Ashfur x Squirrelflight

Squirrelflight walked a few steps ahead.

Her tail was rigid, muscles tense, neck stretched as if she could smell through the wind itself, as if at any second an enemy cat might appear from the mud. I just followed her.

Every now and then, she would turn to look at me. Out of the corner of her eye, as if she didn’t want me to notice that she was looking at me, but with the kind of mistrust that one can’t hide completely. As if she expected me to pounce on her at any moment. Or say something stupid. I don’t know which would bother her more.

And yes. Maybe she doesn’t trust me. And how could she?

Things haven’t been right between us since she officially got tangled up with Brambleclaw. She didn’t even say it with words. It was just something that happened. One day to the next, they stopped arguing like kittens to start looking at each other as if they were the only two cats under the stars. And me… I was left there. Watching them. Like an idiot.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything.

So now I walk behind her. Patrolling a forgotten part of the border with RiverClan, pretending I’m looking for signs of enemies when really I’m going over all the times I was about to tell her how I felt. And all the times I didn’t.

We had been attacked recently. A group from RiverClan came into our territory as if it were theirs. Cowards. They outnumbered us and still ran when we saw reinforcements. That was three nights ago, I think. Since then, we’ve been chasing ghosts. Seeing if they left anyone behind. We haven’t found anything. But we keep looking. Because that’s what warriors do: search even when there’s nothing.

And maybe, just maybe, that gives me an excuse to be close to her. Even like this. Even if she looks at me like I’m about to betray her.

“Do you see anything?” I asked, without much hope.

She didn’t answer. She just sniffed the ground more intensely, ears perked up.

Of course. Ignoring me is something she’s good at too.

I sighed. Part of me wondered why I insisted so much. Why I couldn’t just stop feeling what I felt. It wasn’t like she was available. It wasn’t like she ever had been. But there I was, following her, as if it meant something.

The forest began to change. First, it was a faint cold that seeped through the leaves. Then, the mist.

“Was it always like this around here?” I murmured.

Nothing.

I took a couple more steps. The grass under my paws was wetter than usual. The scent of RiverClan was no longer perceived. Only dampness, and that kind of silence that starts to scratch inside. As if the forest was also holding its breath.

“Squirrelflight,” I said, this time more firmly.

She turned, annoyed.

“What?”

“I don’t recognize this place.”

She stopped completely. Looked around. The shadows of the trees were blurred by the mist. Everything was covered in gray.

“Aren’t we near the border?”

“I think so. But I’m not sure anymore.”

There was a pause. One of those where no one wants to be the first to admit we’re lost.

“How far do you think we are from camp?”

“Far enough that no one will hear us if we scream.”

I don’t know why I said that. Maybe to annoy her. Maybe because I felt more uncomfortable than I wanted to admit. Maybe because I did want her to hear me, even if it was out of anger.

She snorted.

“This is not the time for jokes.”

“And when exactly is?”

She fell silent.

I could see her blurry silhouette through the mist. She looked like a ghost. A proud and stubborn one.

“Squirrelflight,” I tried again, “I don’t want to fight.”

“Then what do you want, Ashfur?”

She wasn’t looking at me. She kept scanning the ground. As if my voice was just another annoyance the wind could carry away.

“Talk. Just… talk.”

She didn’t answer. She walked a few more steps, but her tail lowered a bit. Maybe she was doubting. Maybe she had also noticed that we had no idea where we were. That the mist had swallowed us and we were alone.

I followed her. There wasn’t much else I could do. The forest felt thicker. As if it didn’t want to let us out. The branches seemed to move where there was no wind before.

“I don’t like this,” she said.

Squirrelflight snorted, her way of saying “this isn’t working” without having to admit she was scared. I saw her turn with that determination of hers, the one she gets when she decides that if something doesn’t get solved in a straight line, then it gets solved in a zigzag.

“Well,” she said, walking towards a side where the mist was thicker, the ground muddier, the idea stupider, “we always have the river, right? We can follow this and go back to—”

And she didn’t finish the sentence.

The ground gave way.

I saw her paw sink into a patch of poorly settled mud, the texture different, as if the ground had decided to give up at that precise moment. Her claws searched for support in the air. A splash, a faint cry, and the clear image: Squirrelflight about to disappear between mud and water.

I jumped without thinking.

My body hit hers with enough force to make her grunt, and with one of my paws, I managed to grab her by the back, just above the base of her tail. I felt her wet fur and the tension of her muscles under my claws, and for one long, absurd second, the world stopped there.

She swallowed. I heard her.

She had stepped wrong. The mud was looser than we thought, and if I hadn’t stopped her, she would probably be splashing in the river, dragged by the current or trapped in one of those marshy burrows that no one notices until it’s too late.

“Step back,” I told her, my voice tense. It wasn’t an order. It was a plea.

She clung to the edge with her claws, moving slowly. Each step back was like watching someone escape from a fox trap. Millimetric. Painful.

And me… well, I couldn’t stop looking.

Or rather, I had nowhere else to look.

Squirrelflight was right in front of me, and my paw was still on her, barely, right there, where the back becomes the tail, and underneath… were her glutes. There’s no dignified way to describe that. I just know they were there. And they were beautiful. Firm. Symmetrical. Perfectly framed by her reddish fur that quivered with the trembling of her body.

My ears burned.

I tried to look away, I swear, but my eyes wouldn’t obey me. I felt a ridiculous heat in my chest that rose to my snout and then went straight to my stomach. A small gasp escaped my mouth, hot and soft, like a contained snort.

And of course, she felt it.

She shook herself, with that startled jerk that cats have when you blow on their back unexpectedly. Rigid. Tense.

“Ashfur…” she murmured, without fully turning around, “If you’re going to stand there panting at my tail… you might as well pull me out already.”

I… swallowed. I didn’t respond. I just clenched my teeth, focused on her hind legs—not on the rest, not on the curve of her back, not on how her tail twitched nervously—and carefully pulled her out. I dragged her back to solid ground. Where the soil was earth, not a trap. Where I could breathe without my heart pounding in my chest as if I had just caught a hawk.

She broke free as soon as she could. She moved away from me as if her fur was on fire. She snorted again, that dry sound she reserved only for me. That she didn’t use with Brambleclaw. That she didn’t use with anyone else.

“You could have warned me before you started drooling,” she growled, without looking me in the eyes.

I couldn’t say anything.

The air between us was thick. Silent. Piercing.

She was still facing away, but now she wasn’t walking. She wasn’t leaving. She was just staring at a fixed point in the mist, as if waiting for something to save her from the moment. And me… I was waiting for the same thing. Something to dissipate this. To erase it.

Squirrelflight turned slightly. Just enough for me to see her face, but not completely. The line of her jaw trembled.

She was red.

Not just any blush. Not one that would fade quickly.

She was flushed to her ears.

So was I.

My paws trembled. And although the cold was intense, I knew it wasn’t because of that.

She said nothing more.

And neither did I.

My throat burned. I felt that thick knot in my stomach that I didn’t know if it was shame, fear, or something more primitive, more foolish. Something that had no name. Something that could only be felt when you were the one panting like an idiot over the back of a she-cat you had loved for so long and who now couldn’t even look you in the face.

I tried to approach her.

Step by step. Trying not to make noise, though it was useless. The branches cracked, the mud squished under my paws, and the mist echoed every movement as if the forest wanted to announce my presence.

She moved away.

She didn’t say anything. She just walked faster. Enough for me to understand that it wasn’t coincidental. It wasn’t just another step. It was evasion. Rejection.

“Squirrelflight,” I murmured.

She didn’t hear me. Or she didn’t want to hear me. She wasn’t walking anymore. She was running.

So was I.

“Squirrelflight, wait! I just want to talk!”

She didn’t stop. She didn’t even turn around.

“I want to explain what happened, it wasn’t…! Let me talk!”

“Stay away!” she shouted.

It was the first time she had spoken to me since that moment. But it wasn’t anger that I heard. It wasn’t hatred. It was something much worse. Shyness. Concern. Vulnerability.

I stopped for a second, confused.

And in that second, she stumbled.

She let out a cry, but she didn’t fall. She kept running. As if she preferred to plummet rather than face me. As if she couldn’t bear another word from me.

And that’s when I felt it.

Fear.

Not mine. Hers. Or yes, mine too. The fear that she would keep running without looking and end up falling into something she couldn’t return from. Because we didn’t know where we were. Because everything was covered in mist. Because under the mist, there could be anything.

I sped up.

I ran as fast as I could. I felt my paws burning the ground, my claws tearing the earth desperately. And when I was close enough, I jumped. I didn’t think. I just did it.

I knocked her down.

I threw her to the ground, like a hunter catching its prey. The impact was harsh, painful. We didn’t know where we were.

Until we did.

The ground felt hollow beneath us. It sloped. It wasn’t flat. It wasn’t safe.

A ravine.

I froze.

So did she.

She was underneath me. Her legs bent, her chest heaving against mine, her snout inches from mine. I could feel her breath, hot, rapid, uneven. Like mine.

Our snouts brushed against each other. It was ridiculous.

We could die. Literally. We could fall into the void at any moment.

I panted.

Several times.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to move for fear that any shift in weight would make us slip. But I also couldn’t stop looking at her.

And then I saw it.

Her face.

Squirrelflight’s cheeks were red. Not from exertion. Not from the cold. Flushed. The kind of blush that hurts, that you feel all the way to your ears. And she wasn’t looking at me. Her eyes were fixed on some vague point in space, but I could see how her gaze misted over a bit. As if she was about to say something. As if she was holding back.

And something in me broke.

“Squirrelflight…?” I tried.

It was all I could say.

She didn’t respond immediately.

Her body trembled.

And when I thought she might ignore me again, her mouth opened.

“Ashfur,” she said. Her voice was a whisper. Barely a thread.

And in that instant, the crack.

Dry. Crunchy. Terrifying.

The ground.

Giving way.

The earth split like an old crust, and the next thing I knew, the world disappeared beneath us.

“HOLD ON!” I shouted, but there was nothing left to hold onto.

The ground slid away. The entire edge of the ravine collapsed as if we were a mere grain on a crumbling mountain.

And us with it.

We fell.

Together.

Screaming.

The wind hit me hard. The speed was brutal. We weren’t falling; we were being dragged like prey in an avalanche. The earth beneath us cracked, split, and crumbled into pieces that slid down the ravine like a deadly tongue of mud.

Squirrelflight let out a shriek.

For a second, I thought I would lose her. Her lighter body began to lift off the ground, as if she were about to be thrown into the air. But I caught her. Quickly. Firmly.

I pressed her against my chest, wrapping her with my front paws, covering her as if she were a newborn cub and I her only defense against the world.

I thought of nothing else. Only of not letting her go.

The rest was noise, speed, and the frenzied trembling of the earth beneath our paws.

The mass of mud slammed into an enormous rock, partially buried in the slope. The impact was sharp, like the roar of thunder trapped between the trees. Everything shook. The mud exploded to the sides, and what remained of that tongue of earth began to lose shape, to disintegrate.

We were thrown to one side.

The world spun.

And we fell.

But even then, even when my paws no longer knew where the sky was and where the ground was, I didn’t let her go.

I felt the sharp impact on my back. Pain, stinging heat, a burst in my head. But she was still there. On top of me. Safe. Her body remained pressed against my chest, trembling like a leaf. She panted, her claws still dug into my shoulders.

I panted too. But it wasn’t just from the shock.

My head was burning.

And I didn’t understand why.

Squirrelflight was the first to move. She got up clumsily, her paws trembling, her fur covered in mud, her snout dirty. But alive. Whole.

She let out a small whimper. Not of pain. Of… panic.

“Ashfur…” she whispered. Her voice came out broken, high-pitched, as if she couldn’t control what she was saying, “Your… your head…”

“Calm down… A-Are you okay?” I asked, slurring my words. It hurt to talk, as if my teeth had loosened in the fall, “Squirrelflight, are you hurt?”

She didn’t respond immediately.

She just looked at me. Intently. Too intently.

And then she said, softly, with a mix of fear and guilt:

“I am. But you aren’t.”

I knew then that something was wrong.

She leaned over me. Her paws searched my face, trembling almost imperceptibly. She stroked my left ear very carefully. Very slowly. As if she were touching me for the first time. As if she were afraid of breaking me further.

And she stayed there. Frozen.

Her claws weren’t steady. Her breathing became irregular. She was touching me, but she seemed not to know what to do with that. With me. With my wound.

And then I felt something warm running down my forehead.

It was blood.

My ear… torn.

I swallowed again.

Not because of the pain. Not because it burned. But because seeing her there, so tense, so fragile suddenly, with her paws on my face, her eyes shining with fright and mud, was worse than any wound.

Because she wasn’t angry.

She was scared.

For me.

She just sighed.

Long. Tired. Almost relieved.

I’m alive. We’re alive. And that’s more than I expected when we started falling down that ravine as if the ground had decided to crumble beneath us.

I check myself out of the corner of my eye. My fur is covered in mud and broken leaves. My ear is burning —yes, I already knew that—, but my paws respond, my heart beats, and I can see with both eyes, so… good. I guess that counts as “being okay” in these cases.

But then I turn to her.

Squirrelflight is trembling.

She doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me, her breath still ragged, her whiskers damp with what could be sweat… or fear. Or some tear that didn’t quite fall.

“We have to go back,” she says suddenly. Her voice is hoarse, broken inside, as if it’s hard for her to speak, “To the camp. Quickly.”

“Go back?” I say, looking at her as if she had asked me to fly, “We don’t even know where we are, Squirrelflight. How do you want to go back so easily?”

I say this as I move closer, still with that foolish impulse to protect her from everything. My paws move by instinct. I start checking her body carefully. First her back, then her neck, her head. I stroke behind her ears, gently run my paws through her thick fur, looking for any sign of blood, swelling, or pain.

She trembles.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t complain. She just trembles under my touch.

But she doesn’t pull away.

That’s new.

Before, she would have growled, pushed me away, said something sarcastic with that sharp tongue of hers. But now… nothing. She just stays there. Letting me check her. Letting me touch her as if she needed it more than air.

She’s not hurt. At least not physically.

I swallow.

I don’t know if it’s because of the warmth of her fur. Or the trembling. Or the way she lowers her gaze as if she were… embarrassed?

No. It’s not that. It’s something else. Something more fragile.

I hug her.

I don’t think. I just do it. I press my body against hers, carefully but firmly. As if I could hold her with that. As if I could promise her that I wouldn’t let her fall again. As if that were enough.

She lets out a gasp of surprise. Sharp, trembling. And she blushes. I see it. The flush rises up her face, coloring her all the way to her ears.

“What a relief…” I murmur, very softly, “That you’re okay…”

She feels my paws move. They rest on her, seeking stability. But they don’t land on her chest or her shoulders.

They land right there.

On her buttocks.

And I see her freeze.

She moans again. But this time… the sound is different. It’s not fear. It’s not relief.

It’s… hot. Thick. Like a stifled sigh that doesn’t know where to go.

She says nothing.

And I, of course, immediately remove my paws. As if they had burned me.

My heart beats so loudly that it echoes in my ears.

“Aren’t you going to… hit me?” I ask, looking her in the eyes, with a half-smile, desperately seeking some sarcastic remark. Something to bring me back to balance. To remind me that this is the same old Squirrelflight, the one who never lets a chance to bite my paw go by.

But she says nothing.

She just looks at me.

And what I see in her eyes is not fury. It’s not mockery.

It’s concern. Real. Genuine.

And tears.

Tears held back that leave me breathless.

I freeze.

I don’t understand.

I don’t understand anything.

I just hug her a little tighter.

I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to comfort her without making her feel like I’m crossing a line, without making her feel like there’s something I expect in return. I just know that I don’t want to see her like this. Not her. Not Squirrelflight.

“I’m fine,” I murmur, trying to sound calm, almost amused, “I’m sure your sister will fix me up in a couple of seconds. Good as new. Just give me a moment to get up… you’re heavy, little brat.”

I try to make it sound like a joke. A bit of sarcasm to break the silence, to push her back to the familiar ground where we’re always more comfortable: the land of teasing, shoving, shared snorts as part of our private language. But she doesn’t laugh.

She doesn’t move.

Instead, she hugs me tighter.

I feel her snout press against my neck. Her warm breath. Her claws, soft but firm, gripping as if letting go means falling down that ravine again.

I sigh.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, softer this time. More genuine.

She doesn’t answer right away. Then, with that voice she uses when she’s about to say something she doesn’t want to say, she says:

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” I reply without thinking.

I try to laugh. I try to make it sound like before. Like me. But it doesn’t work. It only makes her tense up a bit more.

But she keeps hugging me.

There’s a strange silence after that. Not entirely uncomfortable, but dense. As if we both know we’re treading on something that shouldn’t be touched. And yet, neither of us pulls away.

I hug her back. Because I don’t know what else to do. Because if I don’t, I feel like I’m abandoning her.

“Seriously, I’m fine,” I repeat, this time more sincere, more direct, “I don’t want you to worry about this.”

But then, without a word, she brings her snout to my ear. And she starts licking the wound. Her saliva is warm. Gentle. And that unsettles me more than any fight, any argument, any insult.

I growl a little. Not loud, but with real annoyance.

“I’m not a cub, you know? I don’t need you to clean me like I’m three moons old.”

I said it with a smile that didn’t quite come out, my voice a bit hoarse, still with that tremor inside me, which wasn’t entirely fear or entirely shame, but something uncomfortably close.

She didn’t respond. She just kept licking my wound with a patience I didn’t know she had. As if she were soothing something more than the blood. As if she wanted to stay there.

And I, of course, couldn’t bear it.

Not because of the pain. Because of what it meant.

So, as revenge—yes, a stupid, useless, childish revenge—I gave her a few light taps with my hind paw. A couple of soft smacks, like the ones we used to give each other when we were apprentices playing at training. A silly gesture, a reminder that we could still laugh at ourselves. That not everything had to hurt.

“Come on,” I murmured, half-hidden between the joke and the plea, “Say something. Get mad. Growl at me.”

Don’t make me feel like you care about me again. Don’t remind me.

But she said nothing.

I only heard her breath catch for a second. A small snort, which I couldn’t tell was restraint or surprise. And then… nothing.

Nothing but her body, which, instead of moving away, pressed a little closer.

I stayed still.

I felt her shrink slightly, as if she didn’t know what to do with that gesture, with that caress disguised as play. As if she didn’t know whether to snort in my face or stay there, pretending it hadn’t happened.

But she kept licking.

She stayed silent.

And that silence was worse than any growl.

I just wanted to see her react. The Squirrelflight I know would have made a face, rolled her eyes, muttered something like “idiot” while pushing me away with a paw and pretending she didn’t care.

But this wasn’t that Squirrelflight.

And that confused me.

Because she was on top of me, warm, strong, real. But she wasn’t the same as always. She was different, quieter. More… fragile?

And yet… she doesn’t pull away.

She presses closer to me.

She keeps licking the wound, patiently, as if that were her only concern. As if the rest of the world didn’t exist while her tongue worked to ease my pain.

And I… I’m trapped in a whirlwind I can’t control.

What am I supposed to do?

I don’t understand this. I don’t understand what she’s doing or why she’s doing it this way. Squirrelflight has never been easy to read. Not even when she was an apprentice. Not when I liked her so much that I couldn’t talk to her without going blank, even though I pretended otherwise. She never says what she feels unless it’s absolutely necessary.

She never has.

And yet… here she is. Like this. With me. Not with Brambleclaw. Not with the Clan. With me. As if in the midst of all this madness, I were her refuge. As if my chest were the only place she wants to be.

God.

Squirrelflight…

You’re still like when you were a cub. Stubborn. Unpredictable. Full of a fire that I don’t know if it burns or warms.

And me…

Damn it.

I still love you.

Damn it all.

I stay still. Letting her do it. Letting the calm return in this strange way she’s found to show that she wants me near. Without words. Without explanations. Just this moment. Just us.

Just her tongue carefully cleaning what hurts.

And me, unable to tell her that this, exactly this, is what hurts the most. Because it reminds me of what we no longer are. And what we perhaps never were.

But I still let her stay. Because I wouldn’t know how to ask her not to.

And because deep down, very deep down… I enjoy this.

I enjoy having her like this.

Even if I don’t understand why.

In the end, she finishes licking my ear.

She does it with an almost ceremonial slowness, as if she wanted to make sure that each movement had a purpose, as if each touch of her tongue was a silent farewell to something we can’t name. I remain lying beneath her, motionless. At this point, I couldn’t say if it’s because of the fall or something much heavier, more intimate.

Then she looks at me.

Directly in the eyes.

And without warning, ¡paf!, she slaps me on the cheek. Not very hard, but precise enough to make my skin and pride sting at the same time.

“Don’t ever spank me again,” she says, seriously, “No one has the right to do it without my permission.”

I freeze for a second. Then I laugh. Low, through my teeth, half-embarrassed and half-amused. I adjust myself a bit on the ground and nod, still with a half-smile.

“Okay, okay… understood.”

But my laughter fades quickly.

“Without her permission”?

Those words stick in my head like a thorn. Not because of the reprimand itself—I deserve it—but because of the way she said it. The way it sounded. As if she didn’t completely rule out the idea. As if… I don’t know. As if there was a possibility of permission. Someday. Under certain circumstances. When pigs fly, maybe. But still.

I watch her get up.

She shakes her fur with firm movements, as if she could shake off the moment. Then she turns her head, sniffs the air, scans the surroundings with that gaze of hers that always seems to be two steps ahead of me.

I get up with some difficulty. My ear hurts less. Her tongue, though I won’t say it out loud, did its job. Sometimes, her gestures hurt more than her words.

I look around.

And I realize something.

I have no idea where we are.

I don’t recognize any tree. Any rock. Nothing. The air smells of stagnant humidity and old earth. I’m not even sure if we’re still in ThunderClan territory. If not… we’re truly lost. And if no one finds us…

I swallow.

I start walking, keeping an eye on her the whole time. Making sure she doesn’t wander too far, that she stays within my sight. It’s like an old habit I can’t shake: making sure she’s okay, even if it’s no longer my place to do so.

Then I bump into something.

Hard. Cold. Solid.

A rock wall.

I step back, frowning. I run my paw over the surface, expecting only rock, but instead I feel… air. A void. There’s a hole. A deep, damp hollow.

“It’s a cave,” I murmur. Then I raise my voice, “Squirrelflight! Come, quick!”

But she doesn’t respond.

I frown. I don’t like not hearing her.

I follow her scent, which fortunately still lingers clear in the mist, and when I find her, she’s distracted, looking at some point aimlessly, as if she wants to keep walking until she leaves the world.

I don’t say anything. I just stretch out a paw and grab her by the tail. I pull her gently toward me.

“What are you doing?” I murmur, “You’ll get lost if you keep walking like that alone. Look,” I nod toward the rock, “I found a cave. I think it’s better to wait there until the mist clears. If we try to go back now, we might end up in a river… and then we’re done for.”

She turns, looking toward the cave. Fortunately, the mist hasn’t seeped inside yet. It seems safe. Cozy even, compared to everything else.

She looks at me.

And before she can say anything, I raise my paws in surrender.

“I swear, okay? I won’t touch you. Never again… not without your permission.”

I say the last part with a sideways smile. Reusing her words. A little to provoke her. A little because I want to see if I can still get a reaction out of her. Something that tells me she’s still there, behind that wall she’s built between us.

And it works. A little.

She snorts. It sounds more like an amused huff than real anger. Then she approaches… and bites me.

Not very hard, just on the neck. A quick, almost playful bite.

“I only said not to spank me,” she says. And then, turning toward the cave, “I only forbade that.”

And she leaves.

Just like that. As if she hadn’t just left my head spinning.

I’m frozen.

What…?

What was that?

I’m blushing. I know it. I feel the heat rising up my ears, down my neck. My heart is beating faster than it should. Was that a… joke? Permission? A trap?

“Huh?” I murmur aloud, though she’s already gone into the cave, “W-What did you say?”

Silence.

Of course. Squirrelflight doesn’t respond.

She never responds when I need her most. When she says something that throws me off, she disappears as if nothing happened, leaving me alone with the echo of her words.

I stand there for a moment, looking like an idiot. Red. Stunned. Uncomfortable in my own skin.

“No… it can’t be that…”, I say to myself, “I must have misunderstood. I’m imagining things.”

But I keep thinking about her voice. About how she said it.

<<”I only forbade that.”>>

And before I know it, I’m already entering the cave. Blushing. Understanding nothing.

Squirrelflight…

What the hell did you mean?

Inside the cave, the humidity in the air mixes with the silence, thick and still. There’s no moss on the ground. Nothing soft for Squirrelflight to lie on. Just stone, a bit of dry earth, and that metallic scent of confinement that makes you feel like you’re swallowing the mountain’s breath.

I watch her move. She settles as best she can, her fur still damp from the fall, her body tense as if she doesn’t fully trust that the ground beneath her won’t collapse again.

I think about going out, finding something for her to rest on. But as soon as I approach the entrance, I see it.

The mist has swallowed everything.

A white sea covering the forest. Dense, impenetrable. I can barely see my own paws. Going out now would be foolish. I’d get lost in seconds. And I don’t want to leave her alone. Not again.

So I simply approach her.

I sit beside her without saying a word. She lies down with that same dry gesture as always, as if she doesn’t want to give me any sign of anything. I… try to move my tail closer to hers, casually, without overthinking it, as a test.

But she moves it away as soon as it touches hers.

Not violently, but with that characteristic speed that screams “don’t get your hopes up.”

I laugh. Softly. A bit embarrassed. A bit resigned.

Damn.

Only with her do I become this idiot cat who doesn’t know what to do with his paws, his tail, or his mouth. She’s the only one who makes me look like a complete fool. I’m lucky no one else is here to see me. If anyone saw me acting like this, I’d never live it down.

I look away, searching for anything on the rock walls that isn’t her, that isn’t her warm red fur next to mine.

And then, out of nowhere, she says:

“Have you been seeing other she-cats lately?”

I freeze.

My mouth opens, but I don’t know what to say.

“No,” I finally reply, dryly. Too quickly. Too sincere.

And it’s true. Not really. Maybe a stolen glance, a pathetic attempt to move on… but nothing real. Nothing like her. No one who made me feel the way I did when I saw her enter the camp clearing and everything inside me stopped.

I swallow.

And just then, I feel her tail. Brushing against mine. This time, slower. Softer.

I move mine away by reflex. Out of foolish shyness.

But she seeks it out again.

She wraps it around mine.

And I move closer. Barely. As if she had given me permission. As if no words were needed.

Then she asks:

“Does the wound still hurt?”

“No,” I reply without hesitation.

And for the first time in a while, I dare.

“What… were you going to tell me before we fell?” I ask, “And why did you start crying if you weren’t hurt? I mean, I’ve never seen you… care about someone like that. Not even with me when… when we used to go out.”

The word hangs in the air.

Used to go out.

As if it were easy to name.

She bristles immediately. Her fur stands on end, tension shooting through her body like a lightning bolt. She looks at me with one of those sharp gazes that make you want to hide in a burrow and never come out.

I look away.

Great. Idiot.

She sighs. Long. Tired. As if I had unintentionally ripped something out of her.

And then, without looking at me, she says:

“I can’t forget you easily, okay?”

Silence.

“I’m a mother now. Of three kits. My mate is the deputy of the Clan. But still… when I see you, I can’t… Damn. No, well… yes. I mean…”

I look at her. Confused. Halfway between relief and terror.

“What is it that you can’t forget?”

She doesn’t answer right away. But when she does, her voice is barely a whisper. Embarrassed. Heavy.

“I still… remember our nights a lot,” she whispers, “When we used to go out… and roll around in your nest in secret until dawn.”

I freeze.

“They were… beautiful moments. That I can’t forget.”

I don’t know what to say.

I only know that I’m blushing. From the tips of my ears to the base of my tail.

And my heart… doesn’t know whether to burst or stay still forever.

I remain… nervous. Quite nervous, actually.

I don’t know what I expected her to say. Maybe nothing. Maybe a snort, a bitter laugh, a “don’t be an idiot” that would shake my heart but leave me in peace. Something definitive. Something I could file away in the part of my brain where things that hurt go, but at least have a shape.

But not this.

Not that tremor in her voice. Not that confession that leaves my chest buzzing as if I had swallowed a live bee. Our nights. I can’t forget.

There’s nothing to say after that.

And I… I don’t know if I can stay still.

So I do something.

Something that’s probably wrong. Something that, if it earns me a kick or a claw to the face, I’ll accept it. I deserve it. But I do it anyway.

I move closer to her. I look at her for a second. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t move.

And without further ado, I lie on top of her.

Not roughly. Not with intentions that can be misinterpreted. Just… I wrap around her again. I hug her. Like before. Like when it was easier.

She lets out a soft moan. Timid. Surprised. Almost imperceptible. It’s not from annoyance. It’s not from pleasure. It’s something in between. An exhalation that doesn’t know whether it wants to stay or flee.

“I still like you,” I tell her, straightforwardly.

I don’t say it to convince her of anything. It’s not a strategy. It’s not a plea.

It’s just the truth.

She rejected me before. I lived with that. I learned to swallow it. To push it down until it hurt less. But if she needs to hate me to move on, if that helps her live peacefully with her lovely, perfect family, then let her hate me. Let her spit on me, let her rip me out of her heart once and for all.

I can handle that. I’ll make her hate me if that’s what she needs.

But her gaze says something else.

There’s no anger in it. No disgust. No sparks of that fury so characteristic of her that made me feel alive even when she wanted to strangle me.

There’s only… sadness. And something more dangerous. Something that disarms me.

Her lips tremble slightly as she turns to look at me. And her eyes… they’re moist. There are no tears yet, but they’re on the brink. As if any more words would make everything overflow.

And then… it happens.

I don’t know when. I don’t know the exact moment. Maybe when I blink. Maybe when I move my head to her neck seeking comfort, a bit of warmth I don’t dare ask for with words.

She turns her face. Very slowly. With that carefulness of hers, as if every movement hurt.

And she presses her snout to mine.

A kiss.

A subtle one. Unexpected. Affectionate.

As if she didn’t know if she had permission, but did it anyway.

I close my eyes.

I don’t think. I can’t.

She does it again.

And again.

Small kisses, clumsy and soft, that capture me completely. At first, they are just that: brushes, tentative touches. Her lips touch mine as if doubting, as if wanting to make sure this is real, that I am still here, that I won’t push her away.

I don’t.

How could I?

Her movements are slow at first. Unsure. As if she herself doesn’t know why she’s doing it. As if her lips need to remind me of something her words can’t say. She barely grazes me, then pulls back half a centimeter, then returns, like a sway of doubt and desire. And with each of those movements, I feel the warmth of her breath, the contained tremor in her jaw.

My snout trembles. My paws, even more so.

And when I think she’s going to stop, that she’s going to brake as she always does, when I feel she’s about to leave it at nothing… she doesn’t.

She presses her lips against mine more firmly. It’s not a demand, not aggressive, but more real. More present. More hers.

And then, without warning, I feel her tongue.

It makes its way between my lips with such intimacy that it paralyzes me. She didn’t ask. She didn’t seek permission. She just did it, and I don’t know why, but… I don’t care.

Her tongue touches mine. Warm, moist, familiar.

A hidden memory that returns without asking if it can stay.

My heart, until then racing, now becomes a wild drum. My chest fills with warmth. My stomach tightens, my paws buckle slightly. I don’t understand anything that’s happening, I only know that it is. That she is here. That she is kissing me as if she needs to.

She presses her lips more firmly against mine. No more doubt. No more trembling. There is firmness. There is urgency. She is devouring my mouth with that perfect mix of contained affection and accumulated need that I always, always knew she hid beneath all her pride.

And I… melt.

Because I never imagined I would feel this again.

Because her tongue tastes like home.

And I don’t know if I should let her continue or not.

I only know that I am.

But…

Is she aware that she is kissing… me?

Or is she just letting herself go?

The thought hits me right in the middle of the kiss, like a current of icy water running under my skin. But I don’t pull away. I don’t want to. I want to stay exactly where I am.

Because deep down, where the voice no longer resembles reason or pride, I know: I want this. I want this more than anything else. More than respect. More than forgiveness. More than common sense.

I want her.

I want her so much it hurts.

And what hurts the most is that for the first time in so long, I feel her as mine. Truly mine. Here. Not in a stolen glance, not in a dusty memory. Here. Her lips on mine. Her warm breath mixed with mine. Her tongue touching me as if she knows perfectly well who I am and still doesn’t stop.

I don’t want her to separate from me. I don’t want her to ever move away again.

But I shouldn’t be doing this either.

I’m not stupid. I know what’s at stake. She has a mate. A life. Children. A damn place built around another choice.

A choice that wasn’t me.

Brambleclaw.

That bastard. The perfect deputy. The ideal cat, with the blood of Tigerstar and the gaze always firm. The one who won. The one who has her. The one who sleeps by her side every night.

And yet, here she is. Kissing me.

I changed. Or so I want to believe. I’m not the same Ashfur from before, not entirely. I know I can’t force what isn’t mine. I know I shouldn’t cross lines. And yet…

I’m melting.

Literally.

In her lips. In her body. In that heat that sticks to my skin as if it had always been waiting for this moment.

My paws, almost instinctively, move to her waist. I caress her carefully, as if afraid of breaking something. I try to keep them from trembling, but they tremble anyway. Because touching her is too much. Because touching her and having her not pull away is everything I never thought I could feel again.

I brush her tail without thinking, barely with the tip of a claw.

She moans.

Softly.

And then… she turns.

She lies on her back.

And I, clumsy, lost, without thinking, fall on top of her.

Our bodies align. Our snouts don’t separate. Our kisses become more intense, more desperate. There is no more doubt, no more pause. She kisses me as if there were no other choice. As if she had never stopped wanting to.

And I… I burn inside.

Squirrelflight.

You’re… too… close.

Everything in me screams. My whole body vibrates with an absurd mix of need, guilt, love, and fear. Because this is not a dream. It’s not a fantasy. It’s happening. Her fur under my paws. Her breath against my throat. Her mouth that doesn’t stop seeking mine.

Do you want this?

The question echoes in my head. I don’t dare to ask her. I don’t dare to stop. Because I know the answer. Because maybe… maybe I am the only one who is truly aware here. And that makes me responsible.

I am the one who should stop this.

Before she regrets it. Before we both regret it. Before she returns to her reality, and I am left alone with mine, with the worst beating of my life on top of it. The beating of her rejection. Of her silence. Of her regret.

But…

But…

But…

Why should it always be me who retreats?

Why do I have to step aside if she still desires me? Isn’t that what these kisses mean? Isn’t her body speaking when her lips press against mine and her tongue seeks me out? Wouldn’t anyone be on my side if they knew what I feel now, if they knew that I am only responding to the comfort she herself is asking for?

I stop.

Just for a second.

I look at her.

Her eyes are closed. Her cheeks are flushed. Her chest is heaving. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t push me away either. She doesn’t stop me.

Squirrelflight.

Her name feels so different now that I’m not shouting it with anger. So soft… almost like a secret. I murmur it against her lips, just as I leave them for a moment to catch my breath. But she doesn’t leave any space, doesn’t let me go. She caresses my head—her fingers firm, gentle—and kisses me hungrily again. And this time… she sucks on my tongue. She’s never done that before. Gods… it’s the first time. My eyes open slightly as she leaves me breathless, and when she pulls away, she lets out a moan, loud and wet, at the same time that I can’t help—I swear it was unintentional—biting her neck.

She moans again. My name. Between sighs. Panting. As if that sound is no longer mine, but something that comes from her, inevitable. “Ashfur…”

My heart beats like a wild animal trapped in my chest. It almost hurts. I wonder—with fear and desire mixed—would our relationship be like this if it had never been broken? If we were still together… if you had never left me.

Squirrelflight… just tell me something. One word, a gesture, anything. I want to know if I can keep going, if this isn’t just a cruel game. I don’t understand anything. Really. Is this real? Do you want more…? Because if you ask me, I’ll give it to you. Everything. To the core, until you’re trembling, if you tell me you want it.

You drive me crazy. It’s just that… for you, I could even… Gods, I could take you by force right now, lift your body against mine, take you away, tear you from this forest and make you mine where no one bothers us, where no one judges us. Because I truly want you. Damn it, I still want you.

But I’m not like that, I don’t want to be like that. I’m not a monster.

Even though my thoughts lie to me. Even though your kisses tell me otherwise.

I kiss you again. I can’t help it. Your lips taste like everything I don’t have. Like everything you took from me. Like everything I still desire. And as I kiss you, my paws move down, trembling, still timid, until they caress your buttocks. They’re warm… soft, strong, like you. I blush uncontrollably because I feel my body react, harden, and I bite your lower lip just a little, just to see if…

And you do. You moan my name again. That sound stays in my ears like a sweet hum, like something I will never forget.

I swallow hard.

I must stop doubting. Isn’t it obvious that she wants this? She’s not pushing me away. She doesn’t hit me. She doesn’t complain. So… why do I feel so guilty?

I stop. Just in case. For her. For me. For what’s left between us.

I breathe heavily. The heat of her body envelops me. I keep looking at her. I don’t say anything.

She… doesn’t look at me. She keeps her eyes closed, curls up a bit, as if protecting herself. Her breathing is still panting, and her cheeks are flushed. But there are no words. No rejection either.

What does that mean?

Damn her. Does she know what she does to me? Does she know how she makes me feel? How I die for her? She kisses me like that, lets me touch her, moan her name, and then stays silent as if nothing happened. She makes me feel like an addict. As if she does it on purpose, as if she knows I’ll keep going… and that afterward, it will all be my fault if this goes wrong.

If I keep going… will I be the bad guy?

I don’t know. I don’t want to be. But damn it, she told me she missed me. You don’t just say that, right? Isn’t that something you only say to manipulate?

So… is this a second chance? Is that what this is? Or is it just one night? One last night with me before she returns to her perfect life, her clan, her “right decision”?

I just want a clue.

A touch. A word. Something that tells me I’m not dreaming this, that I’m not crazy for wanting her so much even though she shattered me.

But she just breathes. Agitated. Fragile. And she still doesn’t look at me.

And my body is still hard. My mind… more broken than ever.

“S–Squirrelflight…!”

My voice sounds firm, but it bites the air at the end, breaking into a long, wet, almost pained moan. My muscles tremble, and my chest tightens as if I were falling, as if the whole sky were swallowing me, just from being on top of her again.

I can’t even help it… my cock brushes against her vulva. The contact is slight, accidental, but it burns. Soft, warm, wet. The line of heat I feel is real, wet, and brutal, as if her body is begging me to enter. A shiver runs through me, shaking my back and spiraling down my spine. I move slightly—I don’t thrust, I don’t penetrate—but I don’t pull away.

My paws grip her buttocks, and I feel them tense beneath my claws. So soft, so round, so firm. Her body trembles against mine. My head throbs—my whole body throbs. Blood boils inside me, rising quickly, filling me, aching at the base of my cock until it’s hard as a rock, pulsing, as if it already knows where it wants to go. Threatening to open her, to claim her.

I look at her. I make her see me.

“Squirrelflight…”

Her name in my mouth hurts. Sweet pain. Pain of years. Pain of love.

She finally opens her eyes. She looks at me. Her gaze shines with something between fear and desire. But when she feels my cock brush against her entrance, when she feels herself getting even wetter from that mere suggestion… instead of pulling away, she opens her hind legs wider. She opens up for me.

Gods.

My insides churn, my mind clouds over, and for a moment, I think I’m going to thrust. That I’m going to enter. That I won’t be able to stop.

But no.

I stay still. Like a statue.

My body screams at me to move, to keep going, to take her. But I remain firm, trembling with the effort, because I can’t. Because I love her. Because I love her so much that I would rather destroy myself than hurt her. Even if she offers herself, even if she gives herself to me. I don’t want to violate something sacred.

She is the most beautiful she-cat to ever step into the clan, yes, but it’s not just desire. It’s not just sex.

I want more than that.

Then I dare. My voice trembles, my breath escapes directly to her neck.

“D–Do you… still want… to be with me?”

The silence is dense. She blinks, her expression changes, she curls up again, like a confused kit. She looks down at her own front paws. As if she doesn’t know how to respond.

But when she looks at me again, when she raises her eyes to mine… my world stops.

She smiles slightly, with that tender blush I’ve never seen so deep, so vulnerable. And she nods.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Yes.

Yes.

Gods.

I want to cry. Laugh. Howl. Because I have her. Because she wants me again.

But still… is it real? I know what many she-cats do when they’re in heat, they open up easily, their bodies say “yes” even if their hearts don’t know. What if she’s confused? What if she regrets it tomorrow and blames me?

No. No… she said it. She showed me. And I can’t take it anymore.

Not anymore.

I don’t wait for more words.

I approach with a low growl that escapes without permission. My fangs sink firmly into her neck—not to hurt her, not to mark her, but to hold her, as it should be, as my body has demanded since the first day. And she moans, trembling, letting herself be taken. As if she had been waiting for me.

And then I penetrate her.

Slowly, all the way in, until I can’t go any further.

A roar chokes in my chest. She is so wet. Gods. So hot. So alive. Her insides grip me, welcome me, envelop me as if it were the first time. As if she couldn’t forget me. As if she had been waiting for me all these years.

“S–Squirrelflight…”

Her name escapes me again, drenched in adoration. I am inside. Finally.

My pelvis presses against hers, and I hold her, and I don’t know if it’s me or her who is trembling more.

But I don’t move yet. I just feel her. I just breathe.

Because this moment, this first time after so much pain, is too sacred to rush.

Squirrelflight rests her forehead against mine. That simple, soft gesture undoes me more than any words could. Her breath is warm, sticky in the air between us. She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t hide. She has me right where she wants me, and she gives herself, slowly, sweetly, breaking me from within.

She lifts a front paw. Places it carefully on my back, as if afraid I might crumble under her touch. She rubs gently, brushing against me, making my body arch with every slight friction. Her snout presses against mine. She smells of damp forest, full moon, the she-cat I always wanted. And her breath scorches my cheeks. I feel vulnerable, exposed, as if I could melt from just that.

Then I lick behind her ear. Slowly. Deliberately. And she moans. Very softly. So softly that I barely hear it… but I feel it resonate in my core.

There’s no turning back.

Now I know. I am decided. This time, I won’t let her go. I won’t stand by and watch her walk away without doing anything. I won’t be the fool that destiny spits in the face. In this moment, I am the one who chooses. And what I choose… is her. Her body, her voice, her soul overflowing with mine.

And everything—everything—depends on how much of her I take with me when she comes.

I start sucking more firmly, more wildly. My tongue delves into her ear with eagerness, stirring her with my panting. At the same time, I move my hips, deepening inside her, no longer holding back. Her insides devour me, her vulva embraces me with that slippery wetness that makes my cock slide to the deepest point, centimeter by centimeter.

And gods… how tight she is. She chokes me. I haven’t felt anything like this in years.

She moans again, louder now, more broken. She arches, her paws tremble, but she doesn’t pull away. She lets me in deeper, and deeper, and deeper…

And finally—finally—I hear her moan my name again.

“A-Ashfur… s-sí… p-por favor… dame más… te quiero… te extraño… d-déjame toda llena…”

My body shudders. The pleasure splits me in two. Those words… her trembling voice, her plea… are the confirmation my wounded soul needed.

She wants this.

There is no doubt.

The fire consumes me. I harden more. There is no trace left of the hesitant Ashfur. Now there is only need, possession, rage turned into filthy tenderness, and desire.

I get serious. The roar coils in my throat, under my tongue.

I won’t hurt her, never, but I unsheathe my claws. I bury them in the ground beside her. Rocks, dirt, and dry leaves crumble under my paws as I brace myself over her with almost animalistic strength. The cave we’re in is damp and dark, but all I see is her body beneath mine, her fur disheveled, her gaze already unfocused.

And then I fuck her like a beast.

I pound her with each thrust, holding nothing back, without fear. My pelvis slams against hers in fierce, rhythmic blows, with all my weight. I make her move, drag herself, tremble with each thrust of my cock that splits her insides. A growl escapes me with each push, guttural, deep, primal.

I let myself go.

Every time I close my eyes, I see our fights, our arguments. The shouting, the goodbyes, the anger, the abandonment. Each memory burns… and each thrust is like spitting at the past, like avenging myself, but with love. With something twisted and beautiful. Because she asks for it. Because she offers it to me. Because she loves me.

She moans, shudders, says my name through gritted teeth.

“Ashfur, Ashfur, ¡Ashfur!”

And between each word, her screams.

“¡Sí! ¡Dame más! ¡Más! ¡Más fuerte…! ¡Te amo…!”

It’s fantastic.

Her whole body surrenders, every muscle shudders, she pants without air, and I feel her inner walls contract more, get even wetter. Every time I slam my cock into her vulva, a new gush moistens her insides, and a new moan escapes her throat. And I feel her so mine, so fucking mine, that I can’t stop myself even if I wanted to.

I lean in, press my chest against hers, and thrust with more rhythm, more depth. My testicles slap against her, my claws remain buried at the sides of her body. My entire being is focused on making her come, on shattering her with pleasure, on filling her with me.

And her insides grip me even tighter.

I feel her.

Gods, I feel her. The blood rushes lower, concentrates all there, right at the base of my cock, throbbing with each thrust like a tribal drum, like a warning. It’s growing. Thicker. Heavier. Hotter.

Every time I enter her, the pressure is more intense. Her vulva is forced to yield more and more, as if it were opening just for me, to accommodate this new shape I’m giving her—this cock that keeps swelling inside her as if made to punish and adore her at the same time.

And then I see her.

Squirrelflight… sticks out her tongue. But not like always. Not like before.

No.

She sticks it out in a fucking dirty way. Perverted. Shameless.

Her eyes half-closed, her face flushed, panting, with her tongue out like a she-cat in heat who has been fucked just the way she likes it. As if she can’t take it anymore, as if she needs to beg for every drop of what I’m giving her. As if my thick cock has melted away her dignity.

And that drives me crazy.

Does it turn her on that much…? Is she that wet for me, just from fucking her as her ex? Does it excite her that I’m the one destroying her insides after all that happened? Does she love the idea that after so much pain, so much distance… I’m the one making her come? The one making her lose her mind?

My gaze darkens. I harden even more.

I know exactly what to do.

“So you like this, huh?” I growl softly, brushing my snout against her cheek while my cock keeps stirring her insides. “Does it turn you on that I’m the one breaking you from within? That your ex-boyfriend makes you scream like a little slut?”

She moans but doesn’t deny anything.

So I continue. Lower. Closer.

“And what if I make you beg, mmm? What if I fill you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow? Will you come back to me just so I can fuck you every time you want to feel alive?”

She trembles. Her vulva clenches so tightly around my cock that I have to bite my lip to keep from coming right then.

And I’m not done.

I bring one of my front paws to her face. I place it right over her snout. A soft pad rests in front of her eager tongue, and I push it gently… touching her mouth, enticing her.

“Lick it.”

She freezes for a second. She looks at me. Tongue out, cheeks flushed.

And then, with a dirty, perverse timidity… she wraps her tongue around it.

She starts licking my pad as if it’s the most delicious thing she’s ever tasted. As if she’s licking my cock. As if it’s her way of telling me she has no shame left.

And there… there I know.

I’m perverting her. Her mind, her body, her soul shattered by me. I’m breaking her in the most delicious way.

I keep talking.

“Good girl. That’s how I like it. Look what I’m doing to you. See how easy it is? Did you miss me so much that now you don’t care what we are… as long as my cock keeps you this wet?”

I thrust into her again. Hard. Dirty. Wet.

“Tell me, Squirrelflight… how many times have you touched yourself thinking about this? How many times did you dream I’d come back just to fuck you until you cry out my name?”

She moans loudly. The paw I have on her snout gets wetter. Her saliva soaks my pad.

And I don’t stop.

“This is how I love you now. Raw. Violent. No turning back. You’re going to come so hard you won’t think of anyone else. Never again.”

My cock throbs with unbearable fury. There’s no turning back. I’m about to explode. And I’m taking her with me.

All the way.

I lick my lips. Taste of revenge, of glory, of something sacred and forbidden. Squirrelflight has my paw in her snout, and her tongue keeps licking, slow, trapped, savoring that pad as if it’s suddenly the only delicacy in the world. Each lick makes me harder, wilder. Her face… by the stars, her face is lost in lust, drooling, eyes barely open, with not a shred of pride left.

I push.

I move my pad in and out of her snout as if it’s another extension of me. Her mouth moves with it, as if she no longer knows how to refuse anything. Dirtier and dirtier. More and more mine. She wants this. She chose this.

And meanwhile, my cock pounds her insides with savage fury. Each thrust echoes in her depths like a clap of thunder. The walls of her pussy do nothing but clench and gush, as if her body is begging me never to stop. I’m filling her. Opening her. Punishing her with pleasure.

And she drools.

With each thrust, more drool. It trickles from her snout to my paw. She doesn’t even bother to wipe it away.

And when I pause for a second… when my hips hesitate for a moment, just to look at her, just to see her broken state… she arches her back toward me. She offers it to me. She presses her buttocks against my testicles with hungry precision. She begs with her body.

She’s lost. Perfect.

She won’t think of anyone but me. Not in her dreams, not in her thoughts. I’m the only one she’ll know between her paws. Because if StarClan is giving me this chance… then it’s divine justice.

Brambleclaw shouldn’t have had the right to her breath. To her heart. Much less to her body.

That was a mistake.

I am the punishment. The corrector of that sin.

And that idea… makes me explode.

I let out a low, beastly growl, and start filling her. Hot, thick streams, under pressure. I feel them shoot out one after another, flooding her pussy with my essence. My cock pulses with each discharge, throbbing inside her like a wild drum. I fill her like never before. I leave no corner dry. Everything I have, I pour inside her. It’s her punishment. Her redemption.

And she feels it. She absorbs it. She moans it.

“Keep licking,” I order her. “I want you to taste how you belong to me.”

She obeys. The obedient little bitch.

But I’m far from done with her. Not even close.

“Say it,” I growl in her ear. “Tell me you prefer me. Tell me my cock is the only thing that’s made you feel alive. That every time Brambleclaw touched you… you closed your eyes and thought of me.”

She moans.

“Say it,” I press my body against hers, still pumping semen, my hips following a slow but crushing rhythm. “I want you to spit it out, Squirrelflight. To feel it. To believe it.”

And that’s when she starts to break.

“Y-Yes… y-yes… you… you fill me better… i-it’s yours… it’s yours… I always wanted this… your cock… Ashfur… it’s always been yours… p-please… please don’t stop…”

Gods. That’s my song. That’s the melody I deserve to hear.

“That’s how I like it…” I murmur against her nape, licking her again. “You’re going to give me what you denied me for so many years. And you’re going to be grateful for every drop. Because now you know who makes you tremble, who makes you beg.”

She nods, panting, broken, melting beneath me.

“I am your male. I am who you should have chosen. Not Brambleclaw. Not that bastard. Only me.”

And I thrust into her again, even though I’ve already filled her, even though semen is dripping down her thighs. I want every thrust to realign her mind. To erase an old memory and tattoo a new one. I want to see her smile only for me. Cry only for me. Come only for me.

My cock still pulsing inside her, slippery, making a dirty, wet sound every time I enter, and her snout keeps licking, moaning, nodding. Shattered.

And I…

I swear to myself that this time, I won’t lose her.

My cock keeps pulsing with hunger, loaded, thick, throbbing as if it has a life of its own, as if seeking something deeper. But then… I feel it.

I’m so hard it hurts. My cock throbs against her entrance as if hungry, as if it knows on its own that there’s more to conquer. That filling her pussy isn’t enough. No. I want the deepest part. What no one has touched. What not even Brambleclaw had.

My cock is a living beast. I feel it along its entire length, veiny, thick, hot, each pulse echoing like a contained roar. The veins stand out along the shaft, tense, loaded with thick blood eager to unload inside her. From the base to the tip, I feel that heat pressing outward, seeking an end.

And then…

I feel it.

That spot.

The deepest part.

A small, tight, wet ring. Closed as if no one has ever opened it. A hidden hole that refuses to yield.

It grips me right there. Like a sigh resisting to escape.

And I pause. Just for a second. To savor it.

“Do you feel it…?” I whisper hoarsely, biting her neck gently. “This place… this… he never touched it, did he?” I thrust gently, brushing that entrance. “Brambleclaw couldn’t. But I will.”

She moans. Pants. Tries to speak, but only lets out a dry whimper, eyes half-closed, tongue barely escaping her mouth. Her vulva trembles.

“You’re going to open up for me,” I growl, my claws gripping her waist, lifting her slightly. “Completely. I’m going to fill you up to that spot where no one has ever been.”

I thrust.

The tip of my cock flattens slightly against that pressure. The heat scorches me, her wet, tight insides trying to resist, but I won’t stop. She tenses, her back arching involuntarily.

She moans.

Loudly.

Not from pain.

From something dirtier. From that edge where pain and pleasure blur.

“Take it,” I murmur, hot and lustful, my breath hitting the base of her neck.

She trembles. Her body convulses. Her eyes squeeze shut, her snout parting to let out a thin, broken, wet moan. She’s panting as if she can’t take anymore, and I haven’t even finished entering her. The deepest part is yet to come.

My cock throbs. Hard, thick, loaded, seeking to open her last remaining depth. The tip presses against that tight ring, that impossibly narrow entrance at the back of her pussy that refuses, refuses with all its heat, as if it still guards something of hers that it won’t yield. It’s like pushing into a closed, wet fist, so tight that every millimeter is a challenge.

And I want in.

I need in.

I thrust. Lift her waist a bit more, my claws firm on her skin. She lets out a wet sob. My cock throbs so hard I feel my pulses like hammer blows. The heat inside her is unbearable. The veins on my cock are swollen, prominent, rubbing against her every inner wall, grazing the deepest nerves.

But she doesn’t yield completely.

That place of hers defies me.

And then… I grow impatient.

“Take it!” I growl suddenly, harsh and dark.

She jumps slightly from the shock, her back curving, legs trembling. Eyes still closed, as if wanting to hide from what she’s feeling. But I don’t stop. I can’t.

I keep moving. Firm hips, short and deep thrusts. The tip of my cock keeps pushing against that spot, pounding it. Forcing it. Opening it.

“Open up for me!” I hiss through gritted teeth, close to her ear, my snout pressed against her. “Do it! Show me you’re mine!”

She moans. Shudders more intensely. It’s not just pleasure. There’s fear. And yet… she doesn’t pull away.

I thrust again. Harder. The pressure makes her entire pussy pulse around me, her inner muscles quivering. She pants heavily. Growls. And suddenly… she yields.

She lets out a brief cry, like a forced exhale through gritted teeth. And the entrance opens.

I feel it. That part gives way abruptly. Her flesh yields, wet, hot, and the tip of my cock sinks into that forbidden hollow.

“That’s it…” I growl with a twisted smile, trembling with pleasure.

And she moans like never before.

Her legs shake violently. A stream of hot fluids drips from her vulva. Her entire body contracts, and her eyes squeeze shut even tighter, as if she can’t bear what I’m doing to her… but can’t stop me either.

“Now… there’s nothing left that isn’t mine,” I growl against her ear, my voice hoarse, hot, overflowing.

And then I thrust. All the way in. My entire cock. To the hilt.

I feel her open to the limit. Her insides quiver, muscles trembling, her pussy clenching suddenly as if trapping me with fury. A deep heat envelops me, her pussy closing like a trap of soft, wet flesh, as if marking me again. She lets out a choked cry, more a moan than a scream, something tremulous, desperate. As if breaking from within.

I stay there. Inside. Until there’s not a single space left between us.

“Ah… fuck, Squirrelflight… you’re so hot… so tight…” I whisper, panting, licking her neck, feeling her body surrender to mine, with gentle spasms. “Your body doesn’t want me to leave, does it? You’re sucking me in… so hard…”

I start moving.

Slow. Heavy. Each time I pull out slightly, I feel her pussy trying to hold me in. Every centimeter is a struggle. And when I thrust back in… she moans with her mouth open.

“Say it,” I demand, brushing my snout against hers, my breath mingling with hers. “Say it now, baby. Say it right.”

She can barely speak, her voice trembling.

“I-It’s… t-all… inside… A-Ashfur…”

“Can you feel it? Can you feel my cock deep inside you? Say it dirtier. Say it like you’re thinking it.”

“Y-Your cock is… m-moving so deep…”

“And do you like it?”

She moans again. Bites her lip, eyes closed.

“Y-Yes…

“Why?”

She moans once more. Clenches her jaw, eyes shut tight.

“B-because… it makes me feel full… it makes me vibrate inside…”

I press against her, thrusting slow but deep, making her body shake with each impact.

“And are you trembling from fear… or from pleasure?”

Silence. Only her ragged breath. The pressure of her body against mine.

“…Both,” she whispers, broken.

I smile.

I bring my snout to her cheek, kiss her slowly, then bite her ear.

“That’s how I like it. Scared… but wet. All mine. Giving yourself up even as your pride screams no. Your legs are trembling, Squirrelflight, why are they trembling like that?”

She arches her back. Presses her pussy harder against my cock.

“Because… no one has ever fucked me like this.”

“Say it right.”

“Because… you’ve never fucked me like this, Ashfur.”

I kiss her fiercely. She returns it, more tongue than breath, wet, panting against me.

And I don’t plan on stopping. Not now. Not ever.

She doesn’t respond. Just moans. Just cries softly. Just clenches tighter.

And I…

Keep thrusting.

But… I pause. Just for a second. The moment is eternal.

The world narrows.

All that exists is her body trembling beneath mine, her ragged breath, her wet, hot entrance pulsing around my cock as if wanting to merge with me. And I… can’t stop. Don’t want to stop. Keep pounding, each thrust harder, deeper, hitting the depths of her being, until I feel there’s no more space inside her, only my shape, only my rhythm, only me.

And then… I feel it coming.

A shiver runs down my spine. A pressure in my groin wrenches a low, primal growl from me. Each pulse in my cock grows stronger, more ferocious, like a trapped beast about to escape.

“Squirrelflight…” I moan her name against her nape, gripping her waist tightly. “I’m going to… fill you…”

It’s not a warning.

It’s a promise.

My body tenses, muscles rigid as stone. And then I explode.

The first stream shoots out like a deep, heavy, hot discharge. I feel her tremble, moan, her insides pulsing as they receive it. Her body recognizes it. Accepts it. My cock pulses again, and another stream invades her, filling her more, as if marking her from within.

Each discharge wrenches a distinct growl from me, each one more animalistic than the last. I feel her insides softening, her muscles yielding with each throb that fills her. There’s no resistance. Only pleasure. Only heat.

“Take it…,” I whisper, panting. “All… mine… for you…”

I keep pumping inside her, slow, deep, staying buried to the hilt while I fill her. The amount… it’s too much. I can feel her body overflowing, starting to spill out, warm, thick, trickling down her thighs as she moans and sobs, her legs trembling, her belly quivering with each internal shake.

And she doesn’t stop it.

She doesn’t pull away.

She lets herself be filled.

As if she knows this is more than just sex. As if she understands that this is my mark, my sign, my victory sealed in her body forever.

Our bodies tremble together. Not as rivals. Not as strangers.

As if we were one.

And as my semen settles deep inside her, as the heat envelops us, as her vulva still pulses softly, closing around my shape… I lower my head. I kiss her.

Slow. Firm.

I bite her lip. I wipe away her tears. I lick her mouth while she keeps moaning, eyes closed, completely surrendered.

There’s no more pride.

No more past.

I’m erasing it.

Only this exists.

Only this should exist.

Only ours.

And she must know it.

I know it.

“This is how it should have been…,” I whisper, my forehead resting against hers, my breath mingling with hers. “From the beginning.”

And now… there’s no turning back.

My cock remains inside her, still pulsing, still swollen, sealing everything I’ve broken, marking her from within forever.

And finally, she starts to tremble.

Her entire body shudders, her legs tense and grip the ground, and her back arches suddenly, as if struck by a jolt. I feel her around my cock. Her pussy contracts violently, suddenly, and she squeezes me so tightly that it wrenches a deep moan from me, stealing my breath. I almost come right then.

The pressure inside her is brutal. She’s so wet that my cock slides effortlessly, yet so tightly enveloped in that spasm that I feel every pulse of hers drawing me deeper. Her vulva opens and closes in rapid waves, and the sensation is so intense that my claws dig into the ground.

“A-Ah… fuck…,” I pant, eyes closed.

She moans loudly.

But it’s not just any moan. It’s not contained pleasure.

It’s explosive.

She screams my name, her voice breaking, gasping as if she can’t breathe. Squirrelflight comes hard, and I feel her shudder against me. Streams of hot liquid soak me, dripping between our legs. It coats the base of my cock, my belly, my testicles. There’s so much that it starts to drip to the ground with wet, rhythmic sounds. Ploc. Ploc. Ploc.

Her fur is matted between her hind legs, shiny with fluid. She lets out soft, short, breathless moans. Her breathing is erratic. Her tongue is out. Her body collapses slowly, but she keeps squeezing with that warm, pulsing interior.

I feel her internal pulses against every vein of my cock. I feel it harden to the max, tense, throbbing at the tip. Her body hugs it as if it doesn’t want to let go. And in that exact moment, feeling her pussy still sucking, caressing, claiming me from within…

I know she wanted it.

I know no one else ever did it like this.

Squirrelflight just came screaming my name.

And as I kiss her, I know:

Now, she’ll never love another.

***

The camp greets us wrapped in the soft light of dusk, with shadows already stretching across the clearing and the nests barely rustled by the wind. The leaves crunch under my paws, damp, crushed. The ground is cold, but no colder than the distant gaze I feel: fixed, still, burning without fully showing itself.

Squirrelflight’s fur remains matted. So does mine. We walk together, but she steps ahead, a pace quicker, tail raised, though the tremble in her hind legs hasn’t completely disappeared. The scent of sex hasn’t faded, no matter how the damp moss and wind try to disguise it. It clings to me. She clings to me.

And then I see him.

Brambleclaw.

In front of the prey pile, his broad back tensing slightly as he sees us appear. His gaze meets hers first—and Squirrelflight lowers her eyes immediately, just a second before quickening her pace. She almost runs to the nearest den, her face flushed, her breathing still ragged. She doesn’t confront him. She can’t.

And I…

I stay.

I face him.

Brambleclaw barely furrows a brow. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t growl. Doesn’t take a step. Just blinks, with that deceptively calm expression, that contained leader facade. As if he isn’t smelling the same thing I am. As if he can’t smell her on me.

My smile forms on its own.

I don’t even try. It rises from my chest, warm, fierce, as if something inside me that had been burning finally finds relief. I hadn’t smiled like this in days. Not like this. Not with my teeth barely showing, not with that strange peace behind my fangs.

But before following her…

Before leaving the clearing…

I can’t resist.

Squirrelflight’s tail sways in the wind, damp, heavy, still wet between her legs. And the base… so familiar now, so marked… so mine.

I close the distance in a second.

I stick out my tongue and give her a long lick. Direct. Right at the base.

She stops abruptly. Her body shudders. Her hind leg reacts instinctively, turning and giving me a quick kick in the side.

“Ashfur!” she exclaims in a hiss that’s more embarrassed than angry.

But she’s blushing. Flushed to the roots of her ears.

And I love it.

I watch her walk away, pressing her tail against her body, almost hiding it. She slips between the dens with short, hurried steps, as if she can still feel me inside her. As if my scent is dragging along her back. As if she doesn’t know how to look back.

Brambleclaw blinks.

Once. Twice.

He doesn’t move.

Confused.

And I…

I look him straight in the eye.

The smile doesn’t fade.

Neither does the gaze.

Nor the heat between my legs.

I don’t need to say a word. He already knows. Even if he doesn’t fully understand. Even if he tries to deny it. The scent is there. The tremble in her legs too. Because he’s lost her. Because his mate returned to the one who made her truly moan. To the one who made her run with her legs still wet.

And I, finally, hold my head high.

Not a word more.

Just let the smile speak for me as I walk behind her.

Night falls.

And with it, everything returns to where it should be.