking her head, Clementine decided to focus on the one thing she could control—her work. She made her way downstairs and out to the barn, determined to throw herself into the daily chores and put all thoughts of Elvis and Katie out of her mind.

As she mucked out the stalls and fed the horses, Clementine found herself falling into a comfortable rhythm. The physical labor was soothing, allowing her to clear her head and focus on the task at hand. Before she knew it, she was hours deep into her tasks, the sun was setting, and it was time to head home.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't hear the sound of hoofbeats approaching the front yard until a familiar voice called out, "Clemmie!"

Clementine turned her head, her eyes widening in disbelief. There, sitting in a stagecoach, was Bonnie, her fiery red curls blowing in the breeze and her green eyes sparkling with mischief in the golden hour.

"Bonnie!" Clementine exclaimed, dropping her pitchfork and rushing forward to embrace her friend. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't arriving for another week!"

Bonnie laughed, hugging Clementine tightly. "I couldn't wait that long to see you, darling. I hopped on the first train out of New York and made my way here as fast as I could."

Clementine stepped back, taking in the sight of her best friend. Bonnie looked radiant, her cheeks flushed from the ride and her smile as wide as the sky. "I can't believe you're really here," Clementine said, shaking her head in amazement.

Bonnie grinned, linking her arm through Clementine's. "Well, believe it, darling. I'm here, and I'm ready for an adventure. Now, show me around this ranch of yours. I want to see everything!"

Clementine laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. With Bonnie by her side, everything seemed brighter, more manageable. She led her friend around the ranch, introducing her to the horses and the cattle, showing her the sprawling fields and the cozy bunkhouse.

As they walked, Clementine found herself pouring out her heart to Bonnie, telling her all about Elvis and Katie and the confusion she felt. Bonnie listened intently, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"It sounds to me like you're in love with this Elvis fellow," Bonnie said finally, her tone matter-of-fact.

Clementine sputtered, her cheeks turning crimson. "What? No! I mean, I care about him, of course, but love? That's ridiculous."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow. "Is it? Clemmie, I've known you since we were in pigtails. I've never seen you this worked up over a man before. And from what you've told me, it sounds like he feels the same way about you."

Clementine wilted. "But this Katie… She's beautiful, and accomplished, and she understands this life in a way I never will."

Bonnie took Clementine's hands in hers, her green eyes fierce and determined. "Now you listen to me. You're smart, and strong, and you have the biggest heart of anyone I know. If this Elvis character can't see that, then he's a fool."

“Thanks, Bon. You always know just what to say. What would I ever do without you?”

“Shrivel up and die of sadness and boredom, most likely,” her best friend laughed. “Now, let's go find some trouble to get into. I've been cooped up on that train for far too long."

Clementine laughed, feeling a rush of affection for her friend. "I think I know just the thing. How do you feel about a little horseback riding?"

Bonnie's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Lead the way, darling. I'm ready for anything."

As they made their way to the stables, Clementine spotted Red and Slim leaning against the fence, deep in conversation.

Red's eyes widened as he took in Bonnie's fiery red curls and sparkling green eyes.

Bonnie smiled, holding out her hand. "I’m Bonnie, Clementine's friend from New York."

Red took her hand, holding it a beat longer than necessary. "New York, huh? What brings a city girl like you out to our humble ranch?"

Bonnie laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, you know. Adventure, excitement, the chance to see my best friend in the world."

Red grinned, leaning in closer. "Well, I can certainly promise you adventure and excitement, Miss Bonnie."

Slim rolled his eyes, elbowing Red in the ribs. "Ignore him, Miss Bonnie. He's all talk and no action."

Red chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I don't know about that, Miss Bonnie. I do my best to make all our guests feel welcome."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Is that so? Well, I guess I'll just have to see for myself."

As Bonnie and Red continued their flirtatious banter, Clementine felt her spirits lift. It was good to see her friend getting along so well with the ranch hands.

Suddenly, a shout rang out across the yard. "The fence is down! The cattle are escaping!"

Clementine's heart raced as she saw the herd of cattle stampeding through the broken fence. "We have to round them up!" she cried, running towards the stables.

Red and Slim were already saddling up their horses. "Miss Clementine, you take the north pasture," Red called out. "Slim and I will head south. Rusty, Billy, head east. We'll meet up at the old oak tree." He looked back at Bonnie. “You alright to stay here a spell?”

Bonnie nodded as Clementine swung herself up into the saddle, her face set with determination.

They rode hard, the wind whipping through their hair as they chased down the errant cattle. It was a minor crisis, but it forced everyone to work together to resolve the issue.

Finally, after several hours of hard work, they managed to herd the last of the cattle back into the pasture.

Exhausted but triumphant, Clementine, Red, and the rest of the ranch hands made their way back to the house for a very late dinner, where Bonnie was helping prepare a bountiful spread.

As they entered the dining room, Clementine was surprised to see Katie sitting at the dining table.

"Katie!" Ida exclaimed, setting down a steaming pot of stew. "I'm so glad you could join us for dinner."

Katie smiled, her flaxen hair gleaming in the candlelight. "Thank you for asking me to stay, Miss Ida. It's always a pleasure to share a meal with friends."

Clementine's stomach churned at the sight of Katie, memories of the woman’s earlier conversation with Elvis still fresh in her mind. She took a seat at the table, trying to ignore the way Katie's eyes seemed to be searching around the room. For him.

Bonnie leaned over to Clementine, her voice low. "So that's the famous Katie Hawthorne? I can see why she's got Elvis all twisted up."

Clementine sighed, nodding. "Yeah, they were going to get married until she up and left one day. They’ve got... history."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "I see."

As they sat down to eat, Clementine found herself seated across from Katie. The blonde gave her a polite smile, but there was a guardedness in her eyes that made Clementine uneasy.

"Clementine, I hear you had quite the adventure today," Katie said, her voice cool but not unkind. "I'm glad to see you're settling into ranch life so well."

Clementine forced a smile, determined to be civil. "Thank you, Katie. This year’s been a learning curve, but I'm enjoying the challenge."

Katie nodded, taking a sip of her water. "It's not an easy life, but it can be a rewarding one. If you're cut out for it."

Clementine bristled at the implication, but before she could respond, the door opened and Elvis stepped into the room. He was moving slowly, his face still pale, but there was a determined set to his jaw.

"Elvis!" Ida exclaimed, her face lighting up. "It's so good to see you up and about!"

"Elvis, darling, you're here," Katie purred, patting the seat beside her. "Come, sit with me. We have so much to catch up on."

Elvis hesitated, his gaze flickering to Clementine before he nodded and took the offered seat. Clementine felt a stab of jealousy, her appetite suddenly deserting her.

"Evening, everyone. Sorry I'm late."

He made his way to the table, his steps measured and careful. As he neared Katie, she reached out and touched his arm, a look of concern on her face. "Elvis, are you sure you should be out of bed? You're still recovering."

Elvis patted her hand. "I'm fine, Katie. Just a little sore, is all. Nothing a good meal and some good company can't fix."

He settled into the chair between Katie and Clementine, his leg brushing against Clem’s under the table. She felt a flush creep up her neck at the contact, her skin tingling where they touched. She forced herself to focus on her plate, not wanting to give away the effect he had on her.

As the meal progressed, Bonnie regaled them all with tales of her adventures in New York, her quick wit and easy charm winning over even the most taciturn of the ranch hands. Red, in particular, seemed taken with her, his eyes rarely straying from her face.

Even so, Clementine couldn’t focus on anything but the strange situation she found herself in. Even as she laughed and chatted with the others, Clementine could feel the weight of Katie's presence, assessing and calculating. It made her feel off-balance, unsure of her place in this world that Katie knew so well. Her stomach roiled.

She couldn't help but notice the easy familiarity between Elvis and Katie, the way they laughed and reminisced about old times. It was clear they shared a deep bond, a history that Clementine could never hope to match.

"Do you remember old Samson's face when he caught us sneaking out of the barn that night?" Katie giggled, her hand resting on Elvis's arm.

Elvis chuckled, shaking his head. "I thought he was gonna skin us alive. But you sweet-talked him out of it, as usual."

"What can I say? I've always been good at getting what I want." Katie's eyes sparkled with mischief, her lips curving into a seductive smile.

Clementine's heart sank as she watched their interaction, doubt gnawing at her insides. Did Elvis still harbor feelings for Katie? Was he considering rekindling their romance?

Bonnie, ever observant, leaned across the table to whisper in Clementine's ear. "Don't let her get to you, Clemmie. She's just trying to stake her claim."

Then, never one to let an awkward moment pass, Bonnie eased back into her chair with a mischievous grin. "So, Elvis, I hear you’re quite the foreman," she said, her voice carrying across the table. "Tell me, what's a handsome cowboy like you doing running a ranch all by your lonesome?"

Elvis choked on his stew, his eyes widening in surprise. The other ranch hands snickered, their faces red with barely suppressed laughter. “Nice to meet you too, Bonnie.”

“No, really! Do pray tell,”Bonnie grinned.

"Well, I... uh..." Elvis cleared his throat, clearly taken aback by Bonnie's forwardness. "I'm not running it alone, y’know. I have a whole team of hardworking folks helping me out."

Bonnie nodded, her expression serious. "Of course, of course. But still, it must get lonely out here sometimes. Don't you ever wish for a little companionship?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

Clementine kicked Bonnie under the table, her face flushing with embarrassment. But Bonnie just laughed, clearly enjoying the effect she was having on the usually unflappable Elvis.

As the dinner wore on, Bonnie kept up a steady stream of witty repartee, peppering Elvis with questions about life on the ranch and his plans for the future. The other ranch hands could barely contain their laughter, choking on their food as Bonnie's New York City directness clashed with Elvis's stoic cowboy demeanor.

At some point during the night, while everyone was in their sixth fit of laughter in a row, Bonnie cleared her throat and made an announcement. "I've been thinking," she said, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "I'd like to stay at the ranch for a while longer, if that's alright with you, Clementine."

Red, who had been hanging on Bonnie's every word throughout the meal, sat up straighter in his chair. "That's great news, Miss Bonnie," he said, his voice eager. "I'd be more’n happy to show you around the ranch, if you'd like."

Bonnie smiled, her cheeks dimpling. "I'd like that very much, Red. Thank you."

Clementine nodded, forcing a smile. Her best friend in the world was always welcome. But even as everyone laughed around her, she felt melancholy. Doubts lingered, gnawing at her heart. Somewhere between the second and third course, she felt lightheaded. She stepped out onto the porch, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. The evening's events swirled through her mind—Bonnie's arrival, the weird tension at dinner, sitting next to Elvis and nearly jumping out of her skin when his knee touched hers...

"Clem?" a familiar voice called out softly from behind her.

She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his handsome face illuminated by the warm glow of the lanterns.

He came to me, she thought, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Y’know, I wasn't sure if you'd be joining us tonight, Elvis, what with you still on the mend and all."

He stepped out onto the porch, his spurs jingling with each movement. "Aw shucks, you know me. I never could resist a party. 'Specially not with that firecracker friend of yours lightin' things up."

Clementine laughed. "Bonnie sure is something, isn't she? Hope she didn't put you too much on the spot in there."

Elvis leaned against the railing beside her, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Nothin' I can't handle. Your girl's got a tongue quicker'n a rattler's strike, but she means well. Kinda reminds me of someone else I know." He shot her a wink.

"Wonder who that could be," Clementine teased, bumping his shoulder playfully with her own. She took a moment to really look at him, warmth blooming in her chest. The past weeks had been hard on him, but he was finally starting to look like his old self again—color in his cheeks, that familiar glint of mischief in his blue eyes.

"I'm real glad you're feeling better, Elvis. We were all so worried about you, you know."

He ducked his head, suddenly bashful. "Shucks, ain't no need for worryin'. Can't keep a stubborn ol' mule like me down for long."

"I have never met a mule half as stubborn as you, Elvis Presley," Clementine ribbed.

"You got me there," he conceded with a chuckle. Then his expression softened. "I never did thank ya proper, Clem. For takin' such good care of me when I was laid up. Ida told me how you were always there, changin' my bandages and makin' sure I took my medicine... I 'preciate it. More'n you know."

Clementine felt a sudden lump in her throat. "Of course, Elvis. There wasn't anywhere else I would've been. I couldn't have bared it if... if we'd lost you. Windy Creek just wouldn't be the same without you."

Elvis looked at her intently, something flickering in his gaze that made her heart skip. "That so?"

"It is," Clementine whispered, feeling pulled in by some invisible force between them.

Elvis reached out, tenderly brushing a stray curl behind her ear. His fingertips lingered on her cheek and Clementine's breath hitched. "Clem, I..."

Just then, the sound of raucous laughter erupted from inside the house, breaking the spell. Elvis dropped his hand and they both took an unconscious step back, the air suddenly thick with words unsaid.

Clementine cleared her throat, trying to calm the riot of butterflies in her stomach. "We should probably head back in soon. Wouldn't want Bonnie to commandeer the whole evening."

"Heaven forbid," Elvis agreed, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

But neither of them actually moved. Clementine and Elvis lingered on the porch for a moment longer, not quite ready to rejoin the clamor inside. The night air was cool and sweet, the distant sounds of crickets and lowing cattle a soothing backdrop to their companionable silence.

Elvis fished in his pocket for a moment before withdrawing a battered harmonica. At Clementine's curious look, he just grinned and brought it to his full lips, blowing a few soft, experimental notes.

"Huh, I didn't know you played," Clementine said, pleasantly surprised.

Elvis shrugged, his eyes twinkling in the low light. "There's a lot you don't know about me, darlin'. I'm a man of many talents."

"Is that so?" Clementine arched a brow, fighting back a smile. "And here I thought I had you all figured out. The strong, silent type with a heart of gold."

"Aw shucks, you'll make me blush," Elvis teased. He leaned back against the porch rail, cradling the harmonica loosely in his hands. "Nah, I ain't nothin' special. Just a cowpoke who likes a good tune now and then."

"I don't believe that for a second," Clementine said softly. "I think you're a lot more than you let on, Elvis Presley."

He looked at her then, something raw and unguarded in his gaze. "Maybe so. But I could say the same about you. When you first blew into town with your fancy city clothes and your high-falutin' ideas, I reckoned you wouldn't last a month out here."

Clementine huffed out a laugh. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Lemme finish," Elvis chided gently. "What I'm tryin' to say is you surprised me, Clem. You're tougher than you look. Stronger. You've taken to this life like you were born to it, and you ain't afraid to get your hands dirty or speak your mind. It's a rare thing, and I admire it. Admire... you."

Clementine felt a flush creep up her neck at his words, her heart suddenly racing. "I... I don't know what to say. Thank you, Elvis. That means a lot, coming from you."

He ducked his head, suddenly bashful. "Ain't nothin' but the truth. Windy Creek's lucky to have you."

"I think I'm the lucky one," Clementine said softly. "I never knew how much I needed this place, these people, until I found myself here. It's like... like I finally found where I belong." She laughed self-consciously. "Listen to me, getting all sentimental. Bonnie would never let me hear the end of it."

"Secret's safe with me," Elvis promised with a wink. "But I know what you mean. This ranch... it has a way of gettin' under your skin, makin' you feel like a part of somethin' bigger. It ain't always easy, but it's a good life. An honest one." He raised the harmonica to his lips again, blowing a few mournful notes that seemed to hang in the night air.

Clementine closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. When it faded away, she opened them again to find Elvis watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. "That was beautiful," she said honestly. "Will you teach me to play like that?"

Elvis's face split into a delighted grin. "You want to learn? Well alright then, c'mere." He beckoned her closer until they were standing side by side, shoulders almost brushing. He handed her the harmonica, arranging her fingers on the holes. "Now, purse your lips like you're gonna whistle, and blow real gentle-like."

Clementine did as instructed, letting out a breathy, off-key squeak. She dissolved into laughter. "I sound like a dying cow!"

Elvis chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, that was good for a first try. You just gotta adjust your embouchure a little, like this—"

“Embou-what?”

“Embouchure. What, you don’t speak Eye-talian?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s French.”

“Oh.” The two erupted into laughter, a deep belly ache that had them soon doubled over the porch railing and wiping tears from their eyes.

“Your mouth position, silly girl. Look at me, teachin’ a fancy New York City girl something!”

Clem playfully slapped him on the arm. “I am not fancy!” She bent her leg to show him her well-worn, mud-covered boot. “See?”

Elvis laughed and brought his own hands up to cup hers, guiding the harmonica back to her mouth. This close, she could feel the heat of him, could catch the faint scent of leather and soap and something uniquely Elvis. It made her head swim pleasantly.

Under his careful tutelage, Clementine managed to produce a passable chord. She beamed up at him, giddy with the small success. "I did it!"

"Sure did," Elvis praised, his eyes warm and proud. "Stick with me, kid, and you'll be a regular vir-tu-o-so in no time. Or... is that another word I gotta teach ya?”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

They stayed like that for a while, huddled together in the pool of lantern light, trading the harmonica back and forth as Elvis taught her a simple melody. It was a rare moment of peace, a stolen pocket of time where the rest of the world and all its troubles fell away.

As the moon climbed higher in the star-strewn sky, Clementine finally straightened up with a sigh. "I suppose we really should head back in. Bonnie's liable to send out a search party if we stay out here much longer."

Elvis huffed out a laugh. "Lord have mercy. I don't think I'm ready for another interrogation quite yet." He hesitated for a beat, then reached out to take Clementine's hand in his. "Clem, I... I just wanted to say..."

But before he could finish the thought, the porch door banged open and Bonnie's vibrant red head poked out. "There you are! I was starting to think you two had run off together." Her green eyes sparkled with mischief as she took in their linked hands and close proximity.

Clementine felt a blush stain her cheeks and she stepped back self-consciously, dropping Elvis's hand. "Bonnie! We were just... Elvis was showing me how to play the harmonica."

"Uh huh," Bonnie teased, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Well, hell, don't let me interrupt. I just came to tell you that apparently Ida's famous peach pie is being served, and if you don't get in there soon, Slim's liable to eat the whole thing himself."

"We'll be right there," Clementine promised. Bonnie flashed them a knowing grin and a jaunty salute before disappearing back inside, leaving them alone once more.

Clementine turned back to Elvis, an apology on her lips, but he just shook his head with a rueful smile. "Never a dull moment with that one around, is there?"

"Welcome to my world," Clementine said dryly. "I love that girl to pieces, but subtlety's never been her strong suit."

"Seems to me she's just lookin' out for her best friend," Elvis mused. "Can't fault her for that. You're lucky to have someone who cares about you so much. Hell, we all care about you."

For a suspended moment, they just stared at each other, the air heavy with unspoken longing. Elvis's gaze dropped to her mouth, his thumbs sweeping over the delicate arch of her cheekbones. Clementine's lips parted on a shallow inhale, her body thrumming with anticipation.

But before either of them could close that final distance, a sudden crash sounded from inside the house, followed by a peal of laughter and Red's booming voice calling out an apology.

The spell was broken. Elvis released her and stepped back, clearing his throat roughly. "We should, uh... we should probably get in there. Before they tear the place down around Miss Ida's ears."

"Right," Clementine agreed, trying to calm the riot of her pulse. "We wouldn't want that."

Elvis held out his arm to her, a small, crooked smile on his lips. "Shall we, boss lady?"

As the evening wound down, Katie stood up, smoothing her skirts. "Well, I should be getting back to Big Sky. Early morning tomorrow." She turned to Elvis, a soft smile on her face. "Walk me out?"

Elvis hesitated, glancing at Clementine. But then he nodded, pushing back his chair. "Of course."

Clementine watched them go, her heart sinking. She knew it was foolish to read too much into a simple gesture of courtesy. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted, that Katie's return had stirred up old feelings best left buried.

Bonnie, sensing her friend's distress, reached over to squeeze her hand. "Don't worry, Clemmie. He'll come around. He just needs time to sort through his feelings."

Clementine nodded, trying to take comfort in her friend's words. But the doubt lingered, a small, insistent voice in the back of her mind.

“Yeah, well, maybe by then I’ll already have moved on.”

Clementine sat at the card table, trying to focus on the game of poker in front of her. But her attention kept drifting to the table across the room, where Elvis and Katie sat huddled together, laughing and whispering like old friends.

She couldn't help but compare their easy intimacy to the tender moment she and Elvis had shared on the porch just a few nights ago. The way he had looked at her, the gentle brush of his fingers against her cheek... it had felt so real, so meaningful.

But now, watching him with Katie, Clementine couldn't help but wonder if she had been reading too much into it. If the connection she thought they shared was nothing more than wishful thinking on her part.

"Clemmie? It's your turn, darling." Bonnie's voice snapped her out of her reverie, and Clementine blinked, realizing she had been staring off into space.

"Oh, right. Sorry." She studied her cards, trying to remember what game they were even playing. Across from her, Red and Lyle exchanged knowing glances, their eyes flickering between her and the other table.

Clementine felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and frustration. Was she really so transparent? Did everyone on the ranch know about her foolish, unrequited feelings for Elvis?

She was just about to make a halfhearted bet when the door to the bunkhouse swung open and Ida bustled in, a letter clutched in her hand.

"Miss Clementine, I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I completely forgot to give you this earlier. It arrived with the afternoon post." She held out the envelope, her face creased with a smile.

Clementine took the letter, recognizing Joseph's familiar handwriting. She had been corresponding with her old friend for weeks, sharing stories about life on the ranch and seeking his advice when things with Elvis got complicated. It had become a comforting routine, a way to stay connected to her old life while embracing her new one.

She opened the envelope, expecting to find another friendly, chatty letter full of news from home and words of encouragement. But as her eyes scanned the first few lines, Clementine felt her stomach drop.

"Oh no," she muttered under her breath. "Oh no, no, no. I’ve really made a mess now."

"Clemmie? What is it? What's wrong?" Bonnie leaned in close, her voice low and concerned.

Clementine looked up, her face pale. "It's Joseph. He's... he's coming to Windy Creek. Says he's booked a ticket and everything."

Bonnie's eyes widened. "Joseph? As in, your Joseph?"

Clementine nodded miserably. "I've been writing to him, just as a friend. I never thought he'd actually come out here. Oh, Bonnie, what am I going to do?"

Bonnie reached out, squeezing Clementine's hand. "Don't panic, Clemmie. We'll figure this out. It's not like you invited him, right?"

Clementine shook her head. "No, of course not. But... what if Elvis finds out? What if he thinks..." She trailed off, her gaze drifting back to the other table where Elvis and Katie sat, still deep in conversation.

Bonnie followed her gaze, her expression thoughtful. Even she had to admit it: "Clementine, honey, I don't think you have anything to worry about on that front. Elvis is clearly still hung up on Little Miss Perfect over there."

Clementine sighed, her heart sinking. Bonnie was right. Elvis had made his feelings for Katie abundantly clear. What right did she have to be upset about Joseph's visit when Elvis was practically fawning over his ex-fiancée right in front of her?

Still, the thought of her former beau showing up unannounced, stirring up old memories and complications... it was enough to make Clementine's head spin.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts. "Okay," she said, more to herself than to Bonnie. "Okay. I can handle this. It's just a friendly visit from an old friend, right? No big deal."

Bonnie nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Exactly. And who knows? Maybe a little competition is just what Mr. Stubborn over there needs to pull his head out of his rear and realize what he's got right in front of him."

Clementine couldn't help but laugh at that, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. Trust Bonnie to find the silver lining in even the most awkward of situations.

Across the room, Elvis glanced over at the sound of Clementine's laughter, his brow furrowing slightly. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, that the letter Ida had delivered had upset Clementine in some way.

But before he could dwell on it further, Katie was leaning in close again, her hair brushing against his cheek as she whispered something in his ear. Elvis forced a smile, trying to focus on the conversation at hand, but Katie’s perfume smelled so good.

Taglist: @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @prompted-wordsmith @precious-little-scoundrel @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @austinbutlersgirl67@lala1267 @thatbanditqueen @dontcrydaddy @lovingdilfs @elvispresleygf @plasticfantasticl0ver @ab4eva @presleysweetheart @chasingwildflowers @elvispresleywife @uh-all-shook-up @xxquinnxx @edgeofrealitys-blog@velvetprvsley @woundmetender @avengen @richardslady121 @presleyhearted @kendralavon7 @18lkpeters@lookingforrainbows @elvisalltheway101 @sissylittlefeather @eliseinmemphis@tacozebra051 @thetaoofzoe @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @crash-and-cure @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @devilsflowerr@dirtyelvisfant4sy @elvislittleone @foreverdolly @getyourpresleyfix@gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @p0lksaladannie @doll-elvis @tacozebra051 @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997 @myradiaz@livelaughelvis @deke-rivers-1957 @atleastpleasetelephone @sloppiest-of-jos

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fans #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis fic #elvis x oc #elvis au #alternate universe #alternate universe fanfic #wild west fanfic

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rathayibacter · 2 months

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might as well do a little TDOV promo, esp since ive got some new folks following me. hi, im rath! im a queer nonbinary game designer, and ive written a bunch of ttrpgs!

some quick blurbs under the readmore

BIG PROJECTS: - Disparateum, a game of exploring a city at the crossroads of many worlds. dance through dreams, swordfight your reflection, explore a fractal museum, scale the surface of your own soul, and more! - KATABASIS, fight your way out of a concrete afterlife as you try and return to life. your armor, weapons, and tools are crafted from your emotional baggage, and the monsters and environments youll face are all splintered and confused reflections of the world you're struggling to return to. - [BXLLET>, a post-apocalyptic cowboy game where bullets are your XP, and every shot fired kills your target. has a ton of supplements and reimaginings.

SMALL PROJECTS: - Charcuterie, three zine collections. the first two are compilations of small games ive written and released in various forms, the third is short stories and poetry. messy, weird, barely edited, stuffed with doodles, a lot of fun. - Stationkeeping, a small Animal Crossing-inspired game about renovating a dinky space station, slowly expanding it out and occasionally meeting aliens or other players on their own journeys. played on index cards you carry with you and fill out as you do various things in your life. - Maybe One Day, It'll Be Enough - a game about war gods sentenced to infinite community service for their crimes. played by throwing a ball against a brick wall. for hours. originally released as a tumblr post here. - NOT WEAVERDICE, half a core mechanic for a superhero game, half a ramble about superhero ttrpgs and how to have fun with them. im currently working on a game that expands out this idea, called Unskilled Labor. - MORTAL POP!BAT, a 616-page Funko Pop wargame. yeah, im including it in the small projects category. fuck you. - Wintergreen, an OSR game that fits inside a mint tin. one of my earliest released games, still has some pretty cute ideas.

thanks for checking this all out, it means the world! the last few months have been pretty tight, and every little bit of support really does make a difference. happy trans day of visibility everyone, love yall!

#queer #ttrpgs

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brainrockets · 10 months

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Some of the Suvi critics out there are... something. I mean, I get it if you don't enjoy media because of unpleasantness. I very definitely avoided Succession because it squicked me deeply.

So if Suvi squicks ya out. Like sure fine. But some of the interpretations of Suvi being irredeemable or 'not showing signs' that she might be 'redeemable' are just weird? To me?

I mean. I also was raised in one of the cristofascist American evangelical death cults and had to deprogram and unlearn a lot in my 20s and have done a lot of work to be in a healthy space now so... maybe I just have sympathy for being 20 and just suddenly seeing cracks appear in the way you understand yourself and the world around you?

One thing people seem real perturbed by is Suvi's behavior towards Ame (and Ame's seeming lack of correction of that behavior).

And I think there are a few things at play here.

1. Suvi was raised in a highly ordered hierarchy as a soldier from early childhood.

2. Ame is a witch of the heart and has been handling all manner of village nonsense and nonsense people for years.

3. Suvi has not had ANY sort of psychological safety or release since maybe the Cottage. She is more afraid of Steel than Orima.

4. Ame is worried about Suvi. Worried about the way she killed without trouble. The way she's not allowed herself to express feelings for the most part other than anger.

5. When you have a lot of feelings and no safe way to let them out. They still come out. Usually inappropriately. Often paradoxically they get vented on people you feel safe with. Not to say that's acceptable or good but it is pretty normal?

6. Paradoxically, while Ame is safe to be mad at, perhaps subconsciously, Suvi also views Ame as a threat. And she's not wrong. Ame is a huge threat to her. Ame threatens to upend everything that Suvi believes about herself, about magic, about her world. She also plays by different rules and has actively exposed Suvi to risk by divulging things Suvi wanted to keep private. (Not with malice but definitely flagrantly flouting basic rules because she doesn't know they exist.) She also is a threat to the defenses Suvi has built around herself in the wake of her parents' deaths. The way that she has used the notion of the Citadel's correctness as a shield against the pain of loss.

7. I think Ame has dealt with wounded animals and wounded people fairly regularly in her role as apprentice. I think that Ame knows that wounded creatures snap at someone even if they are trying to help. Snapping back at her isn't maybe the move right now. And she has expressed dissent, she's not leaving her nonsense totally alone. She's just carefully cutting away little pieces of net and tutting at her raging and getting a little closer each time. And when Suvi finally lets herself cry instead of rage, Ame reacts with the same patient care she'd use with an injured animal.

8. Also, i do think people are missing Suvi's actions behind her words. Particularly vis a vis redeemable qualities. She does talk mad shit and she says some truly terrible things. But her actions are in conflict with her words. She abandoned her training and her responsibility to help Ame break her curse. He outfitted her friends from the armory and rented out a whole floor of an inn just to be kind. She's kept silent on Honored Friends the entire time she's been at the Citadel. Steel told her to stay and wait but she ran after Ame anyways. She was making a lot of threats but now that Eursulon has promised to free the Great Spirit her only issue with helping do it is that Steel might kill her first. She is ready to throw down for her friends with extreme prejudice.

She's at a crossroads. I find it very hopeful. But like again, I relate pretty heavily to being young and afraid and angry as the world opens up before you and everything you thought you knew is wrong and harming people. Knowing there's a chasm and on one side is your family and your community and on the other side is the unknown and your friends.

#long post #wbn pod #suvi #worlds beyond number #aabria iyengar

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natalchartnurtures · 4 months

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PAC: Messages of encouragement for you right now~

I'm excited to announce my first tarot reading for our lovely community here on Tumblr! I've been looking forward to posting tarot content, and we're finally doing it! So, here are messages of encouragement from spirit (or God, or whatever you believe in).

~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3

Pile 1:

The affirmation "the world IS a safe place for me" could be useful right now. You need to hear it more often. Say it to yourself when you feel lonely and/or in a difficult mental space. As you're reading this, you're leaving behind the lack mentality. Even though you're not quite where you want to be, take this reading as a sign that you're well on your way to abundance, whatever YOUR abundance is. You may be feeling hostile towards everything and everybody outside of you right now. This is probably a reflection of inner hostility, like being mean to yourself and being overly critical with yourself and therefore other people. It will help you to be mindful of it. You are right in the middle of a transition, and you're doing a wonderful job conquering unknown territory. You are doing incredible shadow work, maybe around nurturing/mothering yourself, and boy, is it working charms. You can't really see your own progress right now, but honey, you're doing SO well :) You have ways to go still, but there's nothing you can't face, queen. Love and light.

P.S. Queen is a gender-neutral term 🙃🙆🏾‍♀️

Love, light and hugs !!

Pile 2:

Wow, pile 2, you've REALLY done a lot recently. You cut ties with people, places, and things that no longer serve you LIKE A BADASS. We love to see that. You've released a lot in this process too, energetically speaking, your energy feels quite light right now :) LOVE IT Even though things seem out of balance right now, know that you're standing at somewhat of a proverbial crossroads at the moment. You seem open to whatever life has for you right now and seem willing to put in the work into any opportunity that catches your attention. Good for you, pile 2! Don't be surprised when success, of any kind, shows up to catche you off guard. Haha, you deserve every bit of it :) Slay, pile 2. I'm loving your energy ✨️

Love, light and hugs !!

Pile 3:

Love is coming, pile 3. Love is all around you. In the early morning coffee sips in front of your window looking out into the sunrise or in the beautiful roses out on your porch. In smiles from strangers or in the warm embrace of a lover. Love. Is. Everywhere. Love, in whatever shape or form, is ALWAYS there for you if you're open to finding it. If you feel heartbroken or lonely, that's maybe because you believe love has to be worked hard for and earned? Babygirl, you DO deserve love both from yourself and eventually from connections outside of you, okay? You're doing a great job outgrowing this belief. I can see it's not been easy, but you ARE doing great! Take it slow (or slower than your usual pace) when it comes to fast life (if you have one) or try slowing down your mind with meditations or by getting into the flow state while working more often. This will allow you to be softer and attract more abundance as a result. Don't knock it till you try it ;) You're doing great, sweetie.

Love, light and hugs !!

~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3~<3

#tarotreading #divination #tarotblr #tarot #tarotcommunity #spirituality #tarotguidance #tumblrtarot #divinemessages #believeinmagic #astrology #astrology community #PAC #pick a card #pick a card reading #pac reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #pac tarot

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pomogando · 6 months

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Sirens Call

An Illumina x Reader

Content warnings: hurt and comfort, depictions of blood and gore, implied torture

(1600+ words, oneshot, romantic intended but could be read as platonic)

You were never one to believe in the deities.

Not as in believe in their existence, there was no denying that, but as in their impact on normal men. Why should you concern yourself with a beings problems of who you will never meet?

That's why you left lost temple after all.

Crossroad was much more peaceful compared to that shithole. Your apartment had a good view of the ocean which was never really visible in Lost temple.

But the rent was terrible, you didn't know anyone, and if you're being completely honest you miss the food of your home faction,

but it was home.

You guess.

You decided to try something new one day, copying a recipe online that claimed to be '98% authentic.' You were much more skilled with sweets compared to more savory options. Hopefully, this would turn out better than the usual boxed dinners you bought, you spent more money than you're used to spending on ingredients.

You didn't have the patience (or the time for that matter) to make your own tortillas, store-bought was just fine.

You chopped up some peppers, fewer than he would've used. Your caretaker always preferred to make his own sauce that was way too hot for your tastes.

You couldn't help but notice every thing you did wrong, your cuts also weren't precise like his was. You struggled with squeezing the limes and dropped one of your avocados on the floor. You threw the bits into the blender and turned it on, swearing as you dropped a bit of parsley on the counter. Unfortunately it seemed your apartments shitty electricity seemed to have failed at this moment, buzzing and weeping before leaving you in the dark with a half mixed sauce and an overwhelming smell of lime.

Turns out the water was off, and the wifi, along with the damn a/c. You washed your hands with a water bottle and a dream, not wanting to rub chile into your eye like when you were younger. The same old towel you've always had dried your hands.

Crossroads was pitch black which blended into the starless night sky. That was strange. Crossroads was well known for never failing structurally; you could hear annoyed neighbors conversate amongst themselves.

You should've just ordered takeout.

The only source of light this dark night was a particularly ominous bright star. Staring at it gave you a headache; it might be time for bed.

Though, before you could even finish your next thought the blender came back to life screaming. It was about to fall to the ground as you caught it, a bit of sauce falling on the ground. The lights started to flicker next. Then the a/c froze you and then the tv was blaring that one soap opera you hated with a passion.

You left the now unplugged blender on the counter haphazardly as you ran for the tvs power, but as if things couldn't get any worse you felt the ground beneath you rumble. You fell to your knees as everything suddenly turned back off, diving you back into the night. A loud thump behind you and a groan. You turned around and saw something that might've been a blessing; or maybe not.

A deity of light, the intensity of the light was harsh but strangely warm. It's like a piece of the sun fell onto your balcony. The sun was curled up into a fetal position. The sun looked pitiful as its wounds dripped ichor onto your floor. The sun was breathing heavily as if someone tried to snuff it out.

You watched in awe, when suddenly the deity of light unhinged its jaw to release a primal, strained scream at a decibel you've never heard before. You should've gone deaf. The scream was a warning, an overwhelming dread filling you from head to toe. Your head was spinning as you felt tears form without you realizing.

Yet, for some reason you only stepped closer.

Their lone wing was clipped down to nothing. Their body covered in lacerations. Someone made a futile struggle of killing a god, but a part of you thought maybe that wasn't the goal despite how deep the gashes seemed to go.

Despite the odds against them, they were healing, slowly, but they were healing. The skin mending on its own like a seamstress would mend a sweater. All were mending except for a nasty bite near the shoulder that seemed to drip with a green liquid. You had a feeling it was slowing things down.

They didn't even seem to notice you.

You don't know why, maybe because you thought you couldn't contact anyone else about this even if you wanted to, you ran to your bathroom and pulled out whatever looked useful for dealing with wounds. You definitely didn't know what you were doing but there's no way you could've made things worse.

In spite of your preparation, you hesitated as you stepped close to the cowering figure; their breathing was ragged and seemed torturous, the star writhing with each breath. Their hands curled up into fists as a searing pain wad across their entire body.

You hesitated, but eventually got closer to the cowering figure and spoke in a shaky voice

"Can I... touch you?"

The angel did not respond, still curled up into a ball. It was as if it didn't hear you.

"I'm… just going to clean your bite mark. I hope that's okay. You can tell me no."

Silence filled the air.

You hastily wet your towel, stepping closer and careful not to cause more pain. You hesitantly begun to lightly dab the bite wound clean of the venomous green liquid. Only to be practically forced to the ground as the being of light let out another animalistic scream, shielding their body with whats left of their wings. The voice was strained but stern, spoken as a command that one couldn't refuse.

"Don't touch me."

Yet, hypocritically, it seemed to wrap its arms around you. Your body being pulled in close as it breathed heavily in your arms. You felt the ichor liquid spilling on your clothes but you felt as if you had better things to worry about.

Perhaps they didn't realizing they were clinging onto you like a scared dying animal. Blood loss could alter a mind, and maybe Gods had the same fear- maybe an even greater fear- of dying like mortals. Your thoughts were clouded as you tried to focus on what's in front of you as you gently wrapped your arms around their quivering body as ichor stained your skin. You would give them the comfort they would never admit to craving.

And the sun would let you.

You didn't know how to comfort people, but if the sun was bothered by it they wouldn't speak. Your soft, coddling reassurances of safety and warmth filled the ears of a deity twice your size. "You're going to be okay."

You could feel their blood drenched claws on your back as they kept their arms wrapped around your waist but they seemed to be careful not to harm you. The wounds on their back were being closed shut one by one, it was almost as if it was never there in the first place.

The bite wound seemed to finally be on the process to repairing itself aswell.

You opened your mouth hesitantly "do you have any more bite marks?" They only grumbled something inaudible in response, so you quietly scanned their body as best as you could.

"I just want to help you."

The deity seemed to flinch at those words, quietly pushing itself up from the ground to face you, they slowly opened their eyes as if they had been blind their whole life.

Their eyes were like a piercing blade. Eyes that would've made the bravest crumble into submission. Eyes that have probably seen many die in agony. Eyes that probably didn't care.

And yet, why did you feel your body relax as if you rejoiced with a long lost lover?

"Your eyes.." your voice was a soft whisper, music to their ears."They're like stars."

You would help them see again.

You put a hand on their cheek. Almost in a trance. Their eyes widened, you couldn't tell if it was fear or relief.

As quickly as that moment arrived, it quickly left. The star jolted up from your lap, unable to keep it's eyes off you as it made a run for the window to vanish into the night sky. Strangely, you could've sworn you saw their pale cheeks tint with color.

It felt as if you had just woken up from a dream. The only sign they had ever been here was the bloodied handprints on your back.

You didn't even notice when the lights came back to life as you sat there in shock and guilt.

The next, unpleasant morning. You tried your best to scrub your floor clean of blood. It seemed ichor was hard to get out even with a strong bleach. It would look jarring, but you decided to just place a rug over the spot. You didn't want to tell anyone what happened last night, not like they would believe you.

When you got your stained shirt out of the wash, you noticed something fall out onto the floor. A pale white feather. Somehow completely clean, it was practically glowing. Despite its delicate look it was tough and didn't tear. You ran a finger along the edge and it felt like gentle blades.

You had a feeling that it wasn't here by chance.

#legal woes || writings #phighting #legal woes || phighting #phighting!#phighting x reader #illumina x reader #illumina

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terranoctis · 1 month

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I played Hades II a fair bit yesterday during my breaks and free time for Supergiant Games' technical test of the game. Part of me wants to keep playing today, but I got stuff to do and I do want to keep up the excitement for the early access. I wrote a rough, kind of unedited essay about it before I went to sleep last night though below, mostly for me to have record of my memories in written form. Some spoiler-y screenshots and random thoughts/analyses below if you want to read more. I mean it--there are spoilers and the most random long tangents because I like to analyze. (I do recommend playing first if you have a chance to)

First thing I'll say is that the game is pretty phenomenal and so damn fun. The experience reminds me of when I played Hades for the first time in their initial Early Access of the game years ago. Longtime Supergiant Games fan here (since Transistor release)! I remember running into a bug then and reporting it when I froze in-game, but I have not run into any noticeable bugs at all yet for Hades II. I've done some reports for minor bugs, but extremely minor ones that I actually feel bad for even reporting and adding to their list of messages to go through. Supergiant has their QA down, truly. I have so much respect for them and how they've developed the game. Darren Korb did an amazing job on the music again. It has that iconic Hades sound with the strings (that is not a guitar, I forget what it's called) while also being its own distinct soundtrack.

The 4th wall banter moments between Melinoë and Homer (who is revealed as narrator!) have been one of my favorite things about the story/narration execution. Her being cognizant of Homer does make it so there are rather funny moments, but also brings up the question of how that might shape the narrative later on. I'm so curious!

When I first started the game, I had a funny moment where I died almost instantly in the second room because I was testing out Melinoe's skillset and ran out of MP (?) and then got slapped because I wasn't actually doing damage when trying to use her bigger skills, heh. It did take me some time to get used to it, but Mel's skills and cast abilities are so much fun to use when utilized well. Her cast and its ability to hold your enemies for a time is one of the best upgrades to combat, in my opinion. For all I love the first Hades, I remember having to dash like crazy to escape exploding carts coming after me if I didn't have a good boon to mitigate or avoid that. With the cast for Melinoë, it'll change that to placing strategically some casts that can hold quick enemies or enemies that are very dangerous if they get close to you (wailers in this game are one such enemy). In terms of boons, Demeter's, Hestia's, and Apollo's have been some of my favorites. Aphrodite also has a phenomenal one for casts that will gather your enemies into your cast, making it an ideal combination with some devastating other boons that can easily damage groups of enemies all at once. Hephaestus also has a pretty fun one where I think he can explode in a certain proximity with your special or attack, I forget. I do wonder if they'll have to rebalance some of these boons because there are certain ones I can annihilate enemies with--but then again, maybe that is needed for later sections of the game.

The numerous references to the moon in the game are a nice nod to Melinoë's lore in Greek mythology and poetry too. Though she's more associated with being a goddess of ghosts (I find it a nice touch you can salute shades you meet in the Crossroads because of this) and nightmares (I don't think it's a coincidence Hypnos is the only other survivor of Hades' inner sanctum), Melinoë has at some point been referenced as a moon goddess as well of the underworld. Selene is the moon goddess and Artemis has also become known as a goddess of the moon in mythology in addition to being the goddess of the hunt. So that connection between the three and the friendship they share in the game is pretty cool in that regard (Selene calls you the "Silver Sisters.")

Having Artemis become your friend in Hades II, something akin to a friendly rivalry like Thanatos was to Zagreus, is such a fun story--and then you have Selene added into that mix as well. From the few runs I've done, I've gathered that Artemis and Hermes are the first of the Olympus gods who knew of Melinoë's existence in her youth as Hecate's pupil. She helped Hecate hide the truth of Melinoës survival (at least from the Olympus gods)--and when Melinoë was ready, it was only then that Artemis leaked through Apollo that Hades' daughter was coming to fight Chronos and had survived the fall of Hades. So the boons you get are because the twins, Artemis and Apollo, played a role in connecting you to Olympus for the fight against Chronos. There seems to be more in this background that I'm curious to learn about. Just from their banter, it's clear Artemis has spent much time with Melinoë and Selene in some form. I don't know if they have duo boons in this game (or boon-hex? Selene gives you a hex), but I'm curious to see what these two's duo boon(s) would be if they have them.

The game also does that thing the first game did so well of shifting the world as you progress and have changes in the relationships about you. Nemesis is one of the new characters in Hades II who doesn't seem to like you very much initially, but with your dialogue with Odysseus nearby, you get the sense that it wasn't always this way. When you gift her a nectar, Melinoë subtly starts calling her "Nem," and you can tell the two of them are very slowly mending whatever it is they have (Odysseus chuckles nearby probably seeing the progress). You also meet Doom Incarnate (Moros) and have to unlock having him at the Crossroads by invoking him, which is also pretty fun in terms of letting you slowly do more runs and experience the world more in order to gather enough "resources" to call him. It allows a natural progression of characterization and getting to know the people around Melinoë, in my opinion.

Dora's also one of my favorite character already. There's something so funny about Melinoë encouraging Dora as she tries to scare and haunt her as a proper ghost, but then also rather touching that she just accepts that Dora just likes to hang out in her room and not go out much. I love Arachne too, and how she's just chillin' like, I'm bored and alone and just spinning webs, so here Melinoë, have some clothes I made.

This game makes me love it as much as I loved the first one. In some ways, in terms of how they executed establishing background and connections between Melinoë and her companions (Odysseus' calls her a "little goddess" as a child! Hecate plays hide-and-go-seek with her!), I think they've started out much stronger than they did in the first game. And this one already starts with a sort of high-stakes situation from the get-go. Melinoë's entire family has been taken by Chronos and she grew up apart from them. The game does well of letting you step into the world even if you haven't played the first one--and playing on your affection for Hades, Persephone, and Zagreus if you did. After all, considering how hard you worked as Zagreus to bring back together that family in the first game, the second game logically comes back with a vengeance with Melinoë at the loss of such a family and a need for vengeance against Chronos for ruining it. The world feels familiar, yet the cast of characters are so different.

And the designs of all the new gods! And the new designs for the old gods! They're all extremely well-done. I've been a longtime fan of the artists for the characters and the environments. They've done stellar jobs on it again for this one, and there's more touches to icons and designs of the UI I like too. The dialogue log is one of my favorite things too, as someone who might miss a piece of dialogue here and there when I take off my headphones. The voice acting in this game is also a whole notch up from the previous game. Not to knock anyone from the first Hades, since I think they did a great job, but I do feel like the voices have been more professionally recorded this time around. Or something about it is a little more polished. Kudos to Supergiant for another game that's an A+ in my book thus far. Ahh!

I could keep going, but honestly, I think it's best to have people experience the game in Early Access. I mostly just wanted a record for myself to look back on for being a small part of Hades II's journey and share some of my excitement and the random analyses I had. It'll be fun for me to look back on how I read some things and how I felt when the finished version of the game comes out eventually.

#personal #hades 2 #hades ii #hades ii spoilers #readings and ramblings

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yurixangst · 1 month

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Hello! I posted a new chapter for my RadioApple fanfic on Ao3! Here’s some doodlings:

Chasing Beatitude

Adults only! It’s rated E, but not for everybody!!

Chapter 10 snippet:

The feminine pitch in the speakers took an irregularly long pause to reply. “…Who’s asking?”

“Oh! Apologies again. We’re investigators who were hired by Lord Zestial’s estate. My… partner Al—.”

Shit. Using their real names wasn’t a good idea.

“—ecia and—.”

His dishonest introduction was cut off by a heavy hand at his shoulder spinning him around. “Excuse me?”

“What?” The innocence in his high octave was fake. “You should have a fake name.”

“I made no measure to hide my identity.” Alastor’s octave was high, as well, and accusatory. “What is a fake name going to do?”

Double shit.

This mission was off to a rocky onset. He blamed the Radio Demon for all of it. If he wasn’t caught between two determinative crossroads then maybe he could think clearer. That damn demon should’ve thought about putting together an alias, too! …So what if the specifics of the assignment were only mentioned two minutes ago! Additionally, there was a high likelihood that he would forget the fake name he just created—that was also Alastor’s fault.

UGH.

“Just go with it!”

‘Shut up.’

“Hello? Are you still there?” Their bickering was going to cost them a sale.

The radio star took the stage in his place. “Don’t mind my old chum, here, miss. This is his first case! He’s an extremely green junior detective who I’ve been devoting my precious time into training. My name is… Alecia, and this is Lucille—.”

An interjection corrected, “Luci for short.”

“Ahaha! Call him Lucille, his mother hates that nickname.” He was polite to the woman, but the facial expression shot a warning to the shorter male. Releasing the button, he growled low, “don’t permit others to use your name so casually.”

A pastel eyebrow raised. “My name? Luci isn’t my name.”

A jarring flick landed dead center of his forehead. “It’s my name for you.”

Lucifer was thunderstruck, rubbing at the sore spot.

Triple shit.

#radioapple #alastor x lucifer #alastor the radio demon #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel #alastor and lucifer #fanfic #fanart

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seleniangnosis · 1 year

Text

What's coming next ?

It's been a while since I've done a PAC reading so here I am.

This is going to be a short reading on what's something you can expect to happen in your life 🤍. Take what resonates and leave the rest behind.

Feel free to check my pinned post here where I have listed my other readings. Without further ado ⤵️

Feedback is always appreciated.

Pile 1

Card representing your energy: The Hanged Man

Your cards: 7 of wands, King of Swords, The Chariot + The Cross, The anchor ⚓ and Coffin ⚰

The time you've been waiting for is coming, the struggle you've endured wasn't for nothing. Maybe you were feeling like you've sacrificed yourself or something important to you for nothing, and no result is showing up. Your hardships are going to come to an end , and you'll finally be able to take the control of your life.

Some of you might also have to face an individual who was constantly holding them back and opposing them before they'll feel completely released out of this situation. It will feel like a triumph.

You've endured a lot but this has made you stronger

Pile 2

Card representing your energy: The lovers

Your cards: 7 of swords , High Priestess, Page of Cups + The Key, Stork and Scythe.

I don't want to ruin everyone's mood here but ... some of you might found something that has been hidden from you in regards to a close person in your life. Till this point, this person might have been clever enough to lay low and do their thing unobserved, but it doesn't work anymore.

For others this can be information related to something important which you weren't ready to find out about, and it was something that was blocking your path, blocking you from moving forward. It could as well be you, uncovering an issue/ belief / mindset that was " your secret enemy" all along, keeping you stuck from moving forward and "expanding" your life.

This will happen quick and you won't even expect it. You'll be ready to move ahead.

Pile 3

Card representing your energy: 2 of cups

Your cards: 4 of pentacles, 10 of swords, Death , The star + Crossroads , Lilies, Mice , and Bear

You might be procrastinating on taking a decision, moving on from something, changing an important aspect of your life, and time has runned out. You might be coming from a place of uncertainty and feeling hopeless, but the circumstances might change soon and you'll feel more confident and courageous. Someone or something will bring a bit of hope into your life.

With the 2 of cups ... maybe you're afraid to leave someone? Yet I don't really see this being about a person but rather an important step you have to take in your life , which requires maturity. Whatever it is, change is going to knock at your door soon, and you won't be able to avoid making this step anymore.

#pac reading #tarot pac #free tarot reading #tarot cards #tarot reading #tarot spreads #free divination #free tarot readings #free tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pick a pile reading #astro notes #tarotblr

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thepaintedlady00 · 1 year

Text

Burden

Chapter 8: The Mist Waits

Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

I finished earlier than I thought I would, so enjoy the early chapter release y'all!

TW: Violence, confrontations, The Fates, Desire, blood, Dark Daunt, cliffhanger

Rose Walker was having an odd day. So much had happened in such a short time, and the girl wasn’t sure whether the appropriate response would be to cry in joy or to scream in frustration. She had family left, a Great Grandmother that seemed to want the same things that she did. Jed back home and safe, and them to all be a family once again. Now she had the resources to start truly looking for her brother and, hopefully, to bring him home once and for all.

“I’ll just get Lyta. Be right back,” Rose said in answer to one of the new people added to her odd little circle.

“Rose,” a voice called out to her, soft and young.

She stopped walking for a moment, quietly questioning whether the voice was in her head or actually coming from within the home. “Rosebud,” another voice said, maternal and warm.

“Rose Walker,” a third replied, cold and older.

She felt afraid and uncertain for a moment as her feet carried her forward to the closest door, the only logical place one could whisper to her from. Once she opened the door, she was greeted by three figures clothed in black.

“Hello, Rosie,” the youngest said.

The second smiled. “Come in, my butterfly.”

“You are at a crossroads, Rose Walker.”

She tilted her head slightly. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”

“Names, names, names,” the eldest among them said, waving her question away.

The youngest smiled sweetly. “Each name is but a single aspect of the whole.”

“Be satisfied by the trinity you have, love. You wouldn’t want to meet us as The Kindly Ones.”

“We can only caution you, sister.” The youngest looked darker. “We can’t protect you.”

A chill ran up Rose’s spine as she asked, “Protect me from…”

A maternal laugh echoed around her. “From life, my posy.”

“And the things that hover beyond life.”

“Thrashing themselves against it,” the eldest finished.

“Beware dreams,” the youngest whispered. “And houses. And trees.”

The cold voice sighed. “You ask the wrong question.”

“Had you asked the right one, we could have warned you against The Corinthian and the ghost of mist that haunts his steps.” The warm voice said.

“Told you about Jed,” the young voice continued.

“And about Morpheus.”

The light turned on, and the figures vanished before Rose’s eyes, almost as if they’d never been there… and maybe they hadn’t.

He stood in the center of the throne room, staring at the steps that Daunt had stood on. Dream had spent every free moment searching for The Forest, to no avail. The realm had either vanished entirely or closed itself off from him, as Daunt had after that day in Fiddler’s Green. Sadly, he was more inclined to believe the latter to be true. His head spun with the sheer number of concerns plaguing him, awaiting to be addressed. Dream of the Endless felt like he had back in the Burgess basement, only somehow worse. He felt he was being pulled in every direction, forced to split his focus between dire events, and feared no matter what he did, one or more would slip through the cracks and result in yet another loss for him to bear.

“My lord,” Lucienne’s soft voice called him from the dark corners of his mind as she approached with a book. “Forgive me for intruding, but I have the volume you requested.”

“Yes,” he sighed, taking the heavy leatherbound book from her hand and moving to sit on the bottom step of the stairs, hoping the vision of her bloodstained gown would fade from memory if he was not looking at them. “I assume it holds nothing of use as all the others.”

His librarian nodded solemnly. “I’m afraid so.”

“Jed Walker is still in the realm of the living, but I cannot find him.”

“No. Nor I, my lord.” She answered.

“All humans are connected to The Dreaming.” He shook his head. “They spend a third of their life here. Breaking that connection would require knowledge. And power.”

“Then it may interest you to know that the last nightmare Jed Walker had before he disappeared was of Gault.”

“You think she severed him from The Dreaming?”

Lucienne nodded. “I do.”

“Why?” He questioned.

“Because he’s not just any child, is he?” She replied. “He’s Rose Walker’s brother. She is the Vortex.”

Quiet footsteps echoed in the empty throne room as a dark figure walked toward them. “Excuse me. I am Rose Walker. What do you know about my brother Jed?”

Lucienne turned to Dream with wide eyes and an open mouth. Daunt’s words echoed in his ears. Sight alone will not tell you her secrets. He stood and smiled. “You are welcome here, Rose Walker.”

She looked around for a moment before asking, “Who are you?”

“You have somehow dreamed your way into an audience with Lord Morpheus. The King of Dreams,” Lucienne answered sternly. “And now you must go.”

“Lucienne.”

His librarian sighed. “She shouldn’t be here.”

He tilted his head slightly. “No, but I should like her to stay.

Rose Walker was indeed the vortex. Dream could feel it swirling around her. Power and mystery and something else, something that felt familiar. Lucienne’s apprehensive demeanor did not shift while Rose stood in his realm. He could not blame her. After all, a Vortex was a volatile and uncertain thing. Matthew agreed to watch over her in the Waking World, and as Rose Walker returned to her bed, Lucienne gave Dream a look. “Are you certain this is wise, my lord?”

“Gault must be found one way or another,” he answered carefully. “Leave Rose Walker to me, Lucienne. In the meantime, continue your search of the library for anything that may lead us to The Forest.”

The Corinthian enjoyed tea. He enjoyed the smell of the soft floral notes and earthiness and found the taste to be almost comforting. Though he’d never allow himself to linger on why he enjoyed such things, a lingering nagging voice in the back of his mind told him repeatedly. It reminds you of her. This was, of course, a voice he smothered when he was able. Instead, he smiled beside Unity, listening to her so easily give up the information he needed. It was inconvenient that Rose Walker had returned to America, but The Corinthian didn’t mind much.

If she was the key to his permanent freedom, he’d go to the ends of the earth to find her. Daunt’s white form stood before him, bathed in the light from the window, but that light did not touch her. Instead, she dampened it with her presence alone. “What do you fear more, I wonder? Not finding your vortex in time or having her deny you as all others have.”

As he walked out of the old home, he clenched his jaw at her presence beside him. “Answer me, nightmare.” She insisted. “Answer me, betrayer.”

“I’m not scared of anything,” he spat at her. “Not some fuckin kid, not Dream, and certainly not you.”

Laughter echoed around him as the sky grew dark with storm clouds. He turned to face her, to find her gone once again, but before he could even breathe, he felt her cold hand wrap around his neck. Long nails bit into his skin as she leaned in closely and whispered. “You should fear me, dear Corinthian.”

He tore himself away from her, searching for the white maiden in the open streets. “Mine will be the last face you see.”

“My lord,” Lucienne called out as she approached with confident steps. “May I help?”

Hunched over the table, he glanced up at her. “Is this everything we have on Rose Walker?”

She nodded. “And Jes Walker. But I shouldn’t think there’s anything in those you don’t already know. Except perhaps-”

“Except perhaps why she was able to wander into my throne room.” Dream sighed. “What do you think? Why did Gault target her brother and not her?”

“Did you read about Unity Kincaid?” She asked, turning away from him to fetch another book. “The day you were imprisoned, there were people all over the world who fell asleep and could not wake up. Unity Kincaid is the sole survivor of what they called the “sleepy sickness.” The day you returned, she woke up.” She set the book down in front of him. “Rose Walker is her great-granddaughter.”

He hummed. “Which would seem to suggest that my absence caused the birth of a vortex.”

“Is that not a possibility?”

“Vortexes are naturally occurring phenomena,” he stated with a smile. “No one knows why they happen. Not even I know. But I do know they are not caused or created. They simply happen.”

Lucienne’s eyes narrowed as she thought about his words. “Then this is all a coincidence? And not an imminent threat?”

Dream sighed. “My instinct says no, but tonight, when Rose Walker sleeps, I shall see it more clearly. May I?”

Lucienne held up a hand to stop him. “There is something else, my lord.”

“What is it?” He asked, reading the way her face tightened as she spoke.

“I know every book in this library,” she began, turning away from him and retrieving something from a nearby shelf. “I know this library and these books and… yet…” she returned, holding a pale book in her hands and offering it to him with a saddened face. “Somehow, this one has been hidden from me for eons. It should not be possible.”

“And yet it is,” he said, gently running his hands along the white bindings, glistening with jeweled leaves of green. On the first page, The Great Tree was illustrated in deep tones of brown and emerald, surrounded by the smaller trees covered in mist. It was almost as if he could feel the leaves beneath his fingertips and the cold mist caressing his skin. It was almost as if this book was alive.

Lucienne looked at the beautiful thing with fondness and apprehension warring in her eyes. “I’ve tried to read it, but it’s… Incoherent.”

“How so?”

“Most of the pages are blank. There appear to be remnants of words written on some, and other pages or paragraphs are perfectly legible. The words, however, make little sense given all that is missing.” She shook her head and sighed. “Only the illustrations remain intact.”

As Dream flipped through the pages, studying the little words scribed here, he stopped at another picture. Daunt, or rather a drawing of her, white amidst a sea of dark colors. His heart felt heavy in his chest the longer he looked. “This will not tell us where she is.”

Lucienne’s soft eyes met his as she spoke, “No, my lord, it won’t. But…"

“What is it, Lucienne?”

“One of the illustrations seems to depict what happened to her… What kept her from reaching you the day she left.” He handed the book to her instantly. If there was a way to learn what befell her on his behalf, he had to see it. He had to know.

The librarian quickly flipped through the pages before holding the book back to him with downcast eyes. There on the red-stained page were three words… Daunts last words. “My dear Corinthian.” The image showed her standing on a bridge, holding his nightmares cheek as The Corinthian pushed his blade into her chest.

Dream drew in a deep breath as The Dreaming rippled with the rage that filled his heart. “The Corinthian…”

Lucienne bowed her head lower. “It is my fault. I should not have given her his location nor asked her to seek him out.”

“No.” He breathed out, tears welling as his finger glided across the worn page. “The fault lies with me. She would not have been vulnerable had I failed my duty to retrieve the nightmare.”

“My lord…” she whispered. “If this image is corrected, then… is Daunt not… dead?”

“No.” Dream looked up at her, meeting her wet eyes with his own. “Death told me she’d not been called to The Forest for Daunt. Daunt herself told us she was lost.”

Lucienne shook her head. “My lord, that… vision… that apparition spoke in naught but riddles. If it was truly Daunt, then she is not in her right mind.”

“Perhaps she is not,” Dream replied solemnly. “But the fact still stands that she lives. She lives, and I will find her if it is the last thing I do in this existence.”

That night he accompanied Rose in her dreams to search for Jed Walker and Gault. That night he had the chance to examine the vortex up close. Dream had expected Rose Walker to be impressive, but the way she adapted to her newfound abilities as a Vortex was surprising, even to him. She found her way through the dreams of those closest to her, following his advice and asking questions, seemingly wanting to learn from him. Most impressive was her ability to stay focused through each dream, never losing sight of her purpose within them and never seeking to abuse the power she held.

She led him to Gault with ease, and once his nightmare was back within his grasp, he ensured she would not be free to defy him again. He did not regret his harsh punishment of the shapeshifter, but he did feel an unpleasant knot form in his stomach after his less-than-kind treatment of Lucienne after the fact. Still, he moved forward. Too much demanded his attention to focus on keeping his realm safe. The notion of that seemed simple enough until a crack appeared in the stained glass window above his throne, and the entire palace shook violently around him. After that, all he could do was watch in horror as the cracks grew before his very eyes.

“Loosh? You in here?” The pumpkin head made a quiet noise of apprehension. “Sorry, boss, I was just looking for Lucienne. See ya.”

“Wait.” He ordered. “Why were you looking for Lucienne?”

“Oh, well, we just had some minor seismic activity and a little, you know, damage I wanted to report.”

“Then why not report it to me?” He asked.

“Uh, because you’re busy?” Mervyn offered. “While you were away, Lucienne started taking care of that stuff, so I figured why bother you when-”

A dark feeling curled around him, nearly squeezing all the air as he said, “Mervyn if The Dreaming has been damaged in any way, I will be the one to address it.”

The floor shook, and the cracks spread throughout the windows and up the stone walls. “Oh, for crying out loud. Do you want me to fix that for you? Or will it just keep happening?”

“It will not keep happening because I will find the cause of the disturbance, and I will eliminate it. Thank you, Mervyn.”

“Uh, you’re welcome,” the handyman replied before turning and hurrying in the opposite direction.

Dream returned his eyes to the glass as it continued to crack. He would not watch his realm crumble again. The halls shook around him as he made his way to the library with hopes Lucienne would be able to provide him with some information on these tremors. “Lucienne?”

She stood off to the side, re-shelving books with a slightly pensive face. “My lord.”

“I have come to return these.” He handed her the books, their eyes meeting in an awkward stare. “And to assess the extent of the damage from the recent disturbances.” She said nothing, merely watching him as he bent down and picked up a stack of fallen books. “Have you any idea as to what caused them?”

“I assumed it was you, sir,” she said almost coldly.

“Me?”

“Making further improvements to the realm… now that you’re back.” She clarified as she brushed past him.

Dream sighed quietly. “Lucienne, when we last spoke, I did not mean to imply that your efforts beyond the library are without value.”

“Oh?” She questioned, clearly frustrated.

“I merely wish to relieve you of responsibilities with which, had I been here, you would never have been burdened.”

“I see.”

“And in that time, did you experience any… similar seismic disturbances?” he inquired offhandedly, looking at the book he still awkwardly held, only peeking up at her.

I did not.”

“Have you any… theory as to their origin?” He pressed cautiously.

At last, Lucienne set down the stack of books she held and turned to him. “Speaking strictly as a librarian? I do. But you won’t like it.”

“Go on.”

“I know you’re waiting to see if the vortex will lead you to The Corinthian and Fiddler’s Green. The way she led you to Gualt.”

“She may yet still.”

She scoffed. “Yes, but while you’re waiting, she’s putting cracks in the foundation.”

“Rose Walker has visited this realm before and done no damage,” he pointed out. “This is something else, something new.”

“Perhaps, but if there is something new in The Dreaming and you did not create it, how did it get here?” She asked. “This is the vortex. I assure you.”

As soon as he could, Dream found Rose Walker’s dreams and watched her closely as the landscape marred with cracks and the house he’d not built appeared before him. Lyta Hall was indeed pregnant; by the look of it, she and her dead husband had somehow managed to find a way inside his realm in secret. He would be furious. How could he have been so blind? How could he have allowed a vortex to cause such chaos just to aid him in mending his own troubles?

Matthew cawed beside him. “So, what do you think?”

“Tell Lucienne she was right about the source of the tremors.” Dream ordered. “And that I am taking care of it.”

The raven took to the skies quickly as he moved forward, entering the house with ease and staring down the spirit that had found its way here. He knew, without Dream having to say a single word, the spirit knew that his time here was up.

Lyta and Rose entered, laughing with one another. “Hector, look who’s here.”

Both women slowed as they looked at him. Lytas face was drained of the happiness that had been there moments ago, while Rose looked confused. “Lyta, you remember I told you about Lord Morpheus, the King of Dreams?”

“What do you want?”

“He wants us to leave,” the spirit answered.

Rose looked at her dead friend and then back to him. “Why?”

“Because a ghost cannot escape his fate by hiding in The Dreaming. Nor can a living human being escape her grief here.” He shook his head. “Do you not see the damage your presence has done to this realm? I cannot allow you to stay.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“You belong with the dead,” Dream answered. “You must go to the place appointed for you. I’m sorry, but you must say your goodbyes now.”

Lyta exhaled a shaking breath and shook her head. “No. I’m not losing you again.”

The spirit approached her with a sad smile. “I love you so much.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” the woman insisted, pressing a kiss to her lover’s lips. “Get out of our house!”

“Lyta-”

A soft chill stilled the harsh words on his tongue as mist swept across the floor. Dream turned to look at her lithe figure standing in the room with them. Daunt did not acknowledge him or Rose or even Lyta, only the spirit once named Hector. She raised a pale hand, covered in frost and frozen vines, toward him as she whispered, “Come.”

“Hector!” Lyta cried out, taking hold of the spirit’s arm as he began to turn toward the specter.

“She’s here for me.”

“You can’t go with her. You can’t go!” Lyta cried. “I can’t… not again.”

“What is lost will always be found.” Her words were cold, carrying the chill of the mist and frost. Dreams’ heart stuttered at the sound of it.

“Daunt,” he whispered her name like a desperate prayer, a plea to her. Hear me... Look at me.

Her head turned in his direction, and even from behind the veil that shrouded her face, he could feel her eyes. He almost dropped to his knees then and there in the crumbling dream Lyta Hall, and her dead husband had built, but she turned away from him and once again beckoned the spirit to her.

Hector spared Lyta a look before pressing a kiss to her lips and cradling her round belly in his hands. “Tell the baby I love them. Never let them forget just how much I love them.”

With a weak sob, she nodded. “I won’t, not ever.” She sobbed as she cupped his cheeks. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” the spirit whispered. “Goodbye.”

He turned and lifted his palm into Daunts. A wave of mist and distant wolf howls echoed all around them. Dream took a half step forward at the familiar sounds of The Forest’s call - of Daunt’s call. The spirit let the mist wash over him with a content sigh before he vanished from sight. Rose held her friend closely but never looked away from Daunt as she remained.

“Child born of death and dreams,” Daunt said, her voice echoing like ocean waves. “Evil will seek it out to steal its power.”

“No!” Lyta shouted, turning her head toward the white figure. She shook her head, holding her stomach tighter. “No.”

Rose rubbed her arms. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep them safe.” She looked at Dream desperately. “Right, Dream?”

He was frozen for a moment, still looking at her, before he nodded stiffly and looked at Lyta. “So long as I live, no harm shall befall your child. Not in the Waking World and not in dreams.”

The woman didn’t look convinced, but after a moment, she nodded and eased into Rose’s arms.

“We are running out of time,” Daunt said to him.

“Then help me,” he pleaded. “Open your realm and let me in.”

She tilted her head. “Only you hold the power to do so, Dream of The Endless.”

“What do you mean?”

“My realm was never closed to you,” she answered.

Dream sighed, stepping closer to her. “I do not understand.”

Daunt lifted a frozen hand to his face, her thin fingers traced over his eyes. “You do not need to understand. You only need to see.”

Mist slid through his fingers and smoother gently across his cheek. Gone again from him, the crumbling dream was all that remained. The two looked sad when he turned back to Lyta Hall and Rose Walker. Sad for him. Lytas’ eyes held an understanding beneath her deep anger and loss. Rose spoke, “Who was she?”

“An immortal being,” Dream answered simply. “One that is not your concern.”

“You care for her.”

A painful longing exploded within him as he turned away from them and said, “This dream is over.”

When he finished repairing the damage to his realm, he sought Lucienne out. Matthew would have already delivered his message, but Dream owed his librarian an apology. “Lucienne?”

“My lord. There’s something I must tell you,” she said as she hurried out from around the corner.

“And I will listen. But, first, you must let me tell you that… you were right.” He said softly, noticing immediately how her eyes looked up at him with light and hope renewed inside them. “The vortex was responsible for the damage to our realm, and I was… wrong to risk our safety in the hope that she would locate the missing Arcana.”

“You were not entirely wrong, sir. She’s found them both.”

“What? The Corinthian and Fiddler’s Green? Where? How do you know?”

“Fiddler’s Green told me.” She looked over to the shelves at the man… at Fiddler’s Green as he emerged from behind the racks.

He bowed. “Apologies, lord, for having left.”

“Why?” He asked, desperate to understand what he’d done wrong. “Why did you leave? I trusted you. You were the heart of The Dreaming.”

“No, sir. You were the heart of The Dreaming. And you were gone. I was curious. And it turns out that life as a human contains substance I never even imagined when I was here.” He sounded so vibrant. ��Which is why I’ve returned because… he’s murdering them.”

“The Corinthian?” It wasn’t shocking to learn of his nightmare’s recklessness.

Fiddler’s Green nodded, face twisting in disgust. “He appears to have built up a cult of worshipers who kill for pleasure, endangering the Waking World and the life of a friend called Rose Walker.”

“The Corinthian has found Rose Walker?”

“Yes.”

Lucienne shook her head. “Can you imagine the damage he could do with someone like Rose?”

“You must tell me where they are.”

The Corinthian stood at the podium, delivering a confident and proud speech inspiring the room of pathetic and deluded humans to imagine their atrocities. Dream stood in the aisle, watching his creation with ill-tempered rage swimming in his chest. The nightmare noticed him quickly but did not stop his speech until he’d finished. Always doing things on his own terms, Dream thought silently, for a brief moment admiring the determination he had forged. But was it not that determination that led him to plunge that knife into Daunt’s chest? To betray the one he called friend?

“You disappoint me, Corinthian,” Dream said through tight lips. “You and these humans you’ve inspired and created… disappoint me.”

His words visibly struck his creation as he bared his teeth. “I’ve done my best to be what you made me.”

“No,” he replied with a slight chuckle as he walked toward the stage. “You’ve done your worst, which was in so many ways what I had hoped. You were my masterpiece. A dark mirror made to reflect everything humanity will not confront.”

“That’s what I am,” The Nightmare nodded, straightening his back as he turned to face his creator. “That’s what I’ve done.”

“No. Look at you, walking this Earth for over a century infecting others with your joy of death, but what have you given them? What have you wrought?” His anger began to seep into his words. “Nothing. Just something else for people to be afraid of. That is all.”

The Corinthian scoffed, cocking his head ever so slightly. “So what now? You send me back into their dreams?” He pulled a knife from his jacket, a knife not unlike the one he’d used on Daunt, and shook his head. “Cause I won’t go willingly.”

“A knife against a dream?” His voice was dark wind and shadow as he stepped towards his creation slowly.

“You don’t think dreams can die? Let’s find out.” The Corinthian insisted.

Dream held his hand out, drawing upon his power. “Enough.” The sand moved at his feet as The Corinthian stabbed his knife into his outstretched hand. The pain startled him back and to his knees as he looked down at the wound. “How?”

“I’ve got Rose Walker getting stronger every second while you get weaker,” The nightmare said with a wide grin. “She’s taking your place at the center of The Dreaming. She’s bringing the walls down between the sleepers’ minds, and now they’re all dreaming the same dream. A dream that I inspired.”

“No.”

“It’s already happening. There’s nothing you can do. She’s asleep and dreaming.”

“Then she’s not beyond my reach.”

The Corinthian shrugged. “Oh, I think she is. Now that she knows you’re planning to kill her.”

Dream pushed himself into the horrific visions molding together just as she and her brother turned towards him. “You need to wake up!”

“Don’t listen to him, Rosebud. You’re the one with the power now, not him. This is your dream.”

“It’s his dream for your world,” Dream corrected.

The Corinthian smiled at Rose. “Then let’s make it yours. Whatever you want, Rose. A blank canvas!”

The dreams of her brother and the other humans vanished, and Rose’s eyes went wide with fear. “Where’s Jed?”

“Jed’s fine. He’s upstairs, asleep, he’s right next to you. This dream is yours now. The Dreaming is yours now!”

“The Dreaming is yours? Is that what he told you?” Dream demanded coldly.

Rose looked up at him, confusion evident in her eyes. “He told me you were gonna kill me.”

“Did he tell you why? When a vortex brings down the walls between dreams, she creates a single volatile dream that will collapse in upon itself, and take the waking world with it. Your world. Everything and everyone will die.”

The Corinthian bent down to Rose’s ear. “Don’t believe him, Rosie.”

“It’s happened before. I failed in my duty, an entire universe was lost.”

“He can’t kill you if you kill him first.”

“Killing me may save your life, but it won’t save the lives of those you love.”

“I’m tryin’ to keep you alive here!” The nightmare growled, the playful mask he bore slipping at last.

“I’m trying to keep your world alive,” Dream argued.

The Corinthian growled, “You have to choose one of us, Rose!”

“Enough!” She shouted above their noise, waves of power rolling off her and amplifying her voice. Rose Walker looked to The Corinthian. “If I’m as powerful as you say I am, then I will find my own way. In the meantime, the walls go back up.” She lifted her hand, willing the walls between the dreams to return.

A loud groaning sound echoed all around them as the mist began to overtake the room. Rose drifted back closer to Dream as everything around them changed. “What is this? What’s happening?”

Trees, gnarled and dripping with blood, surrounded them as dark figures moved in the woods, and all manner of noises surrounded them. The tree roots wound around The Corinthian’s limbs as The Nightmare tried to take a step back from the figure in white that now stood at the treeline. “Daunt.”

Dream wanted to reach out to her, to speak to her, anything, but Daunt was not herself. Her blood-covered form was no more than mist and bitter frost. Instead, Dream took hold of Rose’s arm and pulled her behind him. “At last,” Daunt said softly, but her voice sounded anything but. “You have come to see the damage caused by your hands.”

The roots of the trees began to squeeze the nightmare tightly. He groaned as his bones began to creak beneath the wood. “This is still your dream Rose.”

The figure in white turned her head, and ice crept along Dream’s form under her gaze. “No.”

Rose shivered from behind him and quickly uttered the words she’d heard him say, “This dream is over.”

“NO!” Daunt screamed, lunging forward as the dream vanished.

Standing back in the hotel, his nightmare breathed a relieved breath and stood once again as Dream looked down at his now-healed hand. His nightmare removed the dark shades that shielded the rows of teeth from view. That anger that filled him became unbearable as he looked over at the nightmare with watering eyes. “She trusted you, loved you, and you betrayed her.”

The Corinthian sneered. “You, of all people, have no right to judge me, Dream. After all, you drove her away in the first place! If you think I’m going back to The Dreaming with you-”

The floorboards beneath their feet began to tremble and crack. Mist filled the room as tall trees tore through the floors, and The Forest started to bleed into the Waking World. The Corinthian looked around him with stoic features as roots quickly began overtaking everything in the room. Standing in the crowd, Daunt breathed heavily, the veil gone, revealing her bleeding chest and wide eyes. “You do not get to leave me again, Corinthian.”

“Daunty,” the nightmare said softly. Roots twined around him as she walked up the stage and past Dream to stand in front of his rouge creation, the creation that had betrayed her.

“Have you any idea what it was like?” She demanded. “Knowing all this time that it was you that plunged the blade into my heart. That you… my friend… would doom me to this.”

For the first time, Dream could see the sorrow and pain in the nightmares eyes as he looked up at Daunt. “I’m sorry.”

A sob escaped her throat as everything in the room grew colder. “LIAR!”

The roots stabbed through The Corinthian in various places, digging deep into his body. He took it all with a sheer grit of his teeth, never looking away from Daunt as she stepped closer to him, a blade… the blade poised in her hands and pressed against The Corinthian’s chest. “Do it.” He told her. “I deserve it.”

Dream moved closer to her, ignoring the way it stung his skin. “Daunt…”

“No,” The Corinthian told him. “Do it, Daunty. Finish me.”

“Was it worth it?” She demanded, her gaze shifting to the humans that sat in the crowded room. “Was all this worth it?”

“The only thing I regret is what I did to you,” The Corinthian said carefully.

“Regret?” She questioned, deathly quiet. “You do not know regret… not nearly enough to satisfy me.”

“Daunt,” Dream called out, hoping to pull her from the darkness that echoed in her words.

The blade flashed in the dim light as she drove it through The Corinthians ribs, twisting it as she knelt down, leaning her head closer to the nightmare and listening to his pained noises. “Look into my eyes, betrayer. Look and see what you wrought.”

He seemed to shake the longer he met Daunt’s gaze, the stoic features of his face twisting into pain and sorrow. The trees closest to her caught fire, and the sounds of fear and screaming. “Daunt…”

“You did this!” She screamed, tearing the blade from his ribs and stabbing him again.

The Corinthian bowed his head, pulling the blade from his flesh and holding it out to her. “Please.”

A sharp and pained scream echoed around Dream as Daunt fell back slightly, holding her chest as the wound began to bleed once more. She sobbed quietly, holding her hands to blood and crying as she looked to The Corinthian. “I trusted you…”

“I didn’t mean for this,” he whispered. “I didn’t…”

Daunt wept, “I cannot kill you, dear Corinthian. No matter how much you deserve it. Our fates are sealed, yours and mine.”

The Corinthian’s lips quivered as he looked back up at Dream. “Finish it, Dream.”

His voice was low, nearly hoarse, as he spoke, “I brought you into this world to serve humanity. Not to feed upon it.”

“I do it to taste what it’s like to be human.” The Corinthian admitted. “You don’t care about humanity, none of them. You can’t even bring yourself to care about her. You only care about yourself and your realm and your rules.”

“I contain the entire collective unconscious. Without my rules, it would consume me. Humanity would be consumed.”

“Or you might actually feel something. I am not the problem, Dream.”

With a look to Daunt, whose form slowly began to be overtaken with frost, he replied, “You are right. This was my fault, not yours. I had so much hope for you, but I created you poorly then. So I must uncreate you now.”

The sand swirled, glowing red as it ate away at his masterpiece. Daunt lifted her hand to his cheek, and he looked down at her as the last remnants of him faded. The Corinthian smiled at her, a soft smile, one he’d never known the nightmare to show before now. “Yours is the last face I will see.”

Daunt held the tiny skull of his nightmare in her bloodstained hand, standing slowly and turning to face him. More blood streamed down her cheeks as she cried tears of red. She placed the skull in his hand, and she whispered before he could even utter a word. “Find us, Dream. Please.”

And just as suddenly as she’d appeared, Daunt was gone again from his sight. His hand curled around the skull as he turned to the crowd of his creation’s flawed inspiration and shook his head. “And you… who call yourselves collectors, until now you have sustained fantasies in which you are the victims, comforting daydreams in which you are always right. But no more. The dream is over. I have taken it away. For this is my judgment upon you, that you shall know from this moment on exactly how craven and selfish and monstrous you are. That you shall feel the pain of those you have slaughtered. And the grief of those that mourn them still, and you shall carry that pain and grief and guilt with you until the end of time.”

They all rose from their seats and walked, dazed, out of the room. Dream looked around him at the lack of trees, mist, and all Daunt had brought with her. He closed his eyes and silently swore he would find her.

Rose Walker was not only the vortex but the child with the blood of an Endless. A child born of his sibling’s games. As soon as Dream had laid eyes on the dark heart she’d pulled from her chest and given to Unity Kincaid, he knew it. With a swiftness powered by his rage alone, Dream entered his gallery and grabbed the heart on the wall. “Desire. I stand in my gallery, and I hold your sigil. Talk to me.”

The faint image of his sibling’s wide red grin shinned from within the stone. “Why, sweet Dream. This is a surprise. Almost an event, I might say.”

“Good. I’m coming through,” he bit out through clenched teeth.

“You are?” They questioned, a slight pitch of fear entering their voice before they chuckled. “But of course. You know you’re always welcome in my chambers.”

The glossy red of Desire’s realm was hideous. He’d forgotten how much he detested the vivid color and how pungent the sickeningly sweet smell of summer peaches was. Dream took slow, deliberate steps closer to his sibling, who lounged in a chair in their gallery. “Lovely to see you,” they purred. “Can I get you anything you desire?”

“I desire nothing from you save some answers,” he replied tensely.

“Ooh, is this a test?”

“Unity Kincaid should’ve been the vortex of this era. But someone took advantage of my imprisonment and fathered a child with her, knowing full well that it would become the vortex, and I would be forced to kill it.”

Desire’s smile widened. “Was I really that obvious?”

“No,” Dream answered, circling them. “You covered your tracks remarkably well.”

“Well, that’s high praise coming from you.”

“What did you truly intend? That I should spill family blood? With all that would entail?”

They laughed. “This time, it almost worked.”

It was no secret that he and Desire loathed one another, but Dream hadn’t thought they would stoop to such drastic whims to see him dead. With a scoff, he shook his head. “My sibling, we of the Endless are the servants of the living, not their masters. We exist only because they know deep in their hearts that we exist. We do not manipulate them. If anything, they manipulate us.” Standing behind them now, his voice lowered, threatening and dark. “And you and Despair, and even poor Deliruim would do well to remember that.” He pulled their head back by their light hair and looked deep into the golden eyes that now flared with anger and fear. “Mess with me or mine again, and I shall forget you are family. Do you believe yourself strong enough to stand against me? Against Death? Against Destiny?”

“No,” they said in a trembling tone.

“Remember that next time you’re inspired to interfere in my affairs,” he whispered to them as his eyes trailed away from their golden irises to the red bitemarks that marred their hand. His hands tightened in their hair. “Where did you get those marks?”

“Is it not obvious, big brother?” They sneered with a smile. “Our lovely Mistake sends her regards.”

“What have you done with her?”

Desire’s smile widened. “So predictable, big brother.”

Anger laced deep into his voice. “What did you do?”

“I merely gave her what she always wanted.” Their golden eyes flared. “An end to her pitiful excuse of an existence.”

“You would dare to raise a hand against her?”

Desire scoffed. “She is no Endless. She is a Mistake. One that refused to see reason.”

“Where is she?”

“Right where I left her,” they answered. “In that pathetic little forest of hers with that stupid mutt.”

“How did you find it?”

Desire’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, you still haven’t been to see her? How sad. From what I hear, she doesn’t have much time left.”

Dream released their hair, practically throwing them forward as he turned and strode back down the hall he’d arrived in. “If Daunt dies, I will be back for your head.”

“Give her my best,” they called after him. “She looked rather ill when I last saw her.”

Daunt was alive, he reminded himself. She was alive, and he would find her. He would not lose her again.

It had been weeks since he’d finished his business with the Vortex and Desire. Months and still, there had been nothing to help him find her. He scoured every book and dream, desperately searching every corner he could reach for her to no avail. The ember of hope he’d held all this time slowly began to dwindle as the days passed… as he grew closer and closer to facing the horrible reality that he’d failed her.

Matthew had followed him to Fiddler’s Green, as the bird was known to do now that he was no longer shadowing Rose Walker, making comments on his incredibly sullen behavior, but Dream didn’t care enough to answer him. Instead, as he stood among the green fields and the flowers and the memories of their moonlit dances and conversations, Dream cared about nothing else but her. He wanted to see her again, to hold her in his arms and to beg for her forgiveness… to tell her, the real her, that he loved her and that he had for quite some time.

He stared out at the peaceful meadow for a moment longer before turning to leave. There was nothing for him here. Or was there? He halted almost instantly at the sight of white standing in the trees in front of him. The white stag stood between two large trees, watching Dream. Matthew looked over to where his master was staring and quietly asked, “What’s that thing?”

“A creature I thought had long abandoned this realm,” Dream answered as the stag turned away and began walking into the forest. Something inside him forced his feet to move, to follow the creature into the dark woods.

“Oh! So we’re following the weird lookin thing?” Matthew cawed loudly, taking to the sky to fly after them.

The trees grew closer and closer together, and darkness began to make it difficult to follow the creature forward. Mist rolled over Dream’s boots, and a chill seared his skin, forcing him to halt. This was not Fiddlers Green. This was nothing of his realm. “The Forest.”

A few steps ahead of him, the stag looked back and huffed, its breath visible in the frozen air, before it continued forward, stepping over the gnarled roots. Dream moved, too, a newfound desperation in his steps as they emerged from the thick trees into a small glen of frozen moss. Death and blood hung in the air all around them. The hollow resembled that which he’d seen in the short dream Daunt had influenced.

The stag took a half-step forward, a small frozen twig snapping beneath one of its hoofs. The sound echoed far louder than it should have, filling the silence with it. A heartbeat passed before a black shadow lunged out of the trees and dug its claws into the stag’s back, clawing and biting until the poor creature collapsed and its blood coated the white ground. Dream stood perfectly still as the beast tore into the stag’s flesh and devoured the steaming meat.

“Holy shit,” Matthew breathed from a branch beside Dream. The beast’s head turned, revealing two grey eyes locking onto Dream. It turned, claws clutching the stag’s body tightly, and let out a loud screech. Blood and spit coated its sharp teeth as its foul breath wafted to Dream’s nose.

The beast gave little to no warning before it pounced, claws tearing out of the carcass and slicing through the air as it made its way toward him, ready and willing to take the killing blow. White shot out through the forest, slamming into the black creature and forcing it onto the other side of the clearing. Growls and barks echoed through the trees before suddenly all grew silent. Matthew flew down from his perch, hopping toward the stag cautiously. “Where the fuck are we?”

Before Dream could answer the birds’ quiet question, the white blur returned. It leaped from nowhere and pinned Matthew to the snowy ground by a wing. The bloodstained teeth of the white wolf, marred with scars both old and new, chomped as he raised his head to look up at Dream. One eye was blue, crystal, and starry, while the other was faded gray and scarred. “What manner of demon are you?”

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popjunkie42 · 8 months

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In a glorious creative burst of hyperfocus, I made up for not being able to write all week (stupid work) to writing ALL DAY so now you will be subjected to my new fic.

6200 words of Feyre being a sad, sassy drunk menace Under the Mountain.

It’s snippet Sunday (this is a thing right) so here’s a little bit under the cut. Editing on this one in progress.

@ablogofsapphicpanic @wilde-knight @rosanna-writer @howlingcaptaincommando @gaeleria @thesistersarcheron for you loves

“That’s enough for now,” his voice is calm but commanding.

“I’m hungry,” she protests, matching his tone with her chin held high.

“If you’re sick again, you’ll regret this little feast.”

“And who’s fault is that?” she asks, slipping another chocolate tart past her lips.

This one, another face she’s unsure of. Cold for sure, with something simmering underneath.

“I think the night is at an end,” he croons. “Let’s get you back to your cell.”

Her stomach drops at that, indeed too heavy with the rich fare she’s scarfed in a matter of minutes. She turns to face him fully, his eyes full of judgment.

“No.” she says. But just in case, she tucks the pastry in her hand away, up against her stomach under the low belt of her dress.

Rhys’s eyes are dark and unyielding. But Feyre releases them for a moment, glancing to the throne to see Amarantha, laughing and distracted by the retinue around her. His eyes follow.

And when he looks back, Feyre is gone again, slipping on bare feet through the crowd and towards the hall doors.

A muscle in his jaw feathers. Buried in his brain, the thought slips out, I am High Lord of the Night Court. But he turns his fine shoes towards the door and strides as fast as he dares behind Feyre’s flowing skirt.

He catches up to her in a dark hallway of the mountain, only torches sputtering on the walls giving off any light. She’s come to a crossroads of two diverting paths and paused too long.

“Feyre,” his voice a warning. She whirls to meet him, stumbling only slightly. The wine is wearing off and anger and panic are taking their place as she thinks of stone walls and the endless screams of the tortured and doomed.

He’s on her in a flash, towering over her and so close she gasps. There will be no more games, no temporary moments of escape. Away from the fire, her bare feet are going numb.

Feyre knows she’s swaying, knows her eyes must look wild as her focus goes in and out. Still, she wills herself to stare down the High Lord, refusing to back down until her unsteady body makes her.

“I don’t want to go back there,” she says. Hoping her voice is as steady as her desires.

There’s no smirk left on his face tonight. He cocks his head and lifts a brow, his body as hard and unyielding as the stone at her back. “And where would you like to go then, hm? Back under Amarantha’s eye? Back to the Wyrm pit, perhaps? Or maybe you’d prefer to visit my chambers?” Her face splits into a sneer. “My fireplace is looking rather filthy at the moment.”

She hates him and the cold taunt in his words. Yet still she feels the desperate truth in them. There is nowhere to go. She’s trapped. A prisoner with the barest illusion of movement. Tears prick at her eyes, tears that come so much more freely these nights under the wine, frustrating her to no end. Blinking, she wills them back. Plenty of time later, alone in her cell, to cry without giving Rhysand more ammunition for his arsenal of mocking disdain.

Even in the cold winter woods, starving and shaking, she had been able to move. To wander as she pleased, the paths and hollows as familiar as her family’s faces. And she could stay there, perched in a tree, for as long as it took for her courage to build to face her family again. Hungry, but wild and free.

Feyre swallows the burning lump in her throat and meets his cold eyes again.

“Fine.” Like an extinguished candle, all the fight leaves her at once. She’s tired. It’s cold. All she wants is to lay down, alone, and cry.

Rhysand makes no attempt to move. They stare each other down, the cold pulling the heat from their bodies into the mountain stone.

It’s one of those looks again. The one she’s not sure about. And she’s just drunk enough to ask, “What is that?”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“Your face. It’s not angry. Or mocking. I…” she falters as more stars emerge in his eyes.

He doesn’t answer. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts his hand to her face. The breath catching in her throat as he pauses for just a moment, and then slides his thumb gently across her bottom lip.

His thumb comes away covered in chocolate mousse. He looks at it for a moment and then brings it to his mouth, licking it clean.

All the breath has left her and she’s frozen, feeling the heat that grows between them even in the cold hall.

He finally looks back at her. “You’ve made a mess of yourself, darling. Let’s get you back.”

#acotar #feysand #rhysand #feyre #acotar fanfiction #WIP #Sunday snippet

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pinkandgoldensoul · 1 year

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Already Home || Chapter 3 - Chasing Shadows

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pairing: max verstappen x female!reader, mentions of charles leclerc x female!reader genre: friends to lovers, kind of slow burn, angst, fluff and comfort !tw!: swearing, insecurities, negative thoughts, slightly traumatic meeting other notes: loosely based on the Italian GP 2022 word count: 8.6k Hope it is worth the wait! Thanks to whoever supports the story ♥

That night, Monaco’s streets seemed emptier than they actually were. Lights danced around you like delicate fireflies and shone in the otherwise dark crossroad you found yourself at. An indistinct chatter filled your ears, muffled at first but slowly emerging and the sudden succession of loud honks brought you back to the present. What were you doing? You were running away, once again, as you had already done. You had escaped from home like a coward and hoped to find an answer to the disappointments you’d had to endure as a daughter; you’d sought a familiar face, ready to console you, to guide you through a mess you couldn’t solve on your own. Did you succeed? Partly. You had found someone who could help you, but an awful set of circumstances created by your presence had ruined it all. What was left for you to do? You realized it was probably time to face and fix the problems you were avoiding, on your own: time for you to stop hurting others because of your incapability in handling your life.

You had to stop tagging along with Max everywhere you went. It wasn’t going to work out, that was clear. It wasn’t working, it hadn’t worked. You still struggled to understand how you had both managed to do that for months, but it had to stop: you knew – for his own good – that it would lead to failure in the long term and you would never tolerate it. Whose fault was it? For sure not his: Max did everything in his power to keep you by his side, and you couldn’t help but give him credit for it. Was it yours, then? Maybe. But despite the effort from the both of you, it still ended up badly. You'd called Max, but why? Did you hope it would come and rescue you from the chaos you started? Were you expecting him to be that patient, that stupid to follow all along your madness? «Are you in town? Do you recognize any building around you?» Although you thought he should do it for himself, Max wasn't giving up on you. He believed he could help you, that it could get better, that he’d find a solution, that you could solve it. But you didn't. «Sorry, I shouldn't have called you.» you said, voice laced with sadness and regret. «Just tell me where you are.» he demanded with resolution. Could you really allow him to ruin his life for you? To give up on his love for Kelly just to help a splintered soul? Could you live with such a guilt slowly eating you alive for the rest of your life? «Max... I can't.» Tears threatened to fall. Of course you couldn't. That hit too close to home. Home. Why did everything ultimately come down to it? You hanged up before you could even say sorry. You didn't add anything, you didn't explain what you really meant; it hurt you more than you would admit yourself. Max, sat upon his bed, stared at the screen of his phone, waiting for you to call him back, crumble one last time and break down. He believed you would, or rather, he was ready and willing to watch you open up to him and release all the pressure once for all. He should've known better than expecting you to do so, and he actually already knew, deep inside of him, you never would. The silence that followed the call, despite his own hopes, made him feel vulnerable and helpless. It wasn't even the fact that you were wandering lost in Monaco, all alone; you were old enough to manage on your own. It was the tone of your voice that warned him about a hidden, deeper meaning he had to read into your words. You didn't want to tell him, you couldn't tell him where you were. Giving a last glance at the phone, Max felt you slipping away from his grasp, well aware he couldn't do much to have you back without your own will.

Monza was the Temple of Speed, a historic track everyone anticipated with joy, excitement and thrill. Out of everyone, Ferrari did the most. It was a ritual, a challenge they had to face yearly, a test whose passing was needed; it could be the chance for salvation, a way to redeem themselves from "sins" and mistakes made throughout the season. It was, out of all the weekends, the only one they couldn't mess up. And in such a season, after thousands of reasons Tifosi had to blame the team and still keep faith in it, a good result would've been more than welcomed. Charles knew terribly well what winning in Monza felt like. And it was a curse. The wave of excitement, happiness and disbelief that got him after crossing the finish line, the red sea engulfing him in a shared delirium and ecstasy… It was a drug he wanted to taste all over again. Every single drop of champagne sticking to his skin felt disturbingly more pleasant, when he had won in Monza; every cheer seemed louder, each heartbeat faster and stronger, the adrenaline higher and more powerful than ever. Charles had felt it, so now he knew he was addicted. He would crave it regardless, but winning there would compensate anything which had gone wrong lately. Going through pictures taken on that podium, Charles couldn’t restrain from fantasizing. Could that be the year? Monza also knew how to be utter madness. The madness of Max and Lewis crashing into each other, holding onto every meter, without leaving any room to one another. Max knew that well too; Monza, till that point, hadn't really been his best track, but the positive momentum of the season – especially after the summer break – made him foretaste a sweet surprise. Could that be the year? - «Ahh, finally home! Hi, mate.» «Hola, Charles.» The two Ferrari drivers entered the room set up for the conference they’d just had, sitting in silence and exhaustion - though they'd never admit it to each other - after two days of media events, interviews and fans. Fun, but there was a race to prepare for. «I received a weird text today.» Charles said, scrolling through his phone. «From who?» Carlos asked, still reading and studying some racing info on his laptop. «Y/n.» Carlos' eyes perked up with interest. «What is it?» he said, sitting more comfortably. «She asked if she could spend the whole weekend with us in the Ferrari garage.» «Well, I told you she would. Last time in Zandvoort she mentioned it to me.» Charles, despite his teammate’s words, frowned. «Yeah, but... She asked me if she can stay with us at the hotel.» he said, lost in thought. «Like, in the same room?» Carlos said, raising a brow. The Monegasque, too focused trying to figure out what your request meant, blushed for the lack of clarity in his response to Carlos. «No, no! I think she means in the same hotel. Near us.» Carlos, beginning to see what got Charles confused, closed his laptop and stared at his friend. «Isn't she with Max as always?» the Spaniard asked. «Clearly not, if she's begging me to have her with us.» They both stayed silent, getting a grasp of the situation. «Wait, didn't you tell me they live together now?» Carlos asked again, brows knotted. «Yes.» «And now she's texting you so that we do something Max has always done.» «Exactly.» «It's nonsense.» Carlos stated, his tone of voice utterly disbelieved. «I mean, I'm happy she'll be with us.» Charles added, starting to type a reply. «But I don’t know.» he then whispered. Carlos looked outside the window in search of inspiration. «It’s strange.» «Maybe it's not, Carlos. Do you find it hard to believe she likes us?» Charles laughed. «She likes him more, that's for sure.» Charles' confusion grew. «What do you mean?» At the naïve question, a smirk appeared on Carlos' face. «Mate, are you serious? Didn't you notice?» he said, jokingly hitting his teammate’s shoulder. «No, I have no idea what you're talking about.» Charles widened his eyes. «Didn't you see how they look at each other?» Charles then tried recalling some of the moments he spent with the two of you and it suddenly started to see what Carlos was implying. For example, he remembered catching Max staring at you the morning you shared a hot chocolate with them. And the time Max interrupted the conversation Charles was having with you back in Zandvoort after the race in order to hug you. And the fact you spent a lot of time together. «Wait a second.» Charles said. «Do you think...?» «I don't think, I just know. Man, it's so obvious, c'mon.» Carlos plainly said. «But Max is with Kelly.» Charles reasoned. «And do you really think that's enough to make him stop loving her?» Charles, weirded out by the loud tone of Carlos' voice, afraid someone in the conference room could hear them, tried to shush him. «What? Is it a crime to say if someone is in love with someone else?» Carlos let out, half-frustrated. «I-I don't think it's our business, mate.» Charles chuckled nervously. «Whatever. But don't say I didn't tell you.» Charles entered his hotel room and closed the door with a tired but still content sigh. Removing his shoes, he took his phone and opened your chat. When he had received your text and read your request, images of your last encounter played in his mind: he had felt the veil of tension between you and Max and could easily anticipate an argument or a disagreement coming on the way. However, it would've never expected you'd decide to completely split apart and search for someone else's support. It felt... Out of place. You and Max seemed to have a well-oiled friendship, on the outside. But nothing lasts forever, right? Charles' memory also went back to the stolen picture someone posted on Instagram of you and him in Zandvoort; he'd discussed it simply and smoothly with Charlotte, but considering what Carlos had implied, what if Max hadn't been completely okay with it? Was it the reason the Dutch replied so salty at his text on Monday? Charles had to admit it: as absurd Carlos’ theory could seem, a lot of things were starting to make sense. But what about you? Did you fall in love with him? Could Max possibly be the cause of your tears that night in Zandvoort, all alone? It's none of your business, Charles. Focus. He gave a look back at your text. It sounded so discrete, yet so desperate. Who was he to deny you something he would be pleased with? Right. Absolutely no one. "Of course, y/n, you know you're always welcomed :)" It would be a fun weekend with you in the garage, after all.

Waiting. Max was sitting on an uncomfortable airport chair, waiting for his jet. Waiting. People around him ran towards mysterious destinations, panicking for suddenly lost passports, disappeared suitcases and missed flights. Everybody rushed, in urge. He didn’t, he couldn’t. He unlocked his phone and did what he had been doing for the last two days. Waiting. For you to give life signs. Since the night of Kelly's argument, he hadn't been able to hear from you again. It was as if you had disappeared. Worse: he knew you were ignoring him. On purpose. Max had never felt so... Rejected. Well, he had. Being abandoned at a gas station by his father had been a brutal and quite traumatic event, despite how much he’d try to deny it and consider it normal, usual, but a lot of years had passed by and now Jos would hang off Max's words, the son who had succeeded in what he hadn't, and couldn't blame him in any way. Max thought he would've never been vulnerable again. Your absence told him otherwise. Kelly's silence didn't upset him as much as yours did and his incapability of giving some sort of explanation for it drove him crazy. With heavy heart and mind, Max took the flight to Italy with two equally important objectives: winning the race and having a talk with you. - As soon as you read Charles' reply, you let out a big sigh. Thank God, he said yes. He surprised you when he sent you a flight ticket and the reservation details 10 minutes later. Charles knew you had no money, but his act of kindness made you feel sick, guilty. Had you let go of Max only to take advantage of someone else? For the umpteenth time in months, you wondered whether it was time to finally get a job and stop being f1-drivers-dependent. It wasn't fair to them and to yourself either. Acting so childish was a way not to prove yourself you could provide for your life, be able to take care of yourself. Self-sabotage was a way to prove your parents had got rid of you because, after all, you deserved no better.

Your way to the paddock was lonely. You had no happy bubble surrounding you; there was no Red Bull’s blue shade occupying your sight, no chuckles, no lightness. Just a heavy weight on your heart and a tight clenching in your stomach. The fear of crossing paths with Max terrified you; you couldn’t even imagine facing him, because deep inside you knew you had treated him terribly and knew the least you could do was giving an explanation. You walked with a fast pace, face down, not sparing a glance at anything or anyone; you couldn’t risk spending more time than necessary in the paddock, or you would’ve met him for sure. Immersed in your silent space and your restless brain running quicker than your feet, you didn’t notice someone approaching you. «Y/n!» He called you a few times before your head snapped, petrified at such a simple and familiar greeting. Sebastian came towards you with a smile, which slowly dropped at your frantic appearance. «Hi, y/n.» he greeted you, his excitement dying out. «H-hi!» «Are you okay?» the German asked, still smiling but raising a brow. «Yeah, all good!» Your voice going pitchy, your hands fidgeting with the hem of the shirt and pupils looking in thousands of directions but Sebastian’s and, well, everything about your body language told him the exact opposite. «We still need to finish those peppermint cookies. If you’re free, we can do that now.» His request completely surprised you: it was Thursday, but you didn’t expect him to have a lot of spare time to dedicate to you. Such busy people could find time and worry about you and you would be so unappreciative. How ungrateful. «Uhm… Yeah, sure!» «They taste even better than they did last time.» «Gosh, I’d eat peppermint cookies for the rest of my life…» you said, closing your eyes while chewing. «Would you?» Seb asked, entertained. «I’ve got good reasons to, don’t you think?» you chuckled. «You’re right…» Crossing his arms on the table, Sebastian took a look at you. The upset y/n he had talked to 20 minutes earlier had disappeared and given room to the usual girl he was used to talking with. It was… weird. Sebastian began feeling uncomfortable, noticing your sudden mood shift; he had never seen you reacting so poorly to his greeting. Maybe you simply were in a low mood? Yeah, probably that was the reason. Searching for a topic to cheer you up with, his mind went to someone special. «How are things with Max?» You stopped eating and bore your eyes into his. The only question you dreaded being asked. The only name you didn’t want to be reminded of. «H-how come you are asking?» «I’m just curious, I haven’t been able to have a chat with him since Spa. Just wanted to know how youngsters are getting along.» The simplicity of the question made you feel bad for your unreasonable aggressiveness and fear. «Guess he’s doing good.» you stated, looking down. «Guess? Aren’t you together all the time?» Seb asked, holding a laugh. «No, we aren’t.» Silence filled the room. Only a distant chatter from the hospitality’s hall could be heard, paired up with your quickened heartbeat. «I’m sorry, I didn’t want to sound rude.» the driver said. «No, don’t worry. It’s my fault.» Before Sebastian could reply with anything else, you jumped out of your seat and excused yourself. «I really gotta go now, but thanks for the cookies!» Sebastian watched you leaving the hospitality with hurry: a weird vibe caught him once again, but he couldn’t decipher your behaviour. His eyes fell onto the almost emptied plate. He slowly took one of the last cookies and bit it, pensive.

Entering the paddock, Max walked constantly scanning his surroundings, paying attention to every single living being passing by, listening to voices and laughter in search of yours. It was similar to wandering in a reign of ghosts, desperate to find a lost, dear soul. He still couldn’t make sense of your words, not completely, at least: he knew you may feel guilty for everything that happened with Kelly, but why disappearing? Why not giving him the opportunity to solve it? Max had compromised his relationship in order to keep your friendship intact; how come you didn’t see his efforts and decided to throw them out of the window, so that he had lost contact both with you and Kelly? Max, deep in thought and torn and conflicted, sped up without noticing; his assistant tried to keep up with his pace, cheeks red for the effort and the warm temperature of Monza. Right when Max was losing hope of finding you that day, he heard a loud cackling coming from somewhere near Ferrari’s hospitality. Was he dreaming or was that your voice, among that laughter? Was he hallucinating? Was he in such a need of you? He stopped dead in his tracks, startling the assistant who was following closely his steps. Max turned his head to the red and black building: Carlos and Charles’ figures appeared, amused, joking in front of a camera you were holding with a huge smile plastered onto your lips. Max got lost for a second which seemed eternity: you formed a harmonious and happy picture, needing nothing else to be complete. Needing no one else, not even him, in order to be happy. The crying mess you’d been on the phone with him had turned into a bubbly and thoughtless young girl with Carlos, with Charles. The complicity in the way you leaned against him to show some of the footage made his insides being pulled and torn, squeezed under the weight of a newly discovered gravity. Were you his barycenter? Were you that crucial? Were you his center? Whatever you were, in that moment Max despised it. Terribly, strongly. The feeling of being chained to you, for some unknown reasons, made him want to break free and avoid caring about you, but he was also painfully aware he couldn’t fool himself with lies. He did care about you. Carlos, sneaking at the footage as well, felt Max’s heavy stare on the three of them, so he raised his head to search for that presence. «Guys, there’s Max!» Carlos stated, as if he wanted you to realize it. As a lightning, your eyes flashed Max’s figure and immediately abandoned it, then excused yourself from the Ferrari drivers and ran back inside the hospitality. Max simply raised his hand as a greeting to the two guys and kept walking unfazed, his assistant rushing at the sudden restart. Unfazed, on the outside; burning of anger, on the inside. His attempts of concealing it proved to be useless: his answers to the engineers and mechanics were harsher than usual, his interviews and media statements sharper, his mood serious. But how could he be happy about someone consciously ignoring him after such events? How could be possibly stand being treated that way? How could he react at you searching for support on others? Others, sure. He should’ve seen it coming, you were going to ask Carlos and Charles. How classic. The way everything seemed to point to Charles enraged him even more. The idea of someone being closer to you than he was made him feel utterly vulnerable, because he’d always believed to be your only confidant, your accomplice, your anchor. Max wanted to be your number one, as much as being number one at the final ranking of the weekend. And of the season. No matter what. Charles entered the hospitality and saw you fidgeting with the camera, not entirely sure of what you were actually trying to do inside there. Better: he knew you were hiding from Max, but didn’t know why and itched to ask you. He hated the tension between the two of you and, since he had been involved, he wanted to get to the bottom of the question. «You okay?» he said, standing behind you. Flinching at it, you didn’t turn to face him, kept your back on him. Charles got closer and took place next to you, observing your nervous hands flipping through some of the pictures of the day. «You sure?» Exasperated by the pressing questions, you raised your head with the intention of telling him off; though, you met his soft and sincere eyes, letting your guards fall a bit, opening a gap in your defenses. You sighed. «What do you really want, Charles?» you asked, avoiding once again his stare. «I’d like to see you happy like you were before Carlos said Max’s name.» You lowered your head, as if his name could bring back his presence and expose you to judgement. «‘Cause you were happy, right?» Charles added, misinterpreting your silence. Inside the insecurities of his words, you read your own. Were you really happy ignoring Max? «Of course.» Not. You weren’t happy. Not even a bit. You needed to confront him about everything that had happened in order to be able – or try, at least - to go on and leaving him behind. But the fear of being treated poorly due to the avoidance you had been pulling off so far made you reluctant: for sure Max didn’t appreciate it, how could he? Whatever you decided to do, you would be acting wrong. «We probably should finish to record the challenge.» Charles said. «Yeah, yeah, of course, let’s go.» You took the camera and rushed back outside.

Following the two black and yellow tees you learned to recognize among all the others, you tried to let yourself be exhilarated by the Tifosi, the loud colors and the crystal-clear cheers roaring and rising and whenever you were near the two Ferrari drivers. You repeatedly got hit by adrenaline and excitement, only to be left with a subtle, inner discomfort. You wanted to feel happy, thrilled for a new race, but couldn’t enjoy it fully. So, since it was useless to spend Friday morning being pitiful in your hotel room, and given the fact you were staying in Monza, you decided to go visit Milan in order to distract yourself; you had seen some beautiful pictures Charles showed you from some of the Ferrari events him and Carlos had to co-host and fell in love with it. You explored the city center with all its beauties, getting lost and carried away by the astonishing cathedral and the huge square right in front of it. You kept taking pictures everywhere you looked around, amazed at how artistic any corner and stone of Milan seemed. After two hours of tour, your stomach started protesting: art feeds your soul, not your body. You searched for a nice and cozy bar – making sure it wasn’t too expensive – and took a seat, ordering a simple sandwich. Your eyes, still taking in the view out of the window next to the table, traced the constant coming and going of tourists, occasionally spotting people wearing f1 themed merch; and when you did, you involuntarily smiled a bit. The smile suddenly turned into a petrified expression. You tried to focus your sight even more to check if you were hallucinating, but they still stood there, a few meters away from you. Your parents. They held their phones and turned their heads around frantically, probably lost, trying to find their bearings. Despite a waitress getting close to you and asking you something in that language you still failed to understand, you felt your mouth going dry and your lungs not able to reach for air nor keep it inside to breathe properly. All the people you had seen speeding through suddenly disappeared: it didn’t matter how hard you tried to look away, you couldn’t. After a countless amount of time, you had them before your eyes. Lost, but lost in one of the most beautiful countries of the world. Carefree, enjoying a sunny trip. The hatred you harbored subsided under the weight of tension and panic that caught you the moment your mother’s eyes met yours. You could see her lips slightly parting, her brows furrowing. And her figure walking towards the bar, towards you. Before you could even process it, you got up the chair and snuck into a small corridor which led to the bathroom. You couldn’t register the information, couldn’t make sense of it. Why did they have to be in the same country, the same day, the same damn place? How was that even possible? How many chances were there? Deep inside, resentment fought its way into you to no avail: the astonished and conflicted eyes of your mother were still marked onto your skin, quickening your heartbeat in fear. Fear. Was it okay to fear your parents? Was it normal? Was there left anything normal in your relationship with them? Was there a relationship at all? As your mind was still shaken by questions, you heard some steps getting close and then halting. «There’s nobody here.» «I thought I had seen something…» You heard your father sigh at your mother’s silence. «You should put your glasses on instead of buying expensive contact lenses all the time. C’mon, let’s go, love.» Their footsteps got lost in the loud chatter of the bar; you exhaled sharply, since you had held your breath without noticing. You thought you could be over it, over them, but you clearly weren’t. You couldn’t even tell how you were feeling: disgusted? Full of hate? Angry? Without thinking twice about it, you ran away.

You stormed into the paddock still heavily affected by the events: you felt electricity on your fingertips, making them tremble and hit each other; your steps were short and quickened as you got closer to Ferrari’s hospitality. Your chest, convulsively rising and falling back down, seemed uncapable of keep under control the beatings of your heart, whose pulsing made your cheeks red and your eyes widened. In a silent prayer, you hoped none of the hundreds of people you crossed path with had noticed you and finally reached your destination. Entering the building, a familiar voice called out before you could escape upstairs. «Y/n!» Carlos, willing to show you highlights from free practice - which you had missed - stopped before he could say something because of how bothered you looked. Unable to hold the overflow of feelings, your watery eyes pierced right through him in a desperate plead, seeking comfort and calm. Carlos immediately frowned in worry and took your arm to invite you sitting down on a couch. «What happened?» he asked you plainly. Reading into your hesitation at replying, Carlos corrected himself right away. «I mean, if you want to talk about it. I’m not forcing you.» he added, gulping. «Can I do something for you?» he spoke again, looking straight into your eyes. Still upset by the uncomfortable inner turmoil, you struggled to give him an answer. What did you need? What did you want? What could make you feel happier? Who could make you happier? «Don’t worry, Carlos, I’m fine.» you said, drying the corners of your eyes from unfallen tears. «Y/n, c’mon.» the driver told you, a peremptory and serious tone to his words. «What?» you asked, surprised by his rough reply. «You’ve been low all the time and you avoid everybody in the paddock. Plus, you’ve missed free practice and you always make sure someone isn’t around.» Carlos raised a brow in an inquisitory expression. «Just tell me.» «Tell you what?» «Why you’re avoiding Max.» His name had you paralyzed, once again. The events of that morning didn’t matter, nor your panicked state, nor the trauma of having your parents in front of you after such a long time. What crushed your soul the most was not being able to rely on him in your attempt of forgetting the worst parts of your life. What crushed your soul was him, simply. Carlos, still staring at you, saw your features soften at the thought of the Red Bull driver, and smirked to himself; he had seen right into the situation from the very beginning. «It’s complicated.» you said. «Then try to make it easier.» Carlos stated in a matter-of-factly. You sharply inhaled, pausing a few seconds to elaborate a concise explanation. «I did something that hurt a person Max loves.» «Okay.» Carlos’ stare warned you he was waiting for you to go on. «I felt really guilty for doing it, so I thought it would be better if I avoided him.» you added, insecure of your own excuses now that you were saying them out loud. «Why did you do that… thing, whatever it is?» You reflected a few seconds. «Max asked me to.» you muttered to yourself just so that Carlos could hear it. «Then why do you feel guilty if it was Max’s idea?» Silence filled the air once again. «Because I was ruining his relationship with that person.» «So ruining yours with him seemed a better idea to you?» Carlos replied with insistence. You suddenly felt naked and vulnerable: all the excuses that had you enveloped and trapped for days fell to the ground under the Spaniard’s sensible words. «But… I couldn’t stand being the reason of their arguments. That person is too important for him.» «Then you must be really important for him too.» Carlos said with nonchalance. He let the sentence sink in, so that you could process it, before going on. «He was searching for you yesterday and has thrown daggers at me and Charles today because you weren’t there for free practice.» he smiled. «Even if you don’t want to see him ever again, you have to tell him straight to the face.» You hummed, still pensive. «Y/n, look at me.» you obliged. «He deserves to know your reasons. If he’s trying to reach out, he must care about you more than he does for this other person.» You let out a dry chuckle. «I don’t think so.» you said. «It’s… It’s Kelly who we’re talking about.» «I know.» Carlos’ confidence made you lose the last bit of yours. «Hi, people!» Charles plopped on the sofa next to the two of you, visibly tired after free practice. After scrolling through his phone, he quickly put it back into his pocket directing his undivided attention towards the pair of you. «Did I interrupt you?» Charles asked after seconds of awkward silence. «No, we were done talking.» Carlos answered him, suggesting the topic was over for him and wanted it to be over for you as well. As the two teammates began casually de-briefing, your thoughts ran back to the conversation you’d just had. Still confused, you headed upstairs, silent. «Is she okay?» Charles whispered over to Carlos once you had walked away. «She will.» The Monegasque gave a skeptical look to the Spaniard. «If you say so.»

Max tried not to think about it. He just had to focus on performing exceptionally well on qualifying to try beat Ferrari in its home race. Nothing else could matter, nothing else was allowed. No feelings, no arguments, not a single worry about personal relationships. Just pure racing. It was easier said than done. There was no better way to forget about all his problems than doing the thing he was the best at. Because at that point, it was clear, relationships weren’t his forte. Kelly had sent him a last message on Friday morning, stating for the umpteenth time she wasn’t willing to make an effort at tolerating your presence one more second. After that, she stopped replying. Was it a breakup? Max couldn’t tell: how was he supposed to know? At the same time, you we’re completely ignoring him, not even making an appearance at Ferrari’s garage for free practice. What was the point in coming to see the race, then? How was he supposed to bear that cold silence and indifference surrounding him? He was mad, so incredibly mad that two people and the feelings he nourished for them could have him wrapped about their fingers, holding him with such might. And then he saw you. Walking towards Red Bull’s hospitality after being done with practice, he saw you walking by with disturbed and anxious features. He could swear there were tears in your eyes threatening to fall. The annoyance he had been nurturing about your behaviour seemed to disappear and turn into sudden worry, one question only urging in his mind. Were you okay? He couldn’t get too caught up in it, since his assistant came near him and started talking about interviews, but he would’ve liked to run to you and finally being over the whole situation. «Well done, Max. That’s P2!» Max didn’t even try to be happy. Qualifying second was frustrating per se; having a 5-positions penalty for the race made it even more unbearable. As he got out of the car, the crowds’ cheers all sounded like boos to him. Nobody from the team tried to lift his mood, nobody got close: nobody wanted to unleash a lion’s fury. Walking towards the pitlane in order to go over the usual procedure, Max forced himself not to look at Charles’ displays of happiness and diverted his gaze elsewhere, telling himself he would get him on the race. Would’ve definitely been easier without the penalty. Passing by the pit wall, he felt a pair of eyes watching over him. It was you. Surprised to see you there, he couldn’t help but stare at you while walking. Did you watch the entire session? He hadn’t seen you down the pitlane before Q1 started, even though he had peeked inside Ferrari’s box. Focusing on your creased expression, he was immediately reminded of the day before and the way he’d caught you rushing to the hospitality with distress written all over your face. Max’s trail of thoughts got interrupted as soon as you ran away, after being caught staring. He should’ve known.

Head upon your hand, you lazily gazed outside the window. A lively and loud crowd of fans filled the street in front of the hotel, waving Ferrari flags, cheering, chanting in delight red-laced names, Charles and Carlos’. Lost in thought, you watched as evening gradually casted its orange shade onto the clear sky; it immediately reminded of you of Zandvoort, of that chaotic and poetic scenery, of the electricity which ran down your spine under Max’s stare, the warmth you felt between his arms, the innocent happiness and contentment in his words. You couldn’t help but think he deserved it: he deserved to have hundreds, thousands of reasons to smile and celebrate. And you couldn’t help but feel a coward to have taken that smile away from him. Crossing his eyes once had been enough to see surprise and disappointment painted inside of them; the way he would search for you in the crowd aware he couldn’t get near you made you vulnerable, unveiled, caught red-handed committing a crime you couldn’t forgive: leaving. You did what your parents had done with you: you had decided to eclipse yourself from his life, disappearing, leaving no trace, without giving an explanation. Just out of fear. Fear showed you the differences that split you and Max apart, the hurt you could give Max, Kelly and Penelope, and purposely forgot to warn you about your own consuming guilt; memories projected themselves onto the future and created an ideal alternative world where such a beautiful friendship would’ve been able to grow undisturbed. The thought of losing Max forever scared you, but your actions had already cut him out before you could realize it fully. Looking at the carnival of colors displaying in front of you, among the chants screamed in a language mostly unknown to you, a small part of your heart silently began to pray and feed hopes for you to find your way back to him, no more hurt involved. As blue and orange melted in each other’s embrace, you thought it made a good metaphor. Two opposites unafraid to merge, brave enough to live in the same universe, clash and love the other. You craved to be able to do the same.

14 minutes. «We think tyre degradation is going to be high on the first few laps and it’ll be mainly due to temperature.» Still 14 minutes. «There shouldn’t be problems in terms of pace.» «Yeah, I know.» Just 14 minutes. The formation lap was 14 minutes away. Max couldn’t focus. The 7th place on the grid seemed way busier than being on the first row was, busier than he remembered: VIPs, media, mechanics, engineers, assistants, cameras polluted his sight. Fucking Monza. He’d spent a lot of time in Italy in his karting days, but in a way he’d never fully vibed with the track: was it him? Was it driving for Red Bull in Ferrari’s home that made him less likeable and appreciated by luck? He couldn’t tell. Was it you? Was it you moving through the crowd uneasy? He couldn’t tell. But it was enough to get Max breaking his immobility status. «Max!» the engineer tried to call him back. Zigzagging through the crowd and taking advantage of his agile figure, Max made his way and reached you. «Y/n, stop!» Before you could even recognize the voice, Max tightly gripped your wrist, giving you no chance to escape his hold and no way of avoiding his piercing gaze. «I’m tired of all of this, so don’t feed me up with bullshits.» «Max, I-» «No, listen to me.v he cut you harshly, sounding so decisive you didn’t dare reply. «If I win this race, you’ll have to talk to me.» You stared at his adamant features and momentarily got lost in his ice blue irises, left speechless. A sparkle, a fire burned inside them, igniting your confusion. «W-what?» you uttered. «You heard me.» As he said that, someone from the Red Bull staff called him to the track to get ready. Painfully reminded of his grid penalty, you frowned. «What if you don’t win?» you asked with a shaking tone full of worry and uncertainty. «Max! Please, we’re 3 minutes away!» 3 minutes? Weren’t they 14? Max turned his head towards the engineer, only to look back at you one last time. «I know how to get what I want.» After that, you saw him getting away from you as quickly as he had appeared. Inside Ferrari’s box, wearing a pair of red headphones, you felt yourself burn and consume due to the hot weather and a race terribly nerve-wrecking for you to watch. Each overtake Max had pulled had you silently praying everything didn’t turn into a crash and if you had always been worried whenever a yellow flag was shown on the screen, now more than ever your heart would quicken. Once he had conquered the first position on track after Charles’ pit stop, you sensed the high hopes of the people around you, all cheering for their driver to close the gap, hopes that only partly met yours: you would’ve liked a winning Charles, but a deeper desire burned inside of you, and that was seeing Max finally walking on the highest step of the podium. The safety car prevented any change in the position order. Eyes on the screen, you didn’t even move after the checkered flag announced Max’s victory. Hearing his voice through the team radio finally awakened you; you got up and moved towards the podium, as all the Tifosi were doing. You didn’t feel the heat anymore, you didn’t hear the loud cheers mixed with screams of disapproval, you didn’t notice Charles’ bitter-sweet smile, no. You only admired Max’s bliss, his flushed skin, his smile. Like a spell, you seemed to forget everything else and got carried away, enchanted, while he celebrated his deserved win. Once he disappeared from your sight, your senses took in the crowded pitlane and the loudness surrounding you; it was as if steadiness had become unknown to you after Max had left, leaving you without support.

It didn’t last long, though. He royally emerged amidst a cloud of cameras and flashes, walking with the most intense and determined stare you’d ever seen on him. He seemed magnificent, the happiness for the win already gone. You realized a tiny bit too late he was heading right towards you. He got close to you and, without uttering a single word, he took your hand in his, so that you naturally started following him. His fingers tightly gripped yours, afraid you could vanish if he didn’t hold strong enough, and his feet’s thumps echoed through corridors you couldn’t recognize, heading to some unknown destination. Despite his hurry, you would’ve never dared to escape: the way his blank yet determined expression had seemed to draw you, to claim you, after keeping up to the deal and winning, had you wrapped around his charming aura. He walked off the podium with a veiled rage, almost as if he didn’t care about the victory as much as he cared about getting things clear between the two of you as soon as possible. And there you were, hurrying behind his steps, your heart racing faster than you ever would. Lost in a labyrinth of white corridors and anonymous doors, Max abruptly turned left and dragged you inside one of those rooms. «Here nobody will hear us.» he told you, locking the door. As he turned to face you, you stared at each other. He seemed to be as breathless as you were; a light veil of sweat covering his skin reminded you he’d just had a race, and his slightly reddened cheeks just proved it even more. The slow movement of his chest rising and falling lulled you and enchanted you, so that you momentarily forgot why you were there. You came back to reality as soon as Max got closer to a desk and leaned on it, hands gripping the edge of it, looking at you and expecting you to get comfortable as well. Unsure of what to do, you searched for cleavage on the wall right in front of him, bracing yourself for the talk you were about to have. «I go first, okay?» As he said it, you nodded and mentally thanked him, because you wouldn’t have been able to initiate the conversation. «I’m sorry if I forced you to move in, that clearly was a bad move.» Max said, looking straight into your eyes. «I’m sorry for making you feel uncomfortable, because that was exactly the opposite of what I wanted.» His hand passed through some locks of hair while he searched for the right words. «I get it if you don’t want to live with us. Geez, I could even understand if you didn’t want to deal with me anymore after all of this, but I have to know why. I’ve been pissed all week because you ignored me. Now I want the truth.» All the excuses and valid reasons you had played in your head suddenly felt too weak when you had to say them out loud; Max’s bluntness deserved an explanation, an exhaustive one, coherent, logical, and you realized you had none. None which could be enough for him, that is. He’d asked for the truth, though; truth you would give him. «I… I was scared. I didn’t want to ruin things between you and Kelly.» you rambled. He looked away and laughed, bitter. «Guess it’s too late to worry anyway. We basically broke up.» Max realized his words had affected you more than he expected to; shock was painted on your face, paired up with a sad frown. «I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- Gosh, I know you asked me, and I really wanted it too, but only as long as I didn’t interfere with your relationships. - you quickly said. «And this clearly hasn’t worked.» Max stayed in silence, assessing the situation. «Okay. So you wanted to?» «Of course.» you whispered. «Why did you disappear then?» he urged. «I thought it would be better.» «Better for who?» he asked, a pinch of sarcasm in his voice. «You knew I wanted to talk this out. And don’t you dare tell me it was better for you, because you seemed all but happy.» You shot your head right in front of his. What? «I’ve seen you, after free practice.» Those few words were enough to awaken images and memories of your parents. You stared into the void. Max got up from his semi-sitting position and got closer to you, putting a hand on your shoulder as to comfort you. «What happened?» he asked you, straightforward but soft at the same time. You stayed silent for a while. You didn’t talk, he didn’t talk; your lack of explanation was enough, spoke more than you could express, and Max knew it. After a deep inhale, you briefly answered. «I saw my parents. I was in Milan, they were there. They didn’t notice me. I… I didn’t expect them to be here.» Max didn’t say anything. He simply rubbed your shoulder with his thumb in gentle motions, caring. Once he understood that was all, he spoke with a low voice, so low nobody else could’ve heard his words. «You don’t need them to be happy.» You raised your chin towards him. He didn’t divert his gaze. «Fuck them.» He put on a faint smile, prompting a bitter one to bloom on your lips as well. «Yeah, fuck them.» you repeated in a whisper, sad. «Hey,» he said, «I mean it.» His eyes were honest, pure. «And I’m here.» And his words felt sincere. He didn’t try to sugarcoat it, he didn’t go overboard; he measured the weight of his sentences, so that they didn’t burden you nor left you indifferent. He made your heart falter. As if your bodies were moving under the same enchantment, the same spell, you tenderly hugged each other, nestling your face in his neck and both of you letting your arms automatically twine in a comforting, intimate embrace. No other words were needed: nothing but silence could seal the implicit promise you had just made. You’d never run away from him. Never stray from him again. Max broke the embrace and took your hands, placing them softly onto his chest, playing with your fingers and smiling lightly while looking at them. He then looked at you, leaving you breathless. His face, his eyes, his lips were so close to yours you couldn’t even acknowledge it properly. You weren’t backing down, though, and neither was Max; for the first time, none of you felt embarrassed because of the closeness. Despite the lack of discomfort, you began perceiving the warmth of his hands on yours, the champagne scent still drenched in his suit and skin, like a golden honey that kept you glued to him, a precious flower. Max’s beauty got you trapped. Your gaze couldn’t decide what to give most importance to: they flicked to his eyes, then dropped down to his slightly parted lips; you were breathing the same air, sighs mixing and flowing from one soul to the other, making no distinction between you and him. You suddenly wondered whether he had moved towards you – how could you tell? You already could feel his hot breath on your face. Without daring to move, you only had time to notice Max’s hands holding a little bit more firmly yours, while inching over and getting your noses almost to touch, brushing against each other. As your lashes’ weight was ready to close your eyes to conceal the softness in them, a loud shout coming from the corridor made them wide-open, startled. «Max! Max, where are you?» You recognized Christian Horner’s voice calling for him, and you saw him shut his own eyes with annoyance. «Max, c’mon! I know you’re here, please! I’m too old to play hide and seek!» You chuckled silently, as Max stared and smiled with you. Smiled at you. «I think you should go.» you whispered. He simply nodded. He let go of your hands and regretted it immediately; he turned around and unlocked the door and regretted it strongly. After those moments, he’d started to crave your touch, your slightly cold but soft hands, your scent, your presence. He hadn’t even been able to say something after it, because he felt strange. Something different, unusual, unpredicted had struck him. «Here you are! We’ve got a bit of media to cover, let’s go.» Christian patted his shoulder and dragged him to the media pen without getting a reaction from him. The team principal simply thought he was tired, maybe even emotional at the thought of winning for the first time in such a track like Monza, and that last reason sounded the most convincing given the fact Max’s eyes seemed to brim with a new sparkle. What is it?, Christian couldn’t help but wonder, curious. What is it?, Max asked himself while dealing with media interviews. What is it?, you told yourself, pressing your hand on your suddenly reddened and hot cheeks. Was it… affection? It felt deeper, warmer, fuller. What could it be, then?

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